"I want to make an agreement with your country, and I want to ask for your support!"
Major Mainz spoke with unusual frankness to President Woodrow Wilson. His purpose was transparent, his nationality and allegiance easily guessed. Since there was no point in secrecy, Mainz chose honesty, hoping to create an impression of fairness and directness.
"Oh? Tell me, what exactly do you want us to promise you?"
President Wilson smiled faintly. He seemed unsurprised by Mainz's words.
"I hope that your country will mediate and prevent the French government from continuing its invasion of Germany. My homeland will not accept the fate of being dismembered!"
Wilson raised his eyebrows. From the German perspective, such a request was entirely reasonable. Yet from the viewpoint of the victors, especially France, it was another matter. To them, Germany had taken Alsace and Lorraine after the Franco-Prussian War. Now, having defeated the Second Reich, France believed it natural to reclaim territory and exact revenge.
"Well," Wilson said carefully, "is there anything else?"
He did not commit to an answer, preferring to hear all of Mainz's demands first.
"The German army cannot accept the Entente's plan to put Field Marshal Hindenburg on trial. This is not about Hindenburg alone—it concerns the honor of the entire German army. He is no different from your generals and marshals—he fought for his homeland. Such a man cannot be branded a war criminal, for he never ordered the massacre of civilians nor deliberately sought unnecessary slaughter. Please, do not go too far."
The words carried the sharpness of defiance. Wilson felt the other man's steel, though he also sensed the impropriety of such boldness from a defeated nation.
"Even if we support your claims," Wilson asked gravely, "do you think such arguments will persuade Britain and France?"
The implication was clear: determination alone was not enough. Germany needed strength.
Hearing this, Mainz felt a hidden relief. Wilson's words hinted at genuine interest in cooperation. Otherwise, he would not have bothered to give such a suggestion. Mainz had sounded blunt, even reckless—but the statement was necessary. It expressed both the German army's position and tested America's reaction.
If Washington truly wished to balance against Britain and France, they would not be angered by such defiance, for the words were directed at London and Paris, not at them. If, however, the United States intended to side with Britain and France, Wilson would have been furious.
Now, it seemed, Wilson's stance was clear. America intended to pursue its own interests, not blindly follow Britain or France.
"Understand this," Mainz pressed on, his voice hardening. "Marshal Hindenburg commands 1.2 million soldiers—battle-hardened veterans of the Western Front. They are not a defeated rabble but a mourning army, inflamed by the destruction of their homeland. If the French attempt to arrest him, these men will take up arms once more."
This time, Wilson did not bristle at Mainz's firmness. Instead, he smiled.
"Good. I understand your determination. But if we are to help you, what do we gain in return?"
At those words, Mainz's spirits lifted. This was the decisive moment. Everything depended on what he said next.
His reply was simple, sharp as a blade:
"Because we share the same enemy—the British Empire."
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After leaving Wilson, Major Mainz did not return to his residence. Instead, he sought an audience with Prime Minister David Lloyd George in London.
But unlike Wilson, Lloyd George refused even to meet him. The British government had no interest in private discussions with German envoys.
This came as no surprise. Britain and France were still bound tightly together by shared interests: suppressing Germany, dividing its colonies, and crushing independence movements in their own empires. Until those matters were resolved, the Entente would remain united.
Perhaps, if France attempted something extreme—such as annexing all of Germany—Britain might intervene, unwilling to let Paris dominate Europe. But until then, the Anglo-French alliance stood firm.
Lloyd George saw no profit in angering France by meeting German representatives in secret.
Mainz understood there was little hope of swaying Britain.
And so, after a month's stay in London, Major Mainz and his delegation departed on February 14, 1919, bound for China.
Before leaving, however, Field Marshal Hindenburg issued a final order: Mainz was to deliver Germany's formal protest directly to Marshal Ferdinand Foch, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces. The message was sharp, uncompromising—Germany would not bend quietly to humiliation.
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