THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel by Paul Wonnacott Page A

concentrated spearheads, to cut through enemy lines. Victory goes to the bold and the aggressive. Will the French be bold and aggressive? I simply don't know.”
    “And the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. What do you make of it?”
    “For goodness sake, Josef, do let Kaz have a bite to eat,” Anna pleaded.
    “Thanks, darling, but I really don't mind. The Russians mystify me. I can see Hitler's objective—keep the Russians out of the game while he attacks Poland. But the Russians? Why did they sign the Pact, giving Hitler a free hand? I can see only one answer. Stalin may hope that the Germans and French will bleed each other white. If that happens, the stage may be set for Communist revolutions throughout Europe.”
    “Bleed each other white. Strange. That's exactly what Stefan said,” Josef observed. “But he was referring to the other side of Europe. The French and British may renege ontheir commitment to us, hoping that Hitler and Stalin will exhaust each other, fighting it out.”
    “And what would happen to us while the two elephants were fighting?” Kaz asked. “Let's hope that there's some shred of honor left, that the French and British help us.”
    “Uncle Michal?” Josef was now acting as chairman.
    “Stefan has a point,” he replied. “France and Britain do have a reason to abandon us. Hitler's occupied Austria and Czechoslovakia and cut a deal with Stalin; it may already be too late for the Western Allies to influence events in this part of Europe. Nevertheless, I think the British Parliament will force Chamberlain's hand—make him declare war to avoid utter humiliation. The ones who really worry me are the French. Last spring, they promised to invade Germany from the West within two weeks if Hitler attacked us. At the time, I had no confidence that they would honor that commitment. As we'll soon be approaching winter, I have even less confidence now.”
    “But what about the British?” asked Sisi. The gravity of the crisis was beginning to sink in.
    “Their pledges are ludicrous. The Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Ironside, promises to match any air raids on us—one for one—with similar raids on Germany. Just a few weeks ago, when diplomats were trying to put together a broad Soviet-Western alliance to stop Hitler, Stalin lost interest when he came to the conclusion that the Western countries weren't serious. The feckless French and the bumbling Brits.”
    Once again, everybody looked distinctly uncomfortable.
    “There is, however, a glimmer of hope,” Uncle Michal added. “If we can get through the next three or four weeks without an invasion, we may make it. It will be too late for Hitler; he'll have little hope of defeating us before the bad weather.”
    Uncle Michal didn't add his main worry. If Hitler really was after Lebensraum —if he wanted somewhere for the expanding German population to live—he might drive Poles out of their country. He might even start killing civilians to encourage the survivors to flee eastward. A fight with Germany would be bloody, but surrender might be even bloodier.
    Anna felt a rising terror, taking with it any lingering doubts about the value of her codebreaking exercise. And she felt panic for Kaz. She needed the reassurance of holding him; she had had quite enough of the depressing conversation. As soon as Kaz was through his main course, Anna made her excuses and the newlyweds retired.
    The next morning, she was floating in a dreamy, semiconscious state, cuddling in Kaz's arms, when she became vaguely aware of Sisi practicing the piano in the distance. First it was one of Chopin's etudes; then Beethoven's Für Elise . She wasn't satisfied with her treatment of the opening bars; she repeated them over and over again. Suddenly, Anna was wide awake. "That's it!” She said, sitting up abruptly in bed. "Repeats. Repeats. That's the secret.”
    “Secret? Repeats?” said Kaz groggily, only half awake.
    “Repeats, darling, repeats,” she said, leaning