Schmidt spoke up. "The truth is, Owen, like all explorers we don't know
exactly
where we're going. We've selected an area of interest with an eye to competing national claims and are looking for a possible permanent site for research, but this is of course an investigation of a new world." He took a puff. "You and your fellow pilots will be our eyes, from the air."
Hart nodded. "Well, I've got good eyesight, Dr.... Schmidt," he remembered. "You've been to sea before?"
"No, I've volunteered for this opportunity because it will allow me to explore my medical interest: the body in environmental extremes."
"You mean cold?"
"Cold and simplicity. No group of people has ever really
inhabited
Antarctica, and few plants and animals exist there. What remains, I hope, is medical truth shorn of the complexities and prejudices of our warmer world. To understand polar perils is to take a step toward conquering them, yes?"
"Or avoiding them, as we prudent pilots might advise." The others laughed, and the pilot, encouraged by this good humor, turned to the woman. "And Greta, you're a biologist? Looking at polar bears perhaps?"
She looked amused. "If you've truly been to Antarctica you know as well as I do that there are no bears there. Penguins, of course. And seals. But I'm primarily interested in krill."
The pilot nodded politely. "Those little shrimp things? We saw clouds of them in the ocean back in '34."
"Whale food, Hart! Whale food!" Göring boomed. "The key to scientific management of Antarctic whaling. One of many keys to Germany's bright future."
"Then this mission may indeed have significance for our whaling industry, Reich Minister?" Kohl inquired, with the tone of one who already knew the answer.
"What whaling industry, Otto?" Göring growled. "The damned Norwegians have a near-monopoly down there. They've laid a territorial claim and tried to chase others out. Well, two can play that game. This expedition will lay its own claim and with it the justification for expansion of the German whaling effort. Whale fat and oils are vital to sustaining our expanding economy. And the greatest whales in the world are to be found in that region."
"So," Hart said, turning back to Greta. "You'll be taking a census of this whale food?" He was intrigued by her. He'd never heard of a woman going to Antarctica.
"That and more," she replied. "I'm interested in the relationship between the world of the great— the whale, for example— and the small. The latter is my field of expertise: plankton, protozoa, bacteria, viruses..."
"Germs," Hart said with a grin.
"Yes, germs. You might not think so, but they reside in Antarctica too. They're capable of adapting to every condition, including cold. It is this adaptability of life that interests me."
Drexler piped up. "Greta is a woman who can look in a microscope and see a universe. We're lucky to have her." Greta smiled to acknowledge the compliment.
A bit obvious, Hart thought. He wondered what their relationship was.
* * *
"Hermann," Leni said, "Mr. Hart expressed interest in your trains."
"Really?" Göring said, his mood clearly jovial. "Are you a railroad enthusiast as well as an aeronaut?"
"Uhm, well, I like trains." He glanced at Kohl, who nodded approvingly. Drexler looked at Hart with amusement.
"Ha! I tell my staff it's an organizational exercise," Göring said, smiling. "Designing the tracks, scheduling the trains: not so different from running a nation. But secretly, Hart, I'm convinced we men remain boys, relishing our toys. We leave it to women to be the grown-ups in the house while we play in the outside world. It's one of the reasons I'm so happy that I'm a man— if you can forgive that, Miss Heinz!" Again, the group joined in his laughter.
"And why I'm happy to be a woman."
Göring bowed.
Puffing a bit, the Reich Minister led his entourage up a winding balustrade toward the attic. As they began to ascend Hart found himself just behind and to the right of Greta. Still curious about her, he tried to think of something to say but Drexler smoothly moved in front of him and slipped beside her, forcing the pilot to pause a moment on the stairs to avoid a collision. The tips of the German's fingers brushed her elbow as if to guide her and he whispered a comment. She raised her wineglass to her lips as they climbed, moving her arm slightly out of reach, but she also granted him a look and smile. Hart fell back.
The party went through an arched wooden door and filed into a dim, cavernous room. When all were present Göring flicked on the lights. Under the eves sprawled an enormous track set with model trains lined up on sidings. The set was the biggest Hart had ever seen: scale-model miles of track and a score of locomotives. Curiously, scenery was absent as if irrelevant to Göring's vision; the layout did indeed resemble some kind of enormous organizational chart in its abstract complexity. Hart was struck by its sterility. There were no miniature people in it.
"Oh Hermann, let me operate one of the trains!" Leni begged. Göring chuckled at her interest.
"And Mr. Hart, you must direct another!" the Reich Minister said. He showed them the controls. With a few jerks as he adjusted the speed, Hart managed to begin moving his train out of its station. The actress succeeded too. The trains traveled around a vast oval, occasionally passing each other on different tracks. It took some concentration to hold their speed at curves and pause at crossings to avoid a possible collision. The others watched politely, chatting among themselves.
"Your skill as a pilot serves you well as an engineer," said a soft voice at Hart's elbow. He glanced sideways. It was Greta.
He nodded, smiling tightly. "I was warned I might be tested, but no one talked about model trains." He nodded toward the actress at the other end of the control box. "Herr Göring does have an enthusiasm for toys, it seems."
Greta shrugged. "She's just for show. Did you know that the Reich Minister took a bullet at the Putsch?"
"Causes him a great deal of pain, apparently."
"In many ways. It was in the groin. Direct your jokes and sympathies accordingly." She smiled mischievously.
Suddenly Göring's voice boomed. "Now, Hart, you must observe airpower in action! Your direction is impressive but what if you're caught in an extremity? How does one keep the system functioning?" He paused dramatically, then pushed a button.
There was a rattle and something swooped down from the shadowy eves above. Hart thought for a moment it was a swallow. Then he saw it was a model of a German Stuka dive-bomber, gliding down across the train as it dangled from a sloping wire. Göring stabbed another button and a pellet fell from its belly, arcing in with expert aim to bounce off one of Hart's boxcars. "A direct hit!" Göring exclaimed. "In combat your train would be cut in two." He laughed. "The next war will be decided in the air."
There was another rattle and a second model airplane flew jerkily down and released again, this time striking Leni's train. "Oh
pooh,
Hermann!" she exclaimed. "You're such a bully!"
Göring's eyes were already on Hart's train again as it rounded a curve. A third airplane rode its wire down from the gloom, aimed for Hart's engine. The pilot considered a moment, then tightened his hold on the electric throttle. When the pellet fell, he slammed his train to a halt. The bomb bounced harmlessly across the track ahead.
"Flying by wire is too predictable," Hart said.
Göring smiled, but a bit less broadly. "Very true. A quick reaction, Mr. Hart. Unpredictability is the first lesson of war." He emphasized this last, as if he'd sought to make that point to the others. "But I would still have cut the track."
"No matter." The pilot threw his train into reverse. "As a man of prudence, I'd be backing out of that war zone as fast as possible." The group laughed, Greta clapping her hands once in applause.
"And yet there might be an even better strategy." It was Jürgen Drexler, catching the woman's eye. "If you would allow me to take a turn at the controls, Owen?"
"Certainly." The American surrendered the throttle and backed away. The trains began moving around the oval again.
Greta was watching the German with interest and Hart searched for something to continue their conversation. "I understand the Reich Minister is the most popular of Germany's leaders," he finally tried.
She kept her gaze on the railroad, speaking quietly so as not to be overheard. "He's a brave man, I think. But he's had much trauma in his life. Years of exile and poverty, a virtual political outlaw. The loss of his first wife. The wound. It explains perhaps the morphine, the weight, the clothes."
"He certainly likes to dress up."
Greta lowered her voice even further. "We Germans joke about it. The story goes that Göring's Forestry Ministry was going to harvest the Tiergarten to build him an adequate-sized wardrobe. But the chief forester had to report back that the trees were gone already, they'd all been sawed into his coat hangers! We don't laugh at him, we laugh with him, because we can identify with his appetites. Or at least we try not to judge."
"Yet he judges us." Hart saw Göring's hand stray toward the button that would release his model warplanes.
"We serve at his pleasure. It's different here in Germany, Owen. We're a society with a purpose, but to have such purpose you can't rely on the mob: it must be directed by a few great men."
"I don't think the American voter thinks of himself as a mob."
She shrugged. "Still, someone must be in charge."
Just then there was a familiar rattle and a Stuka swooped down, its rigid wheels like the talons of a raptor. Hearing the noise, Drexler calmly reached across the control panel and threw a switch. "I've watched you at the controls, Reich Minister," he explained. His train shunted onto a new line just as Göring released his bomb. The pellet landed squarely on the newly emptied track and Drexler's train rumbled calmly past the impact point.
"Ach! Touché, Jürgen!" Göring exclaimed. "I'm outwitted!" The political liaison's train accelerated. "And on you go to your destination!" He laughed.
With the Reich Minister's good humor the others laughed too. Drexler nodded in acknowledgment and stole a glance at Greta. She replied with an encouraging smile. Owen found himself irked by the demonstration.
"Do you consider yourself a man of strong opinions, Owen?" she whispered, still watching Drexler.
He looked at her curiously, wondering if he'd become a toy in some game he didn't understand. "I... am adaptable, I guess."
She nodded knowingly. "That's obvious."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you're here. In Germany. With us."
"No," said Hart, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I'm not
with
you, not
against
you. I'm simply on my way to Antarctica. Where politics don't apply."
"Ah! Wait until you get on the
Schwabenland.
A confined society, a long voyage. Humans wear politics as tightly as their skin." She was teasing him.
"Is that why Jürgen is necessary?"
She shrugged, watching the blond German as he stole a glance at them again. "Jürgen reminds us why we're here. He sees things clearly."
Drexler brought his train into the station. "I was admittedly fortunate that your attack coincided with the availability of a siding," he told the Reich Minister. "But there is a lesson here, no? A lesson for us in Antarctica, perhaps. If one way doesn't serve, another may suffice."
"Indeed, your twist has demonstrated the endless complications of war," Göring agreed. "Which is why battle is not as simple as it appears in the history books. Well. My Luftwaffe is out of bombs. Perhaps we should adjourn for dinner?"
There was no disagreement.
Greta moved off to congratulate Drexler. Over her head, he nodded at Hart.
* * *
The group filed down the stairs to a baronial dining room with timbered ceiling and glittering candles, more suits of armor posted in the shadows like hovering waiters. Two more lovely women— one a model, another an aspiring starlet, Hart gathered— joined the group. Göring took his place at the head of the table with the two actresses at either side and the model at the foot, facing him. There otherwise didn't seem to be assigned seating. Greta moved toward a chair and Drexler quickly moved forward to touch the back of an adjacent one as if asserting the spoils of victory. But at the last moment she unbalanced things by slipping sideways around Feder— "Alfred, I'd like to map out a sampling calendar based on your expected arrival and departure dates," she murmured— and swiftly plopped down between the geographer and Hart, giving the American pilot a quick smile. Owen sensed someone else looking at him. It was Kohl across the table, frowning and giving a barely perceptible shake of his head.
"And Owen," Greta said, turning away from Feder. "I'd like to learn more from you about America!"
"Well," Hart said, surprised by her continuing attention, "America is a bit what I suspect
you
to be: energetic and adventuresome."
"Ah. And unsettled?"
"You're describing yourself?"
"Perhaps."
"Hmm. Well, the frontier has closed. But the nation is uncompleted. America is an experiment, still playing itself out."
"Then perhaps that
is
me," she said, smiling.
Course followed course, Göring commenting on the food like a gourmand as he explained its origins or spicing or preparation. Given his girth and enthusiasms, it seemed almost appropriate when he finally turned the conversation back to whales.
"The most astonishing creatures," the Reich Minister said. "I believe the Creator placed them here as much for the nourishment of the soul as for the nourishment of industry. Of course, it is the latter that preoccupies me at the moment. To a strong nation the whale is as important as steel."
"Important for what?" Hart dared, genuinely curious. While he knew whaling continued in the world, he'd always thought it belonged more to a bygone era of sailing ships and
Moby Dick.