Impossible Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “And we don’t want to be under it when it comes down, either,” Kuttner said.

  “Too right.”

  In the distance, a train whistle echoed through the night. The sound was almost eerie, but it also spurred them into motion. Kuttner got ready to strike the match. Axelrod restrained his arm.

  “Steady lad. I want to wait until the train has no hope of stopping. There’s no reason to make this any easier for Jerry than we can help.”

  “Uh, sorry, Guv.”

  Axelrod stood, listening to the oncoming train. His boss in Six wanted the bridge to come down, and if he could drop an entire train into the gorge, his evening would be complete. The timing now seemed to be right.

  “Light it up,” he said.

  Kuttner obligingly lit the match and touched it to the fuse.

  “Okay, Lad, time to beat feet. The Huns will soon be crawling all over this place.”

  The two men ran up the embankment to the road that passed under the bridge and continued running. Axelrod planned to continue walking until just before daybreak, and then find some undergrowth in the forest to hide. He was much more comfortable moving around at night. Thirty seconds later, they heard the muffled report of the explosives. This spurred them to pick up the pace.

  The explosive cut the bridge supports, causing it to sag slightly, but not collapse. The locomotive engineer did not notice the change as the night train thundered onto the bridge. With a creak and a groan, the roadbed shifted to one side, dumping the lead cars of the train off the bridge. This pulled the rest of the train into the gorge in a series of crashes, followed by the bridge itself, which then collapsed.

  Axelrod looked over at Kuttner as they slowed to a walk. “I’d say, from the sounds of it, that we accomplished what set out to do.”

  Kuttner nodded glumly. “How many people do you suppose we killed?”

  “Now, you really can’t think about that, Lad. This is war, and people die during war. Winston has decided this is the best way to go about it for the moment, and who are we to question that.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  July 5, 1942; 9 PM

  Prater Garten

  Berlin, Germany

  “I have never seen a ceremony come off the rails like that,” Misty Simpson giggled. “Especially in Germany.”

  Misty was the First Secretary for the American Consulate in Berlin, and as such, often received invitations to major events in the capital of the Reich.

  Karl Rainer blushed and shook his head. “Anybody can have a bad day. Our number came up on Friday. I must admit, it was spectacular.”

  “The Reich Chancellor must have been furious,” she continued. “This was the major event of the summer, was it not?”

  Rainer raised an eyebrow and glanced about the room, obviously unsure how to answer. Herr Schloss’s reaction was not exactly a state secret, but it was probably not something to be widely spread.

  “Let us just say, Misty, that the Reich Chancellor was satisfied with the end result.”

  She took a sip of her lager and studied her company for the evening. Rainer was the head of the German SS, which made him the second or third most powerful man in Germany. Not only was she the First Secretary of the Consulate, she was the agent in place for the American OSS. That being case, she was uncomfortable being seen in public with someone like Rainer. Not that he was anything but the consummate gentleman and host, but she worried about compromising her position with the U.S. government. And she also worried that being seen with an American woman would cause Rainer problems. She was very fond of Rainer, and given the situation, wondered why she had agreed to see him again.

  “Satisfied that the Luftwaffe’s problem with timing ruined the Berlin Gauleiter’s speech?”

  Rainer laughed. “Not exactly. No, the Luftwaffe was exactly on time. The Minister of Propaganda confirmed that fact.”

  She thought about what he had told her, before speaking. “So… the Berlin Gauleiter was long-winded.”

  Rainer nodded slowly.

  “And this satisfied the Reich Chancellor?”

  “Misty, this is something that we would like to communicate to your government. I feel guilty about using you as a conduit. I don’t want to be guilty of giving you misinformation, but I worry that you might be accused of that.”

  She cut a piece of Sauerbraten and popped it into her mouth. She chewed on it for a bit and swallowed.

  “This is very good Karl. I’m glad you brought me here tonight. And under the circumstances, let me worry about whether or not I have been compromised.”

  “Very well, Misty. And, thank you. The Reich Chancellor… well, and those of us in the leadership of the government, have been concerned about how to deal with the Cult of the Führer that the Nazis nurtured over the past ten years. The memorial may well have become a temple to Hitler, with its attendant acolytes. Your experience in Munich represents the people we are talking about.”

  Earlier in the spring, Misty had taken a trip to Munich to meet with the head of the radical resistance to Schloss. Even as an accredited representative of the United States government, she had nearly been murdered. Except for her quick thinking, and the timely rescue by Karl Rainer, she would have been among the missing.

  She was thinking about what Karl had just told her. “So how did the mess-up in the schedule contribute to the Reich Chancellor’s desires?”

  “The situation injected a bit of levity into the proceedings,” Rainer said. “He was happy to have things taken slightly less seriously.”

  She was silent for a few moments and studied him over the rim of her mug. “He thought it was funny, didn’t he?”

  Mein Gott, Rainer thought to himself, she can read me like a book!

  She smiled at him and then decided to take him off the hook. “I can see where this is useful information for my government to have. I will, of course, communicate this to them.” Then she laughed. “So, Herr Schloss thought it was funny. When he stood up to rescue the Gauleiter, he looked like he had just swallowed a frog. I thought it was probably in horror over what happened. He was trying very hard not to laugh, was he not?”

  “I do not know that for sure,” Rainer replied, “but I must presume that was the case. Peter Schreiber whispered something to him at the beginning of the ceremony, and I presume from the Reich Chancellor’s reaction that it was very funny.”

  “That kind of surprises me,” she commented. “Herr Schloss is the picture of the ascetic, very proper Teutonic warrior. People like that do not have a sense of humor.”

  Rainer snorted and then turned his face to the side trying to cough up the beer that he had inhaled.

  “Excuse me, Misty, but I should not try to talk and drink at the same time.”

  “From your reaction, I can conclude that the Reich Chancellor does have a sense of humor.”

  “His sense of humor mainly involves tormenting those around him.”

  “Then he must be a very funny man,” she said triumphantly, “since it is clear he likes to tease you.”

  He looked down to concentrate on the food on his plate. She laughed softly and laid her hand on his.

  “I’m sorry, Karl, I shouldn’t be that way, but what you have told me is that the German leadership is very human.”

  “We are not Nazi supermen,” he said. “And I pull my pants on every day much as anyone else.”

  “And you are not quite sure how to handle Americans who poke at your sense of propriety.”

  “One American, anyway.” He smiled to take away the sting. “Will you be attending the conference in Lisbon?”

  “A change of subject?” she smiled. “I have requested that I go, but I have not heard back yet. Gordie is going, as he should. He has been insufferable about it.”

  H. Gordon Smoke was the American Chargé d'affaires in Berlin, and very badly wanted to be appointed the next Ambassador to the Reich when the United States restored full diplomatic relations. Smoke and Misty Simpson engaged in constant war
fare across the breadth of the consulate, although each ultimately respected the others’ roles.

  “This is an important meeting for us,” he said. “We badly need to get the measure of your new government. We most assuredly do not want to go to war with the Americans. For me, I would be delighted if we were able to renew our old friendship with your country.”

  “And what of Herr Churchill?” she asked.

  “We were disappointed, but not really surprised when he refused to attend. I suppose getting the English foreign minister is more than we hoped.”

  “Even though he will not meet directly with you?” she asked.

  “President Wallace wants to end this war. You can be sure Vice-President Truman will be exerting a lot of pressure on the English. If we can get them to agree to sit across the table from them, Herr Schloss is prepared to be somewhat flexible in reaching terms.”

  “Somewhat flexible?” she arched her eyebrows. “That is an interesting phrase.”

  “We cannot return to status quo ante, nor would we want to. We think, though, we could reach a more satisfactory solution than the Congress of Vienna did in 1815.”

  “You could hardly do worse,” she said.

  “True. But, in this case, we would welcome the Americans as a neutral intermediary to help us hammer an agreement together.”

  “That is very interesting, Karl. Is this an official request?”

  “No. This is an informal exchange of information. We wish to be sure your government understands our position ahead of the Lisbon Conference.”

  “I would be happy to pass that information along. Should you not be talking to Smoke, though?”

  “I am sure our foreign office will be communicating with Herr Smoke. However, I felt that a slightly different route might ensure the message arrives unsullied.”

  She stared at him. “I do not know quite how to answer that, Karl.”

  “We simply desire that your government understands us unambiguously. By making sure the message arrives from multiple sources, there will be no misunderstandings.”

  She nodded. “I understand, Karl. I will see that the message is delivered.”

  “Fine,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Now that we have that bit of business out of the way, do you have plans for the rest of the evening?”

  § § §

  July 5, 1942; 10 PM

  530 Helmutstrasse, #7

  Berlin, Germany

  Theodor Morell looked across the room at Karl Brandt. While each heartily detested the other, they were unlikely allies in the mission to restore a proper form of Nazism to Germany. Also, sitting in the room was Josef Kranz, a dentist, and fervid Nazi.

  “So, we are convinced that Schloss is taking Germany in the wrong direction?” Morell asked.

  “He murdered Bormann and he also murdered Himmler and Goebbels,” Brandt said. “After the death of the Führer, these were the people who were holding the nation together. And, Schloss has stopped our cleansing of the nation of the Jews and other Untermenschen.”

  “So, what do we do?” Kranz asked. “I wish I had been aware of Schloss's tendencies when he was in my office last year.”

  “You are his dentist?” Brandt asked with surprise.

  “Oh, yes. I have treated him for years.”

  “Is there anything you know about, that we might use to our advantage?” Morell asked.

  “There was one strange thing,” Kranz commented. “He came to my office so I could repair a broken tooth. I had pulled that tooth two years ago, and my records showed that. And there was now another tooth in its place.”

  “How could that be?” Brandt wondered. “Teeth do not just grow back.”

  “I have heard of wisdom teeth growing back, again,” Kranz said. “But never molars. That simply never happens.”

  “So, what do you think the answer is?” Morell asked.

  Kranz wrung his hands together. “I didn’t know what to think. I still do not. My only thought is that somehow maybe the English managed to slip a double into the government. That would also explain why Schloss has backed away from the vigorous measures Herr Hitler pursued.”

  Brandt folded his hands in front of his face as he thought. He had heard things and even had an opportunity to examine Schloss. This was before Rainer had sacked him from his position in February. Schloss would occasionally slip, and say things that did not make sense… unless, somehow, a doppelganger had been placed in the government.

  “Can you give me a copy of your records, Dr. Kranz?” Brandt asked. “I may be able to get them a hearing.”

  “I would be glad to allow you to photograph them,” Kranz replied. “But, I would prefer they not leave my office.”

  “I can understand that. I can have someone contact you and arrange to photograph them in an unobtrusive manner.”

  “Do you really think there is something to this?” Kranz asked.

  “Something is very wrong,” Brandt replied. “I plan to assemble the evidence and present it to someone in the government whom I trust. It will be up to him to take action.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Brandt,” Kranz said. “That eases my mind considerably.”

  § § §

  July 6, 1942; 8 AM

  Government Council Room

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “Churchill has managed to push us into a corner,” Schloss said. “With the Lisbon conference coming up, we have limited practical responses.”

  “I think we should bomb one of the English railway bridges,” Goering stated firmly. “We must show them they are not allowed to do things like this.”

  “And if we kill a lot of English civilians in the process?” Peter Schreiber asked.

  “There were one-hundred-thirty-four good Germans killed when that train fell into the gorge in Solingen,” Goering now shouted. “Our job was to protect them. Things like this should not happen.”

  “Gently, Hermann,” Schloss said. “I agree this was an outrageous act of terrorism on the part of the English, and it needs to be answered. What do the rest of you think?”

  “The Christmas bombing,” Rainer commented. “We retaliated against military targets, even though civilians were killed. I dislike having our people held hostage by the English, but our policy has worked well for us.”

  Schloss looked down the table to where Admiral Wilhelm Canaris sat. Canaris had headed the Abwehr or the military intelligence service since 1935.

  “What do you think, Herr Admiral?”

  The patrician-looking admiral affected his trademark, almost-smirk as he gazed back at the Reich Chancellor.

  “Can we afford to do anything this close to the conference?”

  “A good point,” Schreiber said.

  “And if we do nothing, we will be seen as weaklings,” Goering stated. He still sounded belligerent.

  “That is a possibility,” Schloss conceded. “It is clear that Churchill respects strength.”

  “You see,” Goering said, “we must retaliate.”

  “What are you thinking, Herr Reich Chancellor?” Rainer asked.

  “That we should have made some kind of announcement yesterday.”

  “But we could not come to an agreement, Herr Schloss,” Goering said.

  “Yes, and I have let the discussion go on for too long. This is my responsibility. Peter, go ahead and prepare a statement that we protest this act of English terrorism in the strongest possible terms, and are planning an appropriate response.”

  “Very well, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Schreiber said. “I can have a statement for you within an hour of when we adjourn.”

  “And what will our appropriate response be?” Goering challenged.

  “Why, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Schloss said with a small smile, “that is what we need to decide next.”

  Goering looked disgusted. “You obviously have something in mind, Herr Schloss. I do not appreciate the way you tease us with these little hints. It seems to me like you
are making all the decisions.”

  “And why is that, Herr Goering?” Schloss shouted. “It is because it is true.” He pointed to the heavyset man. “You have seen how our measured responses have worked well in the past, yet you continually suggest returning to a losing policy.”

  He then pointed to Canaris. “And you, Herr Admiral, you spend your time being inscrutable, and you have consistently failed to predict these attacks on the Fatherland! And Herr Rainer,” he continued, “you tell me you have not managed to catch the miscreants who blew up our railroad bridge and killed all those poor people. And God knows what Ribbentrop is now doing in Baghdad.”

  “What are you saying, Herr Reich Chancellor?” Goering persisted.

  “What am I saying, meine Herren? I am saying we need to step up our game. Badly. Over the past year, we have been successful by being smarter than the English. We are getting complacent. We should have had a response tucked away, ready to use, after Saturday night. Forgive me for shouting. This is as much my fault as yours. Hermann, Admiral, both of you start working on possible responses. We will meet again tomorrow, and I will want some options. Are we clear here?”

  “Clear, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Goering muttered. “We will get right on it.”

  Canaris gazed at Schloss with his trademark smirk.

  “Clear, Herr Admiral?” Schloss spoke sharply.

  Canaris merely nodded.

  Schloss glared at him for a while and then turned to the rest of the group.

  “Very well. I believe we are done here for the morning. I am not happy with you, or myself. We are on the cusp of a major breakthrough concerning this war. But, I fear we will waltz into Lisbon unprepared, and Herr Truman will hand us our heads.”

  He turned and marched out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  July 8, 1942; 2 PM

  Reichsmarshall’s office

  RLM Building

  Berlin, Germany

  “I am honored that you came to visit me at my office, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Goering said, after shaking hands with Schloss.