Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
EPILOGUE
GERMANICA, ÜBER ALLES!
Deep in the heart of Europe's Alps in the redoubt called Germanica, Nazi propaganda master Josef Goebbels and a battalion of Nazi zealots hold out against a frantic final Allied push to end World War II. With Churchill losing his election, De Gaulle consolidating his rule over a newly liberated France, and Stalin asserting his own nefarious land-grab in Eastern Germany, only America, led by its untried new president Harry Truman, remains to face the toughest of Nazi warriors as they hunker down for a bitter fight to the last man.
Goebbels knows that if he can hold out just a bit longer, the war weary of the Western nations will back away from unconditional surrender for Germany, and he and his zealots can remain in power never to answer for their war crimes, and able prepare for the moment when their hateful Nazi ideology is ready once again to rise from its alpine grave and strike at the heart of humanity!
But there are Americans and a few stalwart Europeans just as determined to put a final stake in the Nazi heart. It is now up to heroes in the making such as newly minted O.S.S. operative Ernie Janek, commando Captain Scott Tanner, and formerly enslaved Czech "Jew" Lena Bobek, to bring down the dark Nazi menace growing like a cancer in the mountainous heart of the continent.
BAEN BOOKS by ROBERT CONROY
Himmler’s War
Rising Sun
1920: America’s Great War
Liberty 1784
1882: Custer in Chains
Germanica
Stormfront (upcoming)
To purchase these and all Baen Book titles in e-book format, please go to www.baen.com.
Germanica
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Robert Conroy
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Book
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-4767-8056-6
Cover art by Kurt Miller
First Baen printing, September 2015
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Conroy, Robert (Joseph Robert), 1938–
Germanica / Robert Conroy.
pages ; cm. — (More... ; 1)
ISBN 978-1-4767-8056-6 (hardcover)
1. World War, 1939-1945—Germany—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.O51986G47 2015
813'.54—dc23
2015025751
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)
Printed in the United States of America
INTRODUCTION
The Nazi retreat to a fortress in the Bavarian Alps in 1945 never really happened. It was seriously considered by those in the German high command who wanted to go on fighting, either in Germany or elsewhere, or those who didn’t want to die in Berlin. But Hitler forbade it. The Allied command was divided about the seriousness of the threat. Some were concerned that a large German army holed up in the mountains would be almost impossible to root out without incurring large numbers of American casualties, while others thought that the whole idea was a fantasy. This worry impacted on Allied strategy, including having some influence on the decision to not send the U.S. Army to take Berlin ahead of the Russians. Instead, the Allies concentrated on cutting off large numbers of Germans, thus keeping them from reaching their presumed mountain sanctuary. Berlin was left to the Russians. They took it after desperate and bloody fighting and then savaged the town and the city’s population in an orgy of rape and murder. Hitler died in the ruins and his remains were taken by the Russians where they kept them hidden for decades.
The United States was war-weary and there was still the planned invasion of Japan to contend with. Battles in the Pacific had convinced the U.S. leaders that invading Japan would be a bloodbath. Thus, the war with Germany had to be concluded as soon as possible so that the full power of the United States military could be concentrated against it. The idea of a Nazi-led German army holding out in the mountains for months, perhaps years, horrified Allied leaders.
The German high command’s idea for the redoubt was not to win the war; that was no longer possible. They wanted the cult of Nazism to survive, along with themselves, of course. Hitler wished to die in Berlin and he did, but it was his potential heirs who wanted to go to the mountains. There they wished to exact enough American blood so that the U.S. would negotiate a peace that left at least a small version of Nazi Germany intact.
Hitler did not change his mind about the redoubt until April 18, 1945, when it was far too late to implement.
But what if he had ordered the development of the redoubt just after the failure of his attack in the Ardennes, the Battle of the Bulge? A mad dash to the mountains would have occurred. Hard and bitter fighting would have resulted as the Nazis did their best to convert the Alps into an impregnable citadel. Would the U.S. have negotiated an end to the war in Europe in order to end the killing? FDR was dead and Churchill had been voted out of office by a war-weary British population. Who knows what might have happened? And what if the United States began to fear that the Germans actually did possess at least one atomic bomb along with the means to deliver it? Pressure for peace would have been intense. The horrors of the death camps were only just being discovered, and many still doubted the extent of the killings.
As I have done in previous novels regarding Nazi Germany, I have chosen to use the English equivalents instead of the overlapping and often confusing German and Nazi system of ranks. It’s just easier.
Many outstanding histories have been written about the closing months of World War II in Europe and some days I think I’ve read all of them. The most recent is Rick Atkinson’s magnificent The Guns At Last Light, and I’ve shamelessly borrowed a number of facts from that work.
To the best of my knowledge, there was no 105th Infantry Division active in World War II. Therefore, all characters from that unit are fictitious, including the commanding generals.
Robert Conroy
CHAPTER 1
I feel pain, therefore I am. At least I don’t think I’m dead. Maybe I’m in hell, Tanner thought. If this was hell, then why the hell was hell so cold? He thought that was funny and almost giggled. He realized he was lying down, which made a kind of sense if maybe he really was dead.
“Captain Tanner, you okay?”
The voice came from his left. Tanner tried to speak but his mouth was too dry and he could only gag. He tried to generate some saliva. “Is there any water?” he finally croaked.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna have to get it yourself. Or have you forgotten what happened?”
His mind was cloudy and his head was pounding. Exactly what had happened? He began to recall German artillery shells exploding near him, his being slammed to the ground, and clumps of earth falling on him. After that, noth
ing. Clearly he had been stunned. But was he hurt badly? It didn’t seem like it. His arms and hands moved, which was a good sign, and he used them to check the rest of his body. All was present and apparently in good order. There was a bandage on his arm and his right knee had been wrapped.
He was on the ground and lying on his back. There was a large hole in the roof of whatever building he was in and he could see the low-hanging clouds that had hampered American air operations and protected the Germans. Someone had laid a blanket over him. He rolled his lanky six-foot frame onto his side and sat up. The world swam for a minute and then stopped. “You better hurry, Captain, or you’re gonna miss the surrender.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The regiment’s surrendering, sir. Maybe the whole division. I don’t think there’s been anything like it before in this man’s army.”
That’s ridiculous, Captain Scott Tanner thought. But was it? His mind was clearing some more and he recalled visions of German tanks and infantry coming through the snow, the mist and the rain, overrunning and overwhelming the inexperienced and thinly spread out 106th Infantry Division. Now he recalled men running in panic from the onslaught. He saw them being blown to bloody pieces by shells from German artillery and tanks. Many senior officers had been as bad as the enlisted men and the junior officers. Stunned by the ferocity of the totally unexpected German onslaught, too many had been indecisive. They had done nothing while the division was cut to pieces. Yes, some men and units had fought bravely, but so many men had frozen, unable to give orders or make decisions. Or worse, had abandoned their posts and their men to their grim fate.
Tanner dimly recalled firing his carbine at shapes in the mist and swirling snow. He thought he might have hit someone, but wasn’t certain. All had been chaos and confusion and terror. Finally, he’d run in panic with the others and the thought shook him. Army captains were supposed to lead, not run screaming for help that wasn’t there. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a combat officer, he was supposed to lead and he hadn’t. He had failed and it made him ashamed and bitter.
The 106th was a new division and had been put in the line on December 11, 1944 to gain a little experience fighting the Germans. The division had been given far too much front line area for one division to cover. Don’t worry, the division’s commanders were told. The area they’d been assigned was presumed to be calm and as safe as a combat area could be. The men could train and patrol and maybe get a little fighting experience.
Too bad nobody told the Germans. On December 16th, the Germans had attacked in overwhelming strength.
Tanner managed to stand up. He lurched over to where a canteen lay on a table. He looked around and saw that he was in some badly damaged farm house. He took a swallow and began to feel better.
“You know you could share, Captain.”
Tanner recognized the man on the floor as a private named Peters. His legs were in splints and, almost sheepishly, Tanner brought him some water. A second man lay by Peters. His name was Tucker. He too was a private. Tucker was unconscious and breathing shallowly. Tanner dribbled some water on Tucker’s lips but got no response.
“He’s been like that for a while,” said Peters. “Corpsman said he didn’t think he’d make it. I didn’t look, but the medic said there’s a big dent in his skull. If you want to roll him over you can see his brains.”
“No thank you. Tell me about the surrender?”
“Well sir, you know we got our asses kicked by the Krauts. We were surrounded and outnumbered and outgunned and outfought and, oh yeah, outsmarted.”
Tanner interrupted. “I remember that much. Who decided that anyone was going to surrender?”
“Hell, I don’t know. The medic said that two of the division’s three regiments were surrendering and that the third one had gotten away. He said our position was hopeless and that he was going down the road to tell the Germans that there were wounded in this farmhouse. That was a couple of hours ago so they ought to be back here pretty soon.”
Tanner took a deep breath. Did he want to surrender, to become a prisoner of war? Hell no. But did he have any other realistic choices? The Germans were all around. Could he get through and go west to where the American lines had to be? The Germans couldn’t have pushed the Americans too far back, could they? He decided that he had to try it. The weather was cold and miserable. Snow had started falling again. A prison camp might be dry and warm, but it would still be a prison. He could be there for years, maybe decades or even the rest of his life. Everybody had said that the Nazis were on their last legs and would collapse soon. Sure. The ongoing German offensive had just shot that idea all to hell. Now it looked like the war could go on forever with him in a prison compound. No thank you. He would leave this hellhole and go west. If he didn’t make it, he could surrender all by himself.
He picked up his M1 carbine and gear. He had two clips of ammunition, but only a handful of packs of rations. Once more the world moved and stopped. Another deep breath and he was back in control.
“Peters, if anybody remembers there were three of us, tell them that I left right after the medic did. I wish I could take you with me, but you know that’s not possible.”
“Understood,” said Peters. “You can’t carry us and you sure as hell can’t drag us around by the arms. No, sir, you get the hell out of here and when you reach safety, just remember us.”
Tanner reached down and shook Peters’ hand. “I will. You won’t be forgotten.” He was surprised by the depth of emotion he felt. It was terrible to abandon the two helpless soldiers, but there was no way he could take them.
He patted Tucker on the head. No response. “Germany may be hard on Jews,” he said to Peters, “but I’ve heard they’ve been treating prisoners of war pretty decently. You’ll be okay. The war can’t last all that much longer.” Too bad he didn’t mean it. This last German offensive proved that the Krauts were a long ways from dead.
He saluted them and stepped to the doorway. I hope they’ll be okay, he thought. He looked outside and down the muddy road. A German vehicle was approaching, although very slowly. Tanner ducked out the back way and used the farmhouse to shield him from the approaching Germans. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do, he hid in some hay and threw snow over himself while he waited to see what would happen when the Germans arrived. He had an awful feeling that it would be something dreadful. He prayed that he was wrong.
The German vehicle was a Kubelwagen, the German version of a Jeep. It stopped by the house. Four men got out and Tanner saw to his dismay that they were all SS. One appeared to be a fairly senior officer. All four went into the house. Tanner pulled out his binoculars and watched and waited. After a moment, he heard harsh laughter and then screams followed by the staccato burst of a German submachine gun.
All four Nazis came outside, laughing. The senior officer’s weapon was smoking. The German took a number of steps in Tanner’s direction and he thought that the German had seen him. But his luck held. The bastard unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his penis and began to urinate into the snow. When another German joined him, the officer laughingly told him that this pissing spot was reserved for field grade officers only, which they all thought was hilarious.
Bastards, Tanner thought. How can you butcher two helpless men and then laugh? He focused the binoculars on the senior man. His SS rank was equivalent to colonel. He was stocky, in his thirties, and there was a rose-colored birthmark in the shape of a star on the Nazi’s left cheek. He would remember that. He would also remember Peters and Tucker.
* * *
The surrender of the 106th took place on December 19, 1944. Tanner would never forget that date. To him it was even more important than December 7, 1941, the date of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. He quickly found out a basic truth. An army is difficult to hide, but one man is not. He moved slowly but steadily westward. His few rations quickly ran out and he realized he was in danger of starving. He tried eating som
e grasses and even kept some of them down, but chewing twigs simply made him sick and gave him diarrhea. His boots were soaked and his feet had felt funny for a while, but now were paining him. He didn’t think he was frostbitten, but he wondered about trench foot. He wanted to live, but not as an amputee. He sagged to the ground. He needed rest, but allowed himself only a few minutes before pulling himself to his feet. He also needed to keep going.
Without food and with his feet hurting, he’d lost track of time. He only knew that he was a hunted animal and had to stay hidden. He had to reach safety, not just for himself, but for Tucker and Peters. He had gone into the farmhouse after the Germans had left and seen their mangled corpses. He had the horrible feeling that there was more that he could have done for them. Logic told him he was wrong, but he wasn’t being particularly logical.
He wondered just when the hell he would run into American forces. He could tell by the sun that he was heading west, but how far west had the Germans advanced? Had they gone all the way to the French border? He sucked on some snow to kill his thirst. He remembered as a kid being told never to eat yellow snow and then wondering what it meant. His stomach had been cramping up and his bowels were barely under control. If he didn’t get help soon, he would die in a Belgian forest and it would be a long, long time, if ever, before anybody found his remains. That thought almost made him cry. He was a twenty-six-year-old college graduate with a liberal arts degree. He’d majored in German history and was an associate professor of languages at Dayton University. He’d taught German, which he thought was probably why he’d been assigned to a billet as an intelligence officer in the 106th in the first place. Sometimes, the army does get things right, he’d thought.
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