of Luftflotte , the air-force command that would confront
Britain in time of war. But word had reached the field marshal
that Kessler had panicked in London that during the
“Rhineland crisis” he had ordered all the air attaché’s papers
burned and had persuaded the army attaché Lieutenant Colonel
Bechtolsheim, to do the same.
Kessler uncomfortably tried to justify his decision. “I was
sure then that the British would fight.”
“You are wrong,” said Göring. “Henderson had just left
me. He tried to work on my tear glands. I told him that if
there’s a war, Britain will be smashed.”
Since Kessler stuck to his guns, Göring angrily paced the
room producing arguments pointing to a German victory. “We
have powerful allies. Poland and Italy will be with us.”
As Kessler continued to express strong doubts, Göring’s
face became doleful. “I’ve got to demand one thing, that the
chief of staff of the Luftflotte confronting Britain has faith that
we can smash Britain if she declares war.”
Kessler pointed to the problems of fighting a sea power,
and the likelihood that the United States would join in.
“The United States will not poke its nose into European
affairs,” said Göring flatly. “And Britain will be impotent once
her fleet is sunk. I agree our puny German Navy can’t do this,
but our air force can. Where there’s a will there’s a way!”
As the general left, Göring made a note that the general
had an inferiority complex, and he ordered his future appoint-
ment canceled.
Göring had no intention of allowing anything “catastrophic” to
happen. In faraway Godesberg on the Rhine, Hitler was pre-
paring to meet Mr. Chamberlain again, but in East Prussia the
stags were in full cry, a symphony to Göring’s ear. The rutting