When Adolf Hitler wants something, he gets it by applying an identical series of pressures to individual men within parties, individual parties within nations, and individual nations within blocs. The first step is to make each unit distrust every other unit. Next he surrounds each with an iron circle of this hostility and suspicion. Then he gives each unit to understand that, in the final reckoning, it and it alone will be awarded the fruits of victory—provided it obeys his every command. Later still he tantalizes each with alternating spasms of worry because the others seem temporarily to be in favor, and then of delight because the others are being worried. Finally he moves in for the kill—and spares no single unit.
Last week he had reached the next-to-last stage in dealing with the Balkan nations. To get what he wanted—a solid Europe and a sure shield around his Achilles' heel, Salonika—he might have to wait for spring weather. But he had the Balkans convinced that the kill was imminent. Feb. 25, some whispered; March 1, others said; soon, all agreed.
Bulgaria, in the midst of terrible fear of being overrun by the Nazi Army, looked about and began to realize that it was already overrun. There were not many Germans in Bulgaria, probably not more than 5,000. But Bulgarians thought they saw them everywhere. They saw Germans in ski clothes leave Sofia hotels early every morning in automobiles. They saw Germans in civilian overcoats driving through the countryside by the truckload. They saw Germans shoring up bridges, building up the shoulders of highways, stocking airfields with gasoline.
The farming people—80% of Bulgaria's population are peace-loving, pro-Russian farmers—scarcely knew what to think. They heard that schools were being shut down for fear of epidemics: but no one was sick. It frightened them to learn that Joseph Stalin had notified Bulgaria he would do nothing to resist German penetration. When Premier Professor Bogdan Filoff, on the first anniversary of forming his Cabinet, filled the only important Cabinet post to their way of thinking (the Ministry of Agriculture) with a notorious pro-German, Dmitri Kuscheff, it bewildered them: had not shrewd Ivan Bagrian-off been eased out of the same job for the very reason that he was pro-German? They were secretly pleased but also disturbed to hear that an oil train destined for Germany had been totally wrecked just inside the Bulgarian border.
At week's end the people learned two sickening truths. The Government came right out and said that the Nazis intended to march their Army across the land to attack Greece—i.e., there was nothing to be done about it. And the British Minister to Bulgaria, George William Rendel, answered this with a curt announcement: "If the Germans occupy Bulgaria and make it a base against our ally, obviously we shall have to break off relations with Bulgaria and take whatever measures the situation requires"—i.e., Britain would make war on Bulgaria, and nothing could be done about that either.