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.
"Fat, of course," the Reich Minister said, winking and patting his own stomach in self-deprecation. The others laughed again. "For margarine. And oil. Not for lighting anymore, no, we're no longer harpooning to read by. For munitions, Hart. Whale fat is a valuable ingredient of glycerin. And sperm oil is preferred for precision machinery such as fighter plane engines. The whale is vital for waging modern war."
"So this expedition isn't just for scientific purposes?" Hart asked.
"Science and national destiny are inextricably linked in the modern world," answered Heiden, making a rare contribution to the conversation.
"Well said, Captain!" exclaimed Göring. "Knowledge is power!"
"Knowledge is also progress, " added Greta. "After all, what ultimately sets us apart from the whales is what we know."
"But this is a peaceful expedition?" persisted Hart, despite a frown of disapproval from Kohl.
Göring grew serious. "Life is competition, Hart," he said. "I don't draw the distinction between peace and war that the naive do."
"I think Owen's real question is whether the Schwabenland is a warship," said Kohl, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.
"No, of course not! Do you think we'd enlist an American in our navy? Your mere presence underlines Germany's peaceful intentions. No, no, no. We sail for knowledge, but knowledge with purpose: to explore Antarctica and to establish our rights."
"We stake our claim in peace," Heiden said.
"Exactly," the Reich Minister said. "And if the Norwegians get in our way, our spirits are prepared for war!"
CHAPTER FIVE
The Schwabenland looked like an unpacked steamer trunk, its holds popped open and Antarctic supplies strewn on the Hamburg docks. Crates, canvas bags, tanks, tubes, and coils of rope and wire were heaped as if in anticipation of Christmas. Wooden skis were bundled like firewood, tents came wrapped in their own ropes and pegs, and cargo sleds machined in Bavaria were precisely lined on the creosote dock timbers as if on military parade. Pallets of canned food shone dully under the gray German sky, freshly filled and without rust. There were ice axes, crampons, fur parkas, boots, nets, carboys, buoys, snow shovels, backpacks, camp stoves, a case of Scotch whiskey, and a box of Spanish oranges. Be prepared, Hart quoted to himself.
Perched on the vessel's stern were two twin-engined Dornier Wal seaplanes, mounted to catapults that stretched for one hundred and forty feet along its deck. "So these are the birds," the pilot whispered to himself. The flying boats were big: sixty feet long with a ninety-foot wingspan. Struts held the wing and engine housing above a narrow, boatlike fuselage that nested on enormous floats. On the tail was a swastika. The Wals looked a bit ungainly but Hart knew they were famous for dependability and