Of course, sir. You may say what you like, at whatever length you like. In victory, Model could afford to be magnanimous. He had even granted Marshal Zhukov leave to speak in the Soviet capitulation at Kuibyshev, before the marshal was taken out and shot.
I thank you. Auchinleck stiffly dipped his head. I will say, then, that I find the terms I have been forced to accept to be cruelly hard on the brave men who have served under my command.
That is your privilege, sir. But Models round face was no longer kindly, and his voice had iron in it as he replied, I must remind you, however, that my treating with you at all under the rules of war is an act of mercy for which Berlin may yet reprimand me. When Britain surrendered in 1941, all Imperial forces were also ordered to lay down their arms. I daresay you did not expect us to come so far, but I would be within my rights in reckoning you no more than so many bandits.
A slow flush darkened Auchinlecks cheeks. We gave you a bloody good run, for bandits.
So you did. Model remained polite. He did not say he would ten times rather fight straight-up battles than deal with the partisans who to this day harassed the Germans and their allies in occupied Russia. Have you anything further to add?
No, sir, I do not. Auchinleck gave the German the signed surrender, handed him his sidearm. Model put the pistol in the empty holster he wore for the occasion. It did not fit well; the holster was made for a Walther P38, not this man-killing brute of a Webley and Scott. That mattered little, thoughthe ceremony was almost over.
Auchinleck and Model exchanged salutes for the last time. The British field marshal stepped away. A German lieutenant came up to lead him into captivity.
Major Lasch waved his left hand. The Union Jack came down from the flagpole on the India Gate. The swastika rose to replace it.
LASCH TAPPED DISCREETLY on the door, stuck his head into the field marshals office. That Indian politician is here for his appointment with you, sir.
Oh, yes. Very well, Dieter, send him in. Model had been dealing with Indian politicians even before the British surrender, and with hordes of them now that resistance was over. He had no more liking for the breed than for Russian politicians, or even German ones. No matter what pious principles they spouted, his experience was that they were all out for their own good first.
The small, frail brown man the aide showed in made him wonder. The Indians emaciated frame and the plain white cotton loincloth that was his only garment contrasted starkly with the Victorian splendor of the Viceregal Palace from which Model was administering the Reichs new conquest. Sit down, Herr Gandhi, the field marshal urged.
I thank you very much, sir. As he took his seat, Gandhi seemed a child in an adults chair: it was much too wide for him, and its soft, overstuffed cushions hardly sagged under his meager weight. But his eyes, Model saw, were not a childs eyes. They peered with disconcerting keenness through his wire-framed spectacles as he said, I have come to enquire when we may expect German troops to depart from our country.
Model leaned forward, frowning. For a moment he thought he had misunderstood Gandhis Gujarati-flavored English. When he was sure he had not, he said, Do you think perhaps we have come all this way as tourists?
Indeed I do not. Gandhis voice was sharp with disapproval. Tourists do not leave so many dead behind them.
Models temper kindled. No, tourists do not pay such a high price for the journey. Having come regardless of that cost, I assure you we shall stay.
I am very sorry, sir; I cannot permit it.
You cannot? Again, Model had to concentrate to keep his monocle from falling out. He had heard arrogance from politicians before, but this scrawny old devil surpassed belief. Do you forget I can call my aide and have you shot behind this building? You would not be the first, I assure you.
Yes, I know that, Gandhi said sadly. If you have that fate in mind for me, I am an old man. I will not run.
Combat had taught Model a hard indifference to the prospect of injury or death. He saw the older man possessed something of the same sort, however he had acquired it. A moment later, he realized his threat had not only failed to frighten Gandhi, but had actually amused him. Disconcerted, the field marshal said, Have you any serious issues to address?
Only the one I named just now. We are a nation of more than three hundred million; it is no more just for Germany to rule us than for the British.
Model shrugged. If we are able to, we will. We have the strength to hold what we have conquered, I assure you.
Where there is no right, there can be no strength, Gandhi said. We will not permit you to hold us in bondage.
Do you think to threaten me? Model growled. In fact, though, the Indians audacity surprised him. Most of the locals had fallen over themselves fawning on their new masters. Here, at least, was a man out of the ordinary.
Gandhi was still shaking his head, although Model saw he had still not frightened him (a man out of the ordinary indeed, thought the field marshal, who respected courage when he found it). I make no threats, sir, but I will do what I believe to be right.
Most noble, Model said, but to his annoyance the words came out sincere rather than with the sardonic edge he had intended. He had heard such canting phrases before, from Englishmen, from Russians, yes, and from Germans as well. Somehow, though, this Gandhi struck him as one who always meant exactly what he said. He rubbed his chin, considering how to handle such an intransigent.
A large green fly came buzzing into the office. Models air of detachment vanished the moment he heard that malignant whine. He sprang from his seat, swatted at the fly. He missed. The insect flew around a while longer, then settled on the arm of Gandhis chair. Kill it, Model told him. Last week one of those accursed things bit me on the neck, and I still have the lump to prove it.
Gandhi brought his hand down, but several inches from the fly. Frightened, it took off. Gandhi rose. He was surprisingly nimble for a man nearing eighty. He chivvied the fly out of the office, ignoring Model, who watched his performance in open-mouthed wonder.
I hope it will not trouble you again, Gandhi said, returning as calmly as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary. I am one of those who practice ahimsa: I will do no injury to any living thing.
Model remembered the fall of Moscow, and the smell of burning bodies filling the chilly autumn air. He remembered machine guns knocking down Cossack cavalry before they could close, and the screams of the wounded horses, more heartrending then any womans. He knew of other things, too, things he had not seen for himself and of which he had no desire to learn more.
Herr Gandhi, he said, how do you propose to bend to your will someone who opposes you, if you will not use force for the purpose?
I have never said I will not use force, sir. Gandhis smile invited the field marshal to enjoy with him the distinction he was making. I will not use violence. If my people refuse to cooperate in any way with yours, how can you compel them? What choice will you have but to grant us leave to do as we will?
Without the intelligence estimates he had read, Model would have dismissed the Indian as a madman. No madman, though, could have caused the British so much trouble. But perhaps the decadent raj simply had not made him afraid. Model tried again. You understand that what you have said is treason against the Reich, he said harshly.
Gandhi bowed in his seat. You may, of course, do what you will with me. My spirit will in any case survive among my people.
Model felt his face heat. Few men were immune to fear. Just his luck, he thought sourly, to have run into one of them. I warn you, Herr Gandhi, to obey the authority of the officials of the Reich, or it will be the worse for you.
I will do what I believe to be right, and nothing else. If you Germans exert yourselves toward the freeing of India, joyfully will I work with you. If not, then I regret we must be foes.
The field marshal gave him one last chance to see reason. Were it you and I alone, there might be some doubt as to what would happen. Not much, he thought, not when Gandhi was twenty-odd years older and thin enough to break like a stick. He fought down the irrelevance, went on, But where, Herr Gandhi, is your Wehrmacht?
Of all things, he had least expected to amuse the Indian again. Yet Gandhis eyes unmistakably twinkled behind the lenses of his spectacles. Field Marshal, I have an army too.
Models patience, never of the most enduring sort, wore thin all at once. Get out! he snapped.
Gandhi stood, bowed, and departed. Major Lasch stuck his head into the office. The field marshals glare drove him out again in a hurry.
WELL? JAWAHARLAL NEHRU paced back and forth. Tall, slim, and saturnine, he towered over Gandhi without dominating him. Dare we use the same policies against the Germans that we employed against the English?
If we wish our land free, dare we do otherwise? Gandhi replied. They will not grant our wish of their own volition. Model struck me as a man not much different from various British leaders whom we have succeeded in vexing in the past. He smiled at the memory of what passive resistance had done to officials charged with combating it.
Very well, satyagraha it is. But Nehru was not smiling. He had less humor than his older colleague.
Gandhi teased him gently: Do you fear another spell in prison, then? Both men had spent time behind bars during the war, until the British released them in a last, vain effort to rally the support of the Indian people to the raj.
You know better. Nehru refused to be drawn, and persisted, The rumors that come out of Europe frighten me.
Do you tell me you take them seriously? Gandhi shook his head in surprise and a little reproof. Each side in any war will always paint its opponents as blackly as it can.
I hope you are right, and that that is all. Still, I confess I would feel more at ease with what we plan to do if you found me one Jew, officer or other rank, in the army now occupying us.
You would be hard-pressed to find any among the forces they defeated. The British have little love for Jews either.
Yes, but I daresay it could be done. With the Germans, they are banned by law. The English would never make such a rule. And while the laws are vile enough, I think of the tales that man Wiesenthal told, the one who came here the gods know how across Russia and Persia from Poland.
Those I do not believe, Gandhi said firmly. No nation could act in that way and hope to survive. Where could men be found to carry out such horrors?
Azad Hind, Nehru said, quoting the Free India motto of the locals who had fought on the German side.
But Gandhi shook his head. They are only soldiers, doing as soldiers have always done. Wiesenthals claims are for an entirely different order of bestiality, one which could not exist without destroying the fabric of the state that gave it birth.
I hope very much you are right, Nehru said.
WALTHER MODEL SLAMMED the door behind him hard enough to make his aide, whose desk faced away from the field marshals office, jump in alarm. Enough of this twaddle for one day, Model said. I need schnapps, to get the taste of these Indians out of my mouth. Come along if you care to, Dieter.
Thank you, sir. Major Lasch threw down his pen, eagerly got to his feet. I sometimes think conquering India was easier than ruling it will be.
Model rolled his eyes. I know it was. I would ten times rather be planning a new campaign than sitting here bogged down in pettifogging details. The sooner Berlin sends me people trained in colonial administration, the happier I will be.
The bar might have been taken from an English pub. It was dark, quiet, and paneled in walnut; a dart board still hung on the wall. But a German sergeant in field gray stood behind the bar, and despite the lazily turning ceiling fan, the temperature was close to thirty-five Celsius. The one might have been possible in occupied London, the other not.
Model knocked back his first shot at a gulp. He sipped his second more slowly, savoring it. Warmth spread through him, warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the evening. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers. A long day, he said.
Yes, sir, Lasch agreed. After the effrontery of that Gandhi, any day would seem a long one. Ive rarely seen you so angry. Considering Models temper, that was no small statement.
Ah, yes, Gandhi. Models tone was reflective rather than irate; Lasch looked at him curiously. The field marshal said, For my money, hes worth a dozen of the ordinary sort.
Sir? The aide no longer tried to hide his surprise.
He is an honest man. He tells me what he thinks, and he will stick by that. I may kill himI may have to kill himbut he and I will both know why, and I will not change his mind. Model took another sip of schnapps. He hesitated, as if unsure whether to go on. At last he did. Do you know, Dieter, after he left I had a vision.
Sir? Now Lasch sounded alarmed.
The field marshal might have read his aides thoughts. He chuckled wryly. No, no, I am not about to swear off eating beefsteak and wear sandals instead of my boots, that I promise. But I saw myself as a Roman procurator, listening to the rantings of some early Christian priest.
Lasch raised an eyebrow. Such musings were unlike Model, who was usually direct to the point of bluntness and altogether materialisticassets in the makeup of a general officer. The major cautiously sounded these unexpected depths: How do you suppose the Roman felt, facing that kind of man?
Bloody confused, I suspect, Model said, which sounded more like him. And because he and his comrades did not know how to handle such fanatics, you and I are Christians today, Dieter.
So we are. The major rubbed his chin. Is that a bad thing?
Model laughed and finished his drink. From your point of view or mine, no, but I doubt that old Roman would agree with us, any more than Gandhi agrees with me over what will happen next here. But then, I have two advantages over the dead procurator. He raised his finger; the sergeant hurried over to fill his glass.