Drowned baby TL

                                                 parts 21-30


DBTL 21: A Post About Nothing

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
20 June 1945

As he replaced the receiver on his telephone, Jerzy Seinfeld gave a broad smile to his friend Elena Benes.  "Guess what?  That was the PBC.  They want me to appear on the inaugural television broadcast!"

"Get OUT!" Elena exclaimed as she shoved Jerzy back a few inches.  "Really?  Jerzy, that's great!  Your parents are going to be so proud!"

"You know what this means, don't you?" said Jerzy.  "It means I'm going to have to buy them a television set."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Don't you remember what happened when I bought them that car?"

"Oh, yeah."  Jerzy's success as a stand-up comedian had enabled him to purchase a BMW for his parents.  However, their neighbors refused to believe that Jerzy made enough money telling jokes to afford such an extravagant gift, and rumors began going around the neighborhood that Jerzy's parents had acquired the car by embezzling money from their synagogue.  They had eventually been forced to move.

"Well," Elena finally said, "it's not like they'll be driving a television around the neighborhood."  Another thought occurred to her.  "How are you going to get one in time?  The inaugural broadcast is Monday night, and it takes months to get a television set."

It was at that moment that Jerzy's neighbor Kramer burst into the apartment.  "Hi Jerzy, Elena," he said.

"Hi, Kramer," Jerzy and Elena said.  Jerzy continued to Elena, "I'm not sure.  Maybe someone at the PBC can help me."

"Help you what?" said Kramer as he nonchalantly began searching Jerzy's icebox for fruit.

"The PBC wants Jerzy to appear on their inaugural broadcast Monday night," Elena explained, "and Jerzy wants to get his parents a television set so they can watch."

"Hey, that's no problem," said Kramer.  "Rob Sacamano's cousin runs an import business.  He can get you a British television," he made a quick gesture with his hand, accompanied by an odd *pffft* sound, "like that.  If you want, I can take you to see him tomorrow."  Retreiving an apple and two pears from the icebox, Kramer began searching through a drawer for an apple corer.

Jerzy tended to be dubious where Kramer's friend Rob Sacamano was concerned, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.  "Sure," he said, "it's worth a try."

"In that case," said Kramer, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."  Waving the apple corer at the two of them, Kramer slipped out the door.

-------------------------

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
21 June 1945

The next morning, Jerzy joined Kramer in the cab of a flatbed lorry as he drove to the Sacamano Trading Company.  They were accompanied by Jerzy's friend Gheorghe Costanescu, who, upon hearing about the expedition from Jerzy, had decided to tag along and see if he could acquire a Swiss watch.

Kramer drove the lorry across the Poniatowski bridge to Praga.  From there they went down a series of twisted roads leading north along the river until they finally came to a dilapidated warehouse.  One look at their destination and Jerzy felt himself becoming alarmed.

"Kramer," he said, "are you sure this is such a good idea?"

"Don't worry, Jerzy," Kramer assured him.  "Rob's cousin is strictly on the up-and-up."

Gheorghe seemed indifferent to the building's looks, so Jerzy gave in and followed Kramer to a rusted door on the south face of the warehouse.  Kramer gave a complicated series of knocks, and a small panel set within the door slid aside.  Two suspicious eyes glared out at them.

"Rob sent me," Kramer murmured.

The panel slid shut again, and the three men waited for an awkwardly long time before the door creaked open to admit them.

It took a moment for Jerzy's eyes to adjust from the bright summer sunshine to the gloom within the warehouse.  When they had, he started wishing they hadn't.  The rusty door debouched into a small office with a shabby desk and a dented metal file cabinet.  Apparently nobody had bothered to sweep up the floor since the beginning of the century, and most of the paint had peeled off the office's walls.

The owner of the suspicious eyes, a bulky man in stained overalls, growled out, "Wait here," and disappeared through another door into the interior of the warehouse.  Jerzy was nerving himself to flee back outside when the interior door opened again and a weaselly man with a patchy mustache entered.  He smiled a gap-toothed smile at the three of them and said, "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"My friend here would like to buy a television set," said Kramer.

The weaselly man pursed his lips and sucked air for a moment before saying, "I dunno, been a pretty big demand for televisions lately, what with the PBC set to start broadcasting and all.  Might run ya a few zloty."

"That's all right," said Jerzy, who was now looking for an excuse to forget the whole thing.  "If you don't have one, you don't have one.  My parents can listen to the radio."

"Oh, you want to get one for your *parents*," exclaimed the weasel.  "Hey, that's great, wish my kids would do something nice like that for me.  In that case, I can make you a special deal.  We just got a shipment of television sets from Yugoslavia, I was holding a few back for some special clients of mine, but for a man who knows how to treat his parents right, I can let one go for only 4500 zlotys."

"We'll take it," said Kramer, and before he knew it, Jerzy was counting out nine 500-zloty notes.  The weasel slipped back into the warehouse for a minute before emerging accompanied by the man in the overalls, who was wheeling out a crate on a dolly.  While they were waiting for the man with the dolly to return, the weasel said, "Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen?"

"Have you got any Swiss watches?" said Gheorghe.

The weasel's smile turned to a suspicious frown, and he said, "Are you with Gestwicki's bunch?"

"Um, n-no," Gheorghe stammered.

"I ain't got no Swiss watches," the weasel growled.  "I think you'd all better leave.  Now."

-------------------------

As Jerzy and Gheorghe wrestled the crate up the stairs to the apartment, Jerzy said, "I didn't even know they made television sets in Yugoslavia."

"Oh yeah," said Kramer as he observed from the next landing up.  "Best electrical appliance makers in Europe.  In Sarajevo they've practically cornered the market on toasters."

"And what have they got against Swiss watches?" Gheorghe wondered.

"And who's Gestwicki?" said Jerzy.

Kramer looked around nervously, "Oh, you don't want to get mixed up with Gestwicki, he's bad news."  When Jerzy asked him what he meant, Kramer just shook his head.  He had apparently said all he was prepared to say on the subject of Gestwicki.

When they had the crate in Jerzy's apartment they opened it up and had a look at the set.  It was about a meter and a half long, a meter high, and half a meter thick.  There was a V-shaped antenna rising from the back, and a round glass screen 30 centimeters across in front.  The brand name was incised below the screen, next to the control knobs.

"Milosevic?" said Jerzy.  "What kind of brand name is that?"

------------------------

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
22 June 1945

"Jerzy!" exclaimed Helen Seinfeld.  "What are you doing here?"

"I've got good news, Ma," said Jerzy.  "I'm going to be on television!"

"Television?" said Jerzy's father Moshe, "what's that?"

"Dear, you know about television," Helen reminded him.  "We read about it in the paper last week.  It's like radio, only with pictures."

"Oh yeah," said Moshe.  "Do they let Jews on television?"

"Apparently they do," said Jerzy, "since they asked me."

"Do we know anybody with a television set?" Helen asked her husband.

"I don't think we do," said Moshe.

"You do now," said Jerzy.  Leaning back out the door, he called, "bring it on in."

As Jerzy held open the door to his parents' apartment, Gheorghe Costanescu carefully rolled in the television set, which was resting on a wheeled platform.

"My God, Jerzy, what is it?" Helen wondered.

"It's a television set, Ma.  I bought it so you and Pop could watch me Monday night."

"It looks complicated," said Helen.  "How does it work?"

"It's just like a radio," said Jerzy.  "This knob turns it on and controls the volume, and this knob tunes in the station."

"A television set!" Helen exclaimed.  "And our Jerzy's going to be on it Monday night!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Moshe.

------------------------

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
25 June 1945

Jerzy had been allowed to bring one guest with him to the PBC studio, and he had, to Gheorghe's dismay, chosen to bring Elena.  The two of them were in the green room, which had been catered with tea and biscuits.  Elena was suffering from fame overload from all the well-known people she had met in the last hour.  Jerzy was listening to her enthuse over a brief conversation with Wladyslaw Strzeminski when he noticed the show's producer motioning to him.  He could tell from the man's expression that it was bad news.

"Jerzy," he said, "I'm afraid Pola Negri's segment ran too long.  We're going to have to bump you from the show."

Jerzy sighed and said, "Is there a phone around here I can use?  I'd better call my parents and let them know I won't be on tonight after all."

"At least they've still got a brand-new television set," Elena pointed out.

------------------------

Sisak, Croatian Devo, Kingdom of Yugoslavia
7 June 1945

Ante Novaselic was outraged.  "What's the meaning of this new change order?"

Nikola Pelko, chief engineer of the Milosevic Electronics Works, said, "We've fallen behind schedule.  We have to ship these television sets by tomorrow.  There isn't time to solder the valve array plates.  We'll have to glue them in place."

"But the glue will never hold!" Novaselic shouted.  "As soon as the sets get hot enough it will melt!  And if the valve array plate comes loose, the unit could go off like a bomb!"

"Do you want to be the one to tell that to Old Man Milosevic?" said Pelko.

Novaselic shook his head.

"Then tell the men to grab their glue guns.  We've got a deadline to meet!"


DBTL 22: Meet the Vontzim

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
17 July 1945

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," said Hershel Grynszspan.

Shlomo Kaminsky looked around the dingy room where he and his three bandmates were staying while their gig at the Ratcellar lasted.  There were large sections where the plaster had fallen out of the walls, exposing the half-rotted wooden beams beneath.  The bare mattress on the floor held a number of the band's insect namesakes, which Shlomo thought was going in for a bit too much authenticity.  There was no bulb in the room's overhead light, which was just as well, since experimentation had demonstrated that the light didn't work in the first place.  In the daytime, the only light came from a window that faced out into the brick side of the building next door.  At night, the room's illumination came from the ceiling light of the outside hallway (provided the room's door was left open).  As far as living accomodations went, it was as close to being rock bottom as you could get without actually living on the sidewalk.  Shlomo could see Hershel's point, but he shrugged anyway.  "You've got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues," he said, quoting their song "It Don't Come Easy".

"But I *don't* want to sing the blues," Hershel pointed out.  "I want to sing klezmeroll."

"The principle is the same," said Shlomo.  "Anyway, think of all the bands out there who don't even have a steady gig like we've got.  They'd kill to play at the Ratcellar.  Also, think of the incentive this room provides us.  I for one actually *prefer* being on stage to being here."

"Being onstage isn't any better," Hershel maintained.  "I'm sick and tired of having to dodge beer bottles when I'm playing.  And that's when they *like* us!  Leon's got the right idea; find yourself a girlfriend with her own flat, and move in with her.  I tell you, Shlomo, Colonel Paruszewski has got to find us a better gig."

But Shlomo knew what would happen if they asked the Colonel.  He'd say, "Boys, it takes time.  This is a good gig I got for you, the pay may not be so hot, but you get free room and board, and you're making a name for yourselves in the Warsaw club scene.  Another month or two and we'll have enough to book some time in a studio and cut a single.  *That's* where the money is!  Get some airplay on PBC2, and then the clubs will be begging *you* to play them!"  Shlomo had heard the same spiel so many times that not only *could* he set it to music, he *had*; in fact, the resulting song, "Have a Cigar", was one of their more popular numbers.

To Hershel, Shlomo said, "If we want to get a better gig, we've got to be a better band.  It's time to rehearse."

"But Leon and Ringo aren't here."

Shlomo sighed.  "So we'll rehearse *without* them until they show, all right?  Anyway, it gets us out of this box."

"That's true," said Hershel.  Picking up his clarinet case, Hershel gave the mattress an unaffectionate kick as he passed it on his way out the door.  Shlomo hefted his accordion and followed.

As soon as he started playing the accordion, Shlomo felt his weariness drop away.  Even though he and Hershel were playing to an empty room, the feeling of being on the cutting edge of popular music made Shlomo feel like he was on top of the world.  Klezmeroll, an unholy mix of traditional Jewish music and American jazz, had swept the Polish Commonwealth since the end of the war.  Shlomo and his bandmates had incorporated some of the cowboy elements they had picked up working in the Flying Deutchlander in Bialystok, and the result sounded like nothing else ever heard before.  They played to packed crowds at the Ratcellar every night, and Leon reported that some of the Warsaw bands had started imitating *their* sound.

Shlomo and Hershel had been playing for about fifteen minutes when Ringo Gold showed up.  He waved to them from the back of the room, disappeared for a time, then came bounding up onto the stage to take his place behind the drum kit.  With Ringo's rock-steady beat behind him, Shlomo felt the music begin to soar.

The set came to an abrupt halt when Leon Svirsky burst through the door shouting at the top of his lungs.  "We got it!  We got it!"

In the sudden silence, Shlomo said, "Whatever we've got, I hope penicillin will clear it up."

By the time he reached the stage, Leon was panting with exhaustion.  It took a minute before he had recovered his breath to the point where he could say, "I just heard from the Colonel!  He's booked us a recording session at Novy Swiat Studio next Tuesday!"

Instantly the others surrounded Leon, asking him questions.  The Colonel had booked six hours on the 24th from 9 AM to 3 PM, no he didn't know who would be producing, no he didn't know how much it was going to cost, yes they should bring their own instruments, no they hadn't decided which songs to record.

"That's all right," said Shlomo, "we've got the next week to decide which songs to record.  In the meantime, the club is going to open in another hour, and we'd better rehearse while we've got the chance."  Leon hurried back to the room to get his bass, while the others resumed their places on stage.  When they were all ready, Ringo counted off the time, and they swung into "Klezmeroll Music".

Shlomo Kaminsky knew it in his heart: they were on their way to the top.


DBTL 22A: Ticket to Shlep

Odessa, Ukrainian Devo, Polish Commonwealth
22 January 1946

"Ringo!" exclaimed Shlomo Kaminsky.  "Where the hell have you been?  We go on in half an hour!"

"I got lost," Ringo Gold admitted sheepishly.  "I forgot the name of the club.  And when I told the cabbie it was next door to Donov's restaurant, he asked me which one.  It turns out there are a dozen restaurants in Odessa called Donov's."

"Don't the owners get angry at each other?" asked Leon Svirsky.

"The same man owns all of them," Gold explained.

Leon blinked.  "Well, I guess that would explain why they're all called Donov's, if Donov owns them all."

"The owner is named Roy Krokowski," said Gold.

The others looked at him in bewilderment.

"The cabbie explained it," Gold said.  "After the Communists were driven out, the new city government sold off a bunch of state-owned restaurants.  This fellow named Krokowski bought some of them, and since the Communists had built them all on a standardized plan, he decorated them all the same, and gave them all the same basic menu and the same name."

"So why Donov's and not Krokowski's?" said Hershel Grynszpan.

"The cabbie didn't know," said Gold.

"Hang on," said Shlomo, as he recalled the meal they had eaten, "you mean they *all* serve nothing but Hamburg-style steaks and French-fried potatoes?"

"That's what the cabbie said," Gold confirmed.  "He said there were only four to start out with, but in the last six months Krokowski has made enough money to buy eight more.  He's even planning to open new ones in Kiev and Kharkov."

Colonel Tadeusz Paruszewski burst into the dressing room.  "Where's Ringo?  There you are!  What, not into your outfit yet?  Come on, hurry up, it's only twenty minutes to showtime!  Mach schnell, mach schnell!"  The Colonel continued to harangue them in his Dutch-accented Polish, throwing in scattered words from half a dozen other languages as he chivvied them out of the dressing room and up the stairs to the stage.

It was their first gig in Odessa, but there was a sell-out crowd at the club.  They had a top-ten hit called "Hot and Heavy" (inspired by Hershel's ex-girlfriend Elena) that was getting airplay all over the Commonwealth.  Soon the club was throbbing to the beat of Ringo's drums as they filled the place with fast-paced klezmeroll music.  The audience started screaming as soon as the curtain lifted, and they didn't stop until it came down again two hours later.  Shlomo and the others did two encores, then made a strategic escape out the stage door to a waiting cab.

"The Ambassador, please, and step on!" Shlomo called to the cabbie.  Then he lurched back in his seat as the cab leaped forward.

Five hair-raising minutes later, they were at their hotel, and Ringo (the only band member who was currently carrying any cash) left the cabbie a big tip.  As they made their way through the lobby, a balding middle-aged man in a conservative suit approached them.  "Shlomo Kaminsky?" he said.

Shlomo was impressed by the fact that the man addressed his comment to the right Vonts.  "Yes," he said.

The man said, "My name is Leonid Banchek.  I'm--"

"You're the President of Otown Records!" exclaimed Leon.

Shlomo was impressed.  The Odessa-based record company was another formerly state-owned business that had been sold off by the city government.  Banchek had adroitly capitalized on the klezmeroll craze to build Otown into the largest record company in the Commonwealth, leaving the more conservative Warsaw companies to play catch-up.  Banchek's stable of Jewish-Ukrainian acts had even developed their own distinctively melodic variety of klezmeroll which was known in the scene as the Otown Sound.

Smiling, Banchek added, "And I'm here to offer you a recording and touring contract.  Otown will sponsor a tour of Europe and America for the Vontzim, and release your next ten singles."

Shlomo said, "Colonel Paruszewski is our manager.  If you've got an offer to make, you should make it to him."

"I already have," said Banchek.  "He turned it down."

"He *what*?" shouted Leon.  "Why?"

"He gave me a number of unconvincing reasons," said Banchek, "and that made me suspicious, so I did some checking.  It turns out that 'Colonel Paruszewski' is in the Commonwealth illegally.  If you tour outside the country, he can't go with you or he'll run the risk of not being allowed back in."

Shlomo turned to look at his bandmates, and he read the same message in each of their faces.  Turning back, he said, "Mr. Banchek, you've got yourself a deal."

"Like hell you have!" bellowed a Dutch-accented voice.  "I've got an ironclad contract!" the Colonel stormed as he burst in through the lobby doors.  "Get your worthless skin out of here, Banchek, or I'll have hotel security throw you out!"

"An impartial jury might decide that your accounting tricks with the band's finances represents a breach of contract, Colonel Paruszewski," Banchek said calmly.  "Or should I say, van Kuijk."

The Colonel glared at Shlomo and his bandmates.  "You try to dump me, and I'll sue your sorry yid asses into the poorhouse!"

Shlomo laughed at his soon-to-be-ex-manager as he and the others followed Banchek out the door.  "We've got a ticket to shlep," he said, "and we don't care."
--
Johnny Pez
(With thanks to President Chester A. Arthur for the Otown Sound.)



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DBTL 23: Show and Tell

Belgrade, Serbian Devo, Kingdom of Yugoslavia
16 August 1945

Ivan Mestrovic, sometime sculptor and current Prime Minister of Yugoslavia, was rather puzzled by Benito Mussolini's invitation.  For one thing, Mussolini and his delegation had been given quarters in the royal palace, yet the invitation had been issued by the Italian Embassy.  For another, since Mussolini was a guest of the Yugoslav government, he ought to be receiving invitations rather than giving them.  For a third, the invitation was quite vague, stating only that Mussolini wished to discuss "matters of mutual interest".

So it was that Mestrovic found himself transported to the Italian Embassy to meet a man who should have been at the royal palace, but wasn't.  As he walked through the iron gate into the grounds of the Embassy, Mestrovic's unease was profound.  There was something going on, and Mestrovic was already certain that when he found out what it was, he wasn't going to like it.  When an iron gate slams shut behind you, it's natural to feel a bit spooked.  Mestrovic felt like he was entering a prison to serve a capital sentence.

Mestrovic's first sight of Mussolini was even more disquieting.  Ever since the Ethiopian fiasco of five years before, Mussolini had taken to wearing civilian clothing in public.  He had in fact been wearing a smartly tailored suit and a bowler hat (which had been removed and passed to an aide of course) during his reception with King Alexander the day before.

Here in the sanctum of the Italian Embassy, Mussolini was decked out in his Fascist uniform.  The Duce was smiling, but it was not the sort of smile to inspire confidence.

"Signore Mestovic," Mussolini said effusively, "it pleases me beyond measure to meet with you tonight.  This will be an evening, I am sure, which will be long remembered by both our nations."

"If I may be so bold, Signore Mussolini," Mestrovic replied in fluent Italian, "what is it that you wish to discuss with me?  Your invitation was, if you will pardon my saying so, most unspecific."

"The time for discussions will come soon enough," said Mussolini.  "First, I would like to present you with a demonstration.  The Kingdom of Italy has recently succeeded in advancing the frontiers of science, and I wish for you to be the first to learn of our new triumph."  So saying, the Duce led Mestrovic into an otherwise empty room containing several chairs, a portable movie screen, and a film projector.  After dimming the lights, Mussolini pushed a switch on the projector, and a beam of light sprang up to project images on the screen.

"What you see before you," Mussolini narrated, "is a thirty-meter tower which was constructed near the Murzuq oasis in Tripolitania last March.  That object you see being hoisted to the top contains several kilograms of a mineral known to scientists as uranium two-thirty-five.  Now, this next scene was filmed several hours later, after night had fallen.  The camera which filmed it was located two miles distant, behind a thick sheet of leaded glass."  Mussolini fell silent while the film continued to roll.  The projection room had become dark after the film switched to the evening scene.  Now it quickly grew light again.

Mussolini resumed his narration.  "I remind you that the camera was two miles distant.  The scientists who monitored this...event...tell me that an amount of energy equal to the ignition of twenty thousand tons of TNT was released in less than a second.  Now we move ahead to the following morning.  As you can see, the hill upon which the tower was built is now a large depression.  You can't tell from the black-and-white film, but that glass is said to have a distinctly greenish tinge to it."  The screen became white as the film ran out.  Mestrovic watched the film spin around and around on the takeup reel while Mussolini walked over to the wall and brought the lights back up.

Returning to the projector, Mussolini began to fiddle with the film.  The projector was soon whirring as the film was rewound, and Mussolini was saying, "For some time now, I have been concerned about the growing chaos within Yugoslavia's Slovenian Devo."  Mestrovic was about to ask, what chaos?, but the Duce continued.  "It is naturally a matter of great interest to the Kingdom of Italy to have such instability taking place within a region with which we share a border.  King Victor Emmanuel and I feel that it would be in the best interests of both our nations if these disturbances were put down, and to that end, I am here to offer the services of the Italian Army to aid you in your efforts to restore order in Slovenia."

The whirring ended as the film was restored to its original reel.  Mussolini continued to speak in a distracted way as he rethreaded the film through the projector.  "I believe that two divisions of Italian troops stationed in Ljubljana ought for the time being to be sufficient to help you to maintain control in Slovenia.  Though of course, that could change depending on the course of events there."

Straightening up, Mussolini said, "Now then, do we have an agreement?  Or would you like me to show you the film again?"


DBTL 24: Equal and Opposite

Rome, Italy
4 September 1945

General Galeazzo Ciano, Conte di Cortellazzo and son-in-law of Benito Mussolini, was rather alarmed by Ambassador Potocki's invitation.  Although his role as Director of the Prometheus Project was not generally known (reasonably enough, given that the Project was the most closely guarded secret in Italy), Ciano had no doubt that the intelligence services of Europe's other great powers were aware of both the Project and his role in it.  Ever since the Duce had used Italy's atomic bomb to convince the Yugoslavs to cede control of Slovenia, word must inevitably have traveled from Belgrade to the other capitals of Europe.

So: given that the other European governments knew of the existence of the Italian Bomb, and hence of the Project, and hence of his leadership thereof, it stood to reason that any foreign diplomat who wished to speak with him intended to discuss some aspect of Italy's new atomic-powered foreign policy.

Although he was no diplomat, General Ciano was well aware of the stir Italy's recent move into Slovenia had caused throughout Europe.  Ciano could now understand his father-in-law's uncharacteristic caution in waiting five whole months after the Bomb's completion before making use of it.

And of course, an invitation from Count Jerzy Potocki, the Polish ambassador to Italy, was particularly alarming given the presence of Ciano's traitorous predecessor Enrico Fermi among the staff of Berlin's Maria Sklodowska Institute, which held the largest concentration (a critical mass, as Ciano thought of it) of physicists in Europe.  Although the Italian government's own international spy network had been unable to find any evidence that the Sklodowska Institute formed the nucleus (as Ciano thought of it) of a Polish counterpart to the Prometheus Project, there was no doubt in the General's mind that Fermi was indeed the head of just such a rival project.  The only question was how far the Fermi Project (as Ciano thought of it) had traveled on the road to atomic weapons.  Most alarming of all was Ciano's feeling that he was about to find out.

The Polish Embassy was located within a large compound which duplicated the look and layout of a classical Roman villa.  A stone wall with an elaborate iron gate surrounded the compound, and Ciano's staff car was obliged to pass through the gate and proceed slowly up a gravel drive to the entrance which graced the main building's otherwise blank exterior.

A hallway embellished with suitably classical statuary led to a large tastefully decorated room whose fourth wall consisted of a set of plate glass windows looking out onto a meticulously maintained garden.  A fountain at the garden's center was lit with turquoise spotlights, whose illumination gave the room a submarine aspect.

Count Potocki greeted Ciano in fluent though heavily accented Italian.  Ciano responded with appropriate pleasantries, and the conversation moved in due time to the reason for the Ambassador's invitation.

"I would like," Potocki said, "to present you with a demonstration.  If you'll be so kind as to follow me?"  He led Ciano into a much smaller room holding a conference table surrounded by chairs.  A film projector sat at one end of the table, and a portable movie screen took up much of the wall opposite.

Potocki dimmed the lights and switched on the projector.  "The tower you see here," he began, "is located within the Pripet Marshes, about a hundred kilometers east of Lublin."

"Lublin!"  Ciano exclaimed.  Of course!  That was how the Poles had managed to conceal the existence of their atom bomb project!  They had used their rocket project as a cover!  Ciano was willing to wager that the odious Fermi had never come within five hundred kilometers of Lublin.  He must have been in constant communication with the bomb project there nevertheless, and the Italians had never even suspected.  Ciano looked at Potocki, illuminated by the backwash from the movie screen, with an astonishment that approached awe.  "You magnificent bastard!"

Potocki accepted the comment with due modesty.  "We try, General.  As I was saying..."  The Ambassador went on to narrate the rest of the film, which ended with a series of shots of felled trees all pointing away from a vast carbonized depression.

As he brought the lights back up, Potocki handed Ciano a document.  "This contains the text of an agreement admitting Yugoslavia to the Warsaw Pact, as well as a request from the Polish government that the Italian troops currently stationed in Slovenia be withdrawn by the tenth of this month, at no later than 9 AM Warsaw time."

Ciano departed the Polish Embassy with a heavy heart.  His father-in-law, he knew, would be quite displeased.


Rome, Italy
5 September 1945

"It vexes me," Benito Mussolini muttered.  "I'm terribly vexed."

General Galeazzo Ciano remained silent while his father-in-law stared down at the Polish ultimatum which sat so innocuously on his desk.  "First Ethiopia," the Duce continued, "and now this.  As soon as I start to achieve success, it is snatched away from me."  He looked up at Ciano.  "Are you certain that this film Potocki showed you was genuine?"

The word set Ciano back.  "Genuine?"

"Yes, genuine!" Mussolini barked.  "Real!  Not faked!  Are you certain that what you saw was an actual atomic explosion, and not some trickery?"

Ciano was about to deny that the footage he had seen could possibly be faked, but then he remembered attending the Italian premiere of "To Sail Beyond the Sunset" the week before.  The atomic blasts in that film had been eerily similar to film footage of the test explosions at Murzuq.  At the time, Ciano had wondered if Jack Warner had somehow managed to smuggle a print of the Murzuq tests to Hollywood.  Now he wondered if the Polish government could somehow duplicate the film's astonishing special effects.

"It looked genuine," Ciano finally answered, "but of course that is no proof that it was genuine."

Mussolini scowled.  There were few men who could watch Il Duce scowl at them and not quail, and Ciano was not one of those men.  He felt his knees starting to give way, and only the knowledge that such a display would end his career (and possibly his life) allowed him to stiffen himself to attention.

Mussolini finally exploded with an oath as vile and destructive as an atomic blast.  "I can't take the risk, damn it to Hell!  Of course the Polacks are bluffing!  They *have* to be bluffing!  Even with that dog Fermi helping them, they couldn't possibly have built their own atom bomb from nothing in only three years!  But I can't take the risk!  If I called their bluff and I was wrong, oh God if I was wrong, Rome would be gone, twenty-five centuries of history reduced to a smoking hole in the ground and I CAN'T TAKE THE RISK!"  Mussolini was pounding on his desk, tears streaming from his eyes.  "Get out!  Get out, God damn it!  Get out!"

As General Ciano fled from his father-in-law, he knew that neither Italy nor Mussolini would ever be the same again.


DBTL 24A: Chain Reaction

Rome, Italy
5 September 1945

As General Galeazzo Ciano stormed into his office, a worried-looking aide shuffled up to him.  "Sir," said the aide, "the French ambassador has invited you to a meeting at his embassy tonight."  After an awkward pause, he added, "And the British embassy is on line one."

Ciano spoke a single unprintable word and slammed to door to his office behind him.


DBTL 25: Enemies of the People

Kuropaty, Belarus Devo, Polish Commonwealth
28 May 1945

Colonel Eric Blair was feeding the half dozen chickens he kept in a pen outside his office when he saw the bicycle wheel up.  John Dos Passos carefully swung himself off the saddle and leaned the bike against the unpainted wooden wall of the building Blair had chosen to make his HQ.  Dos Passos kept his hat pressed low and the collar of his trenchcoat up against the stinging drizzle that fell from the leaden sky.  Nevertheless, Blair could see enough of the American's face to recognize the blank expression.  It was one he had seen in the mirror every day for the past six weeks.

"It's all true, isn't it?" said Dos Passos.

"Every word," said Blair.  He led the other man into the house.

The outer office held four desks, all of them deserted.  The inner office held a few spare items of office furniture.  Dos Passos seated himself before Blair's desk, while Blair himself dug into a desk drawer to retrieve a bottle of vodka (poor stuff, but all one could find in postwar Belarus).  Dos Passos downed a shot in one gulp, and spent half a minute coughing.  Wiping tears from his eyes, he finally said, "I don't know how you stand it.  If I had to live here day after day, seeing things like that, I think I'd go mad."

"I'd go mad as well," said Blair, "if I couldn't write about it."  Ever since the first mass grave had been discovered, Blair's literary alter ego had been pouring out torrents of articles, in English, Polish, Spanish and French.  It had sparked a vast war of words among European and American leftists, and hardly a day went by when someone like Dos Passos or Graham Greene or Kingsley Martin didn't arrive to try to confirm, or more likely, refute, Blair's accounts.  A few such as Martin had gone away convinced (or convincing themselves) that it was all a vast hoax.  Blair could tell that Dos Passos believed.

"And you say you've found more like it?"

"There are scores in the neighborhood of Minsk alone, most between six and ten years old, though some are newer.  And so far, that's the only area we've investigated.  I have a feeling we'll be finding more as we examine the rest of Belarus and the Ukraine.  I suspect we'd find a good deal more if we could could search through the rest of the USSR."

Dos Passos' brown eyes left Blair's face as they lost focus.  For a long time he stared down in the direction of the floor, seeing images and thinking thoughts that Blair was only too familiar with.

"Why?" the American suddenly exclaimed as he looked up again.

Blair looked a question at Dos Passos.

"Why kill them all?  What was the point?"

Blair chuckled.  "Enemies of the people."

"But they were ordinary peasants, women, children!" Dos Passos declared.

"Well now," said Blair, "if they weren't enemies of the people, how could Stalin have shot them?"

"But it's just totally senseless!  It's . . ."

"Yes?" said Blair.

"Insane," Dos Passos said at last.

"Congratulations, Mr. Dos Passos," said Blair with a wintry smile.  "You've just learnt all you need to know about the Soviet Union."

"But that's impossible!  How could any nation allow a madman to rule them?"

"The Romans had a number of Emperors who were absolutely barking mad," Blair pointed out.  "Then there was Charles VI of France.  Ludwig of Bavaria.  And I'm sure I needn’t tell an American about George III."

Dos Passos was shaking his head.  "Unbelievable."

"Which is the main reason I've had so much trouble being believed," said Blair.  "You remember what happened after the German War?  All those anti-Semites who refused to believe in Röhm's concentration camps, who still do despite all the documentary evidence.  Or the ones who insist that the Jews themselves provoked it.  And Röhm only killed seventy thousand people.  As many people as were murdered by the Brownshirts in five years can be found buried within fifty kilometers of this spot, in one small patch of Belarus.  If so many people can doubt Dachau, how can we get them to believe this?"

The blank look left Dos Passos' face for the first time.  "When I get back to America," he said quietly, "I'll *make* them believe it."

DBTL 26: The Four-Step Plan to Liberate Poland

Moscow, USSR
17 November 1945

Andrei Gromyko was one of the rising young stars of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.  Of course, the reason he was a rising star was because most of his superiors (including the late ex-Foreign Commissar Molotov) had been liquidated in the latest round of purges, but it didn't pay to think about that.  Instead, Gromyko concentrated on his upcoming interview with the Great Stalin.

After being thoroughly searched by a squad of grim-faced men, he was allowed to proceed under armed escort to the doors of the Comrade General Secretary's office.  The door warden then opened the door a couple of spans, and Gromyko was allowed to edge through it.

The room beyond was completely empty, just four walls painted a sickly yellow, a bare wooden floor with some disturbing stains, a ceiling with a naked light bulb, and the door which slammed shut behind him.  Gromyko stood uncomfortably for five minutes in the empty room, wondering what was going to happen to him.  One heard stories about these interviews with the Vozhd' of course, but it didn't pay to think about them either.  Fighting down panic, Gromyko stood silently.

A sudden crackle of feedback startled Gromyko.  A tinny voice from a concealed speaker spoke in an unmistakable Georgian accent.  "Good morning, Comrade Gromyko."

It was 1 AM, so Gromyko supposed that it could technically be considered morning.  "Good morning, Comrade General Secretary," he cautiously answered.

"You may be wondering why you have been asked to this interview," said the voice.  "It concerns your recent report on relations with the Polish imperialists.  I wish for you to expand upon the points you made in that report."

"Certainly, Comrade General Secretary," said Gromyko.  Unfortunately, knowing the purpose of his interview made it, if anything, even more nerve-wracking.  If Stalin had decided (or was going to decide) that Gromyko's report represented an undesirable policy option, Gromyko might find himself on a one-way trip to Siberia.  On the other hand, if Stalin decided that Gromyko's report represented a desirable policy option, Gromyko might still find himself on a one-way trip to Siberia, with the consolation of having his report become Stalin's report.  Oh well, in for a kopek, in for a ruble.

"Recent reports from Italy," Gromyko began, "make it clear that the Poles have acquired the ability to create atomic weapons.  This complicates the task of recovering those territories which the Poles and their Finnish and Estonian allies temporarily gained control of at the conclusion of the last war.  Until such time as the USSR acquires its own atomic weapons, Soviet policy regarding Poland must be adjusted accordingly.  Hence, our relations with the Polish imperialists over the short to medium term, which is to say within the next five to ten years, must pass through four stages.

"The first stage consists of isolating the Poles from the British and French imperialists, who are also in possession of atomic weapons, and if possible of pitting them against each other.  This is particularly urgent given the propaganda offensive the Poles have mounted in the West against the USSR, using their Trotskyist puppet Orwell.  The dialectics of Marxism-Leninism tell us that capitalist nations will inevitably come to blows as they compete with each other for resources and markets.  We must hasten this confrontation by using our agents of influence in London and Paris to popularize the idea that the Poles have designs on the Western puppet states of Hanover and Bavaria, and that an alliance with the USSR is the proper way to counter the Polish threat.

"The second stage consists of breaking up the alliance which the Poles have built up with the other imperialist states of Eastern Europe, notably Finland, Romania and Yugoslavia.  There is already a certain amount of concern within these states that the proposed Warsaw Pact Economic Community will be used by the Poles as a means of establishing economic hegemony.  The Soviet Union should offer trade incentives to these nations to encourage them to look beyond the Warsaw Pact for economic advancement.  Although this will of course require diverting economic resources from the Soviet Union's own civilian sector, the goal of disrupting the Warsaw Pact clearly must take precedence.

"The third stage consists of breaking up the Polish Commonwealth itself.  There already exist a number of nationalist political groupings within the various so-called autonomous regions of Poland seeking independence.  It should be our policy to provide financial and logistical support to these groups, and if possible to co-opt their leadership cadres to make them more receptive to the possibility of alliance, or even union, with the Soviet Union following their secession from Poland.

"The fourth stage consists of providing financial and logistical support to the Polish reactionary groups, especially the National Socialists, who wish to destabilize the current bourgeois regime.  In the absence of a viable Polish Communist Party" absent because Stalin had had all the Polish Communists liquidated after the war, but of course it wouldn't do to mention that, "the Polish reactionaries are the most likely candidates for this role.  A civil war between the bourgeoisie and the reactionaries would provide the ideal moment for the resumption of the liberation of Poland by the Red Army."

Taking a deep breath, Gromyko plunged forward to the conclusion of his report.  "The end result: over a hundred million people who currently suffer under capitalist oppression would live in Socialist freedom.  We would no longer have an implacable enemy in Central Europe, but a Socialist ally in the war against the imperialist regimes of France, Italy and Great Britain.  The march of Socialist progress will continue on, with humanity's further liberation under the sign of the sickle and hammer not far ahead."

There was another long pause while Gromyko waited for he knew not what.  Finally the speaker crackled to life again, and the tinny voice said, "Thank you for your report, Comrade Gromyko.  You have given me much food for thought."  Then came the words Gromyko had been longing for, but had hardly dared hope to hear.  "You are dismissed."

The door behind him re-opened, and Andrei Gromyko returned once more to the land of the living.


DBTL 27: Sejm as it Ever Was

Warsaw, Polish Commonwealth
8 February 1946

"I fail to see the problem," said Marshal Heinz Guderian.  "President Beck can simply dissolve the Sejm, can he not?  I recall that the Marshal" by which of course he meant his predecessor, Marshal Pilsudski "was careful to include such a provision in Poland's constitution for just such an eventuality as this."

As First Marshal of the Polish Commonwealth, Guderian was now a regular member of the small group that met every Friday morning in President Beck's office in the Belvedere Palace to prepare for the day's Cabinet meeting.  This day's meeting promised to be particularly memorable.

"Since the Marshal's death," explained President Josef Beck, "neither I nor President Slawek has ever exercised this particular power.  Up until now, there has never been any need."

"Some might argue," added War Minister Stanislaw Skwarazinski, "that there is no present need, either."

"General Sikorski would certainly say there was no need," said Prime Minister Edward Rydz-Smigly.  "I hadn't expected to hear you agreeing with him."

"Another provision of Poland's constitution," said Skwarazinski, "is that the Sejm cannot override a Presidential veto.  If Sikorski's bill passes--"

"When it passes," interjected Rydz-Smigly.

"If you insist.  When Sikorski's bill passes, President Beck need do nothing more than veto it, and the matter ends.  No need to dissolve the Sejm."

"If I were to veto this bill," Beck pointed out, "the Federalist party would break apart like an egg."

"And if you dissolve the Sejm?" said Skwarazinski.

"Then the party *might* break apart when the Sejm meets again in October." Beck answered.  "Or it might not.  Nine months is a long time."

"When the Sejm meets again in October," said Skwarazinski, "The National Democrats will introduce their bill again, and again you will face the choice of vetoing it or dissolving the Sejm.  This is not a problem that will go away, and the longer you put off a resolution, the worse the consequences will be for the government."

"What then?" said Rydz-Smigly.  "If we can't make the Sejm go away, and we can't make the bill go away, what can we do?"

"Sign it," Beck said suddenly.  "That's what you're getting at, isn't it, Stan?  I'm going to have to sign a bill making *Poland* an autonomous region within its own Commonwealth."

"It's absurd!" exclaimed Rydz-Smigly.  He looked to Guderian for support, but to his surprise the Marshal was shaking his head.

"Not so absurd as you think," said Guderian.  "I'm afraid this Commonwealth" he used the Polish word, rzeczpospolita "of yours isn't really yours any more.  Do you know what they call it in the German devos?  The Bundesrepublik.  No longer the Polnische Bundesrepublik, just the Bundesrepublik.  A year ago, they . . . we . . . fought to preserve it.  Now we, and the Galicians, and the Belarus, and even the Jews, think of it as our own country.  But if it belongs to all of us, then it no longer belongs solely to the Poles.  That is why Sikorski's bill has gained such support from the other nationalities.  They see it as a final admission by the Poles that the Bundesrepublik, the Rzeczpospolita, has grown beyond them."

"No," said Rydz-Smigly.  "This is unacceptable."  He stared at Beck and said formally, "Mr. President, I cannot and will not be a party to this . . . abomination.  You must not allow Sikorski's bill to reach your desk, and you most certainly must not sign it into law."

With equal formality, Skwarazinski said, "Mr. President, Marshal Guderian is right.  The Commonwealth *has* grown beyond the Poles.  This isn't what we intended when we created it, but the logic of subsequent events is inescapable.  Poles now make up less than twenty percent of the Commonwealth's population, less than thirty percent of the Sejm, and hold less than half of the posts in the Cabinet.  As wounding as this may be to our pride and vanity, it is an inescapable fact, and one we must adapt ourselves to."  Less formally, he added, "What surprises me is that the National Democrats have been willing to bite the bullet and accept the situation.  It never pays to underestimate Wladislaw Sikorski."

President Beck sat in silence for a long time.  Finally he sighed and said, "I fear that in this instance pride must give way before logic.  I will sign the Sikorski bill."

"In that case," said Rydz-Smigly, "I must offer my resignation from this government."  With a formal bow to the others, he turned and left Beck's office.

"And now the government has fallen," said Beck morosely.

"Governments have fallen in Poland before," said Skwarazinski.  "Frequently.  It is a tribute to the stability we have achieved that it has taken a crisis of this magnitude to bring the current one down."

"I don't mean the government of the Commonwealth," said Beck.  "I mean the government of Poland.  After this bill passes, the National Democrats are going to control the government of the new . . . Polish Devo.  And who can say what sort of mischief they'll get up to?"


DBTL 28: Everyone Avoids Me Like a Cyclone Ranger

Tokyo, Japanese Empire
18 March 1946

The Cabinet was subdued as it met on Monday morning.  The fate of the carrier Akagi the previous day was uppermost in the minds of all present.  Its aircraft had been assisting the defense of Wonsan in Korea when a flight of Red bombers based in Hamhung had attacked and sunk it.

"The loss of Akagi was a fluke," insisted Prime Minister Hideki Tojo.  "Our forces continue to hold firm in Korea.  The Soviets are preoccupied with the renewed civil war in China.  It is only a matter of time before our heroic troops achieve total victory in Korea and move on to liberate Manchukuo from the Bolsheviks."

The Japanese language has a number of polite circumlocutions for use in place of the phrase "I disagree with you".  Foreign Minister Shigenori Togo used one of these before saying, "The loss of Akagi was a foretaste of greater losses to come.  In the last six months, the number of Soviet aircraft in the Eastern theatre has increased fivefold."  With the Red Army dominating the land, and the Imperial Japanese Navy dominating the sea, the war between Japan and the USSR had mostly been fought in the air.  "Both Army and Navy air arms are suffering unsustainable levels of losses of both aircraft and crew.  Despite the fighting which has engulfed China since the assassination of Mao Tse-Tung and the collapse of the coalition government last month, the Red Army continues to press us.  They have maintained their redoubt on Sakhalin, and they continue their advance in Korea.  If we continue the war with the USSR, there can be only one outcome.  We will be driven from the Asian mainland completely, and Soviet forces will then advance down Sakhalin to threaten the home islands themselves.  We should advise the Emperor to bring the war to an end, accepting the loss of China and Manchukuo.  I would be remiss if I failed to remind those present that the Soviets offered us just such a truce one year ago, and that if we had accepted their terms we would still hold all of our former territories in China."

Admiral Mitsumasa Yonai, Minister of the Navy, said, "I do not believe the Foriegn Minister's assessment to be in line with the current situation.  Estimates of Soviet air strength may be exaggerated, and there can be no talk of invasion of the home islands.  During the Napoleonic Wars, the Royal Navy safeguarded the British home islands against attack for twenty years while the British and their allies gathered strength for the final assault upon Napoleon.  The Imperial Japanese Navy stands ready to safeguard the home islands for twenty times twenty years, until final victory over the Soviets is concluded."

General Korechika Anami, Minister of War, said, "I concur with Admiral Yonai's assessment.  A decisive battle has not yet been fought in Korea, and we maintain our positions in the Chinese port cities of Amoy and Swatow, from which we can advance at will into the Chinese hinterland.  It would be premature to accept Soviet control of China, especially given the fluid political situation there.  It is only a matter of time before we dislodge the Red Army from Sakhalin.  I do not believe that the current military situation warrants acceptance of any truce terms likely to be offered by the Soviets."

Tojo said, "Do I take it then that we are all in agreement concerning the continued prosecution of the war against the Soviets?"  Tojo waited for several seconds, but there were no dissenting voices.  "Very well.  I shall advise the Court concerning the results of our deliberations.  This meeting is adjourned."

As the various Cabinet ministers left for their respective ministries, a look passed between General Anami and Prime Minister Tojo.  If the ideas expressed in that look were to be translated into ordinary speech, they would take the form of the following exchange:

Anami: Do you think I should have Togo assassinated?

Tojo: Not just yet.  Let's see how the war goes.  If we suffer any more reversals, and he starts to sound off again about a truce, *then* we can whack him.


DBTL 29: Deutchland Unter Alles

Hanover City, Kingdom of Hanover
20 April 1946

"I say, Konrad old chap, what's all this talk I hear about us joining Poland?"

Edward of Saxe-Coburg und Gotha, former King of Great Britain and current King of Hanover, spoke flawless German with a pure Thuringian accent his royal great-grandparents would have been proud of.  Nevertheless, his upbringing in England had had a noticable effect on his manner of speaking.  Konrad Adenauer had become accustomed to it over the course of two years as Edward's Prime Minister, and now he hardly even noticed.

"Pay it no mind, Your Highness," Adenauer replied.  "It is simply the Communists trying to stir up trouble.  Your subjects no more wish to join the Polish Commonwealth than they would wish to join the United States of America."

"Well that's a relief, I must say," the King said.  "Abdicating one throne was tiresome enough.  Abdicating a second would be terribly monotonous.  Not to mention what the Queen would say."

"As you say, Your Highness.  However, your mentioning the subject has brought a related matter to my mind, which I desire to bring to your attention."

"By all means, old thing, feel free.  I'm all ears."

Adenauer remained silent for a moment as he marshalled his thoughts.  "Your Highness, while it is true that your subjects have no wish to become Poles, they nevertheless still wish to become Germans."

"But they *are* Germans.  Aren't they?"

"I fear not, Your Highness.  They are Hanoverians, Bavarians, Brandenbergers, Silesians, and Prussians, but they are not Germans."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at, Konrad.  They miss the old reich, do they?  The old fatherland."

"They do, Your Highness.  But they also know that after the excesses of the Röhm regime, the rest of Europe will not allow them to recreate a German reich."

"It's a pretty problem, isn't it, Konrad?  They can't live with us, and they can't live without us."

"Indeed, Your Highness.  And given these circumstances, it has become clear to a number of Germans throughout the former reich that our only hope for reunification is as part of a more general European Union."

"My word, that's a bit farfetched, don't you think?"

"Farfetched it may be, Your Highness, yet it is our only hope.  And if a united Europe is our only hope for a united Germany, then it is to a united Europe that we Germans must dedicate ourselves."

"Konrad old chum, I see that this European Union business is one that is close to your heart, and I certainly admire your dedication.  Still, I have to wonder if anyone apart from us Germans is going to see any merit in the thing.  I daresay the English won't be too keen on it."

"Your Highness, I have been in contact with a number of men outside Germany who agree with us on the desirability of bringing the nations of Europe closer together.  Monsieur Schuman of France, for one, and Señor Prieto of Spain as well."

"Sterling fellows I've no doubt, but I can't help noticing that neither one holds any actual office at the moment."

"Perhaps not, Your Highness, but Foreign Minister Masaryk of Czechoslovakia has also expressed an interest, as has Prime Minister Mestrovic of Yugoslavia.  And while the current British government is, as you say, not too keen, Mr. Eden of the Opposition feels otherwise."

"It sounds to me as if you're leading up to something, Konrad."

"Your Highness is perceptive as always.  My discussions with these worthy gentlemen, while fruitful in their way, have remained both unofficial and unpublicized.  It is time, I feel, to advance to the next stage of the process: the convening of a general conference in which the notion of a European Union may be given a public airing.  Hanover is, I believe, ideally situated to act as host for such a conference.  If it please Your Highness, I wish for you to issue a general invitation to the statesmen of Europe to meet together in Magdeburg."

"Ah, because Magdeburg is where the old postwar zones of occupation came together."

"Precisely, Your Highness.  Magdeburg is at the confluence of Hanover, Bavaria and Brandenburg.  It forms the keystone of Germany, and hence of Europe as a whole.  If we are to build a united Germany within a united Europe, then Magdeburg is the logical starting point."

"I can't imagine you'll accomplish much at this conference of yours."

"Your Highness, as the Chinese say, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  At this point, we simply wish for the people of Europe hear of our enterprise.  It is not necessary for them to support us, or agree with us, or even take us seriously.  Those will be tasks for the future.  For now, all we require is their attention."

"It could all come to nothing you know, Konrad.  Your conference could turn out to be a total fiasco, and we'd all end up looking quite the Guys.  It might be better to simply forget the whole business and let things remain as they are."

"I do not believe that, Your Highness.  I cannot and will not.  Europe *will* be united, and when that day comes, men will look back upon our conference and see it as the work of visionaries who laid the first foundations of future greatness.  One day, Your Highness, you will be honored as the founding father of a United Europe."

"I say, Konrad, do you really think so?  Gosh, that would be something, wouldn't it?  Very well, then, send word out to all your chaps and tell them to come round to Magdeburg.  It's time to get this whole European Union thingie moving along!"


DBTL 30: Ruling Coalition

Warsaw, Polish Devo, Polish Commonwealth
5 May 1946

There is a room somewhere in the city of Warsaw.  The room's location is unimportant; what is important is the identities of the two men meeting there.  One is Wladislaw Sikorski, leader of the National Democratic Party and newly-elected Marshal of the Polish Devo Sejm.  The other is Boleslaw Piasecki, Duce of the National Socialist Polish Workers Party.

"This is very dangerous," Sikorski stated.  "It was not necessary for the two of us to meet."

"Oh, I happen to think that it was *extremely* necessary for the two of us to meet," said Piasecki gleefully.  "I wouldn't want you to go and forget just whose votes were responsible for your current exalted position."

"Let's get one thing straight," said Sikorski.  "Your party's assistance is a convenience, not a necessity.  I could have formed a coalition with the Peasants Party.  If I decide that you're becoming a liability, I can still do so."

"You think so?" said Piasecki.  "All those wealthy landowners who pay your bills would not take kindly to having their estates appropriated and parcelled out, and that's the price you'd have to pay if you wanted the Peasants Party on board.  Maybe you could manage it, and maybe you couldn't.  And don't forget, Mikolajczyk would demand plenty of seats on the Governing Council.  Me, I understand the need for discretion.  Wouldn't do to have a bunch of jackbooted blackshorts marching up and down the Council chamber, so I'll be happy to remain the silent partner and let all you respectable National Democrats appear in the group photographs.  But . . . "

Long seconds passed as Piasecki allowed his sentence to hang.  His eyes gleamed with amused malice.  Sikorski remained impassive.

"But," Piasecki finally continued, "I'll only stay silent as long as I see that my concerns, and those of my constituents, are being taken care of.  Skwarazinski's traitors have practically handed over the keys to the country to a bunch of filthy yids.  You can't swing a dead cat in Warsaw without hitting kike police and teachers and bureaucrats.  They even let Jews on television, for Christ's sake!  Polluting the minds of good, decent Poles with their vile, lecherous depravity!  I'm going to want to see results, Sikorski, and I'm going to want to see them fast!  In six months, I want to see the Devo's municipal police departments Jew free!  In a year, I want nothing but good, decent Poles teaching our children!  Let me down, and you can kiss your government goodbye!"

Having spoken his piece, Piasecki seemd ready to leave, but Sikorski raised his hand, and the Duce remained in place.  Now it was Sikorski's turn to sit in silence, and Piasecki's to wait for him to speak.

"Piasecki," Sikorski said finally, "I meant what I said.  You're a convenience, not a necessity.  I don't care about your twisted demands.  My government's policies will be what I think best, not what *you* think best.  If you're not happy with them, then by all means, try and bring me down.  You'll find my successor a lot harder to deal with than me."

Giving the Marshal one last malicious grin as he left,  Piasecki said, "Not if your successor is me."


To parts 31-40