4

      Amid the activity of the Supreme Command headquarters, only one man was in repose: standing quietly in the shadows awaiting the Kaiser’s arrival was Admiral Paul von Hintze, newly appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs. He had been in the job less than a month, and he was tired. There had been little or no time for sleep since his appointment.

      Among the staff officers and aides there was an air of controlled yet feverish anticipation. It was the fourth and final attack of General Ludendorff’s great strategic offensive – or the ‘Kaiser Offensive’, as the newspapers would have it – designed to smash through the trenches and the wire, break the will of the French and British, and force a peace on Germany’s terms, before the Americans could arrive and save the day. The great opening bombardment was set to begin at midnight.

      At the centre of the room was a large map of the Western Front, and from his position von Hintze could see the coloured ribbons that demarked the great scar that ran down the centre of Europe. He took grim satisfaction that all the ribbons were in French or Belgian territory. Ludendorff’s first three attacks had been successful, but how could one advance across Europe, push to within fifty miles of Paris, withstand every counter-attack, and still not be victorious? Von Hintze knew that the answer lay off the map…in the Atlantic where the British were blockading Germany and starving her into submission. The first three waves of Ludendorff’s attack had washed across the fields of France and Belgium, and then…simply run out of energy. There were no coloured ribbons to represent the hunger of the soldiers, the fatigue and desperation that sapped the will of the most ardent warrior.

      There was a sudden movement at the large doors, a command, and every military man in the room snapped to attention as the Kaiser entered. He was, on this night, dressed immaculately, in the uniform of the Supreme War Lord. In his withered left hand he clutched the hilt of his sabre, in his right a Field Marshal’s baton.

      For a moment von Hintze was struck with a pang of pity for the man. While they were almost the same age, and distantly related, psychologically they were opposites. Wilhelm had grown up conscious of his deformity and the need to both hide it and compensate for it. Embarrassed and terrified by his own inferiority, he had developed an arsenal of strategies to deflect any crisis, erase every slight, and expunge every weakness from view. As an emperor ruling by divine right, it was inevitable that Wilhelm would adopt the pose of the hyper-masculine War Lord, but Von Hintze, with his naval background and his experience as a diplomat, was adept at reading men’s motives. He did not consider himself a politician by any means, and had always preferred to work quietly, if possible behind the scenes.

      As the Kaiser entered the room, his mood seemed ebullient. He smiled at the field officers bowing to him, but von Hintze knew that if today’s attack failed, or if any news arrived in the evening that hinted at a setback, Wilhelm could easily be plunged into paranoia and angry depression. Among the intimates of the Kaiser his quirks and preferences were common knowledge, but now von Hintze studied the man closely, for in his new job as Minister he would have to orchestrate miracles.

      He made his way across to the great map and approached the Kaiser. Wilhelm saw him and manufactured a smile that could not quite mask his wary look. Von Hintze bowed stiffly, then moved closer. ‘If I might have a word with you, All Highest.’

      ‘After we start things, I hope,’ said the Kaiser glancing towards the map. He had come to headquarters to mingle with his generals; the presence of von Hintze could only mean a fresh problem, the kind that could not be solved by howitzers.

      There was the muted buzz of a field telephone from the desk just in front of them. Ludendorff looked up and said very quietly, ‘The attack has begun.’ The Kaiser raised his baton in salute and a ripple of applause spread through the room. For a moment afterwards there was a silence that hung in the room, as if they were all holding their breath, then the magic vanished as a series of telephones buzzed into life.

      ‘How long will the bombardment continue?’ the Kaiser said, his sharp voice cutting through the din.

      ‘A full hour, Majesty. Eight thousand guns, the largest bombardment of the war,’ said Ludendorff with pride. Looking at him von Hintze could not tell if he was smiling or not.

      ‘Excellent. The largest! Well, well.’ The Kaiser turned to von Hintze. ‘Perhaps this is a good time then?’

      ‘There’s plenty of time. Your car is waiting, Majesty.’ Ludendorff had laid on a visit to an observation station. It was a particularly clear night and the Kaiser would be able to watch the pyrotechnics as the bombardment progressed over the Allied lines guarding Rheims. It would also serve to get the Kaiser out of his hair, keep him happy for a while.

      ‘Yes, I understand, but there are other matters.’ Von Hintze reached around and guided Ludendorff by the elbow. ‘Please, All Highest, if we might…’ They began to walk away from the map table into the shadows, and von Hintze lowered his voice. ‘It’s information about the…special case.’

      ‘Ahh,’ said Ludendorff, ‘the special case, yes, of course.’

      It seemed to Von Hintze that the Kaiser’s face suddenly became stricken. ‘Yes, yes…very important. Very good, Hintze. Is there any progress?’

      ‘At the moment there is a crisis, since the Czech deserters are approaching the city. What action to be taken is a question that finally only you can answer, All Highest.’

      ‘Ahh, please, no,’ the Kaiser said, shaking his head. Everyone knew that he hated to actually take a decision. His normal reaction would be to bluster and threaten, then he would inevitably vacillate, and then the postponements would start.

      ‘First, Majesty, as to the disposition of the special case, the British have said no.’

      ‘Then there is no option left,’ Ludendorff intoned.

      Wilhelm turned and glared at him, shook his head violently. ‘The British will change their minds when they see a sure thing in front of them. They always do.’

      ‘Among the British, the war has been unpopular, particularly among the working classes. Any gesture of support to a monarch, even one as benevolent as your cousin Nicholas, would inflame the various Socialistic elements within the country. In short, they are afraid of repercussions, Majesty,’ von Hintze said. Having Ludendorff there made it easier to be direct.

      ‘Yes, but didn’t we talk about that?’

      ‘Yes we talked, but it doesn’t change anything,’ Ludendorff said, turning to glance back at the map table.

      ‘Yes, Majesty. We spoke specifically about the idea of a change of identity, of anonymity, but –’

      ‘What’s wrong