Resolute Nazi

by Wagher, Ward

  Stalin’s Conference Room

  The Kremlin

  Moscow, USSR

  Sergei Kruglov stood behind Stalin as the guards brought in Marshall Zhukov and Field Marshall Budyonny. Kruschev and Malenkov sat on opposite sides of the table and said nothing as they watched the tableau. Stalin sat with his hands folded and his pipe lying conspicuously in the ashtray.

  The two military men and their guards shuffled to a stop as Stalin stared at them. The room was hushed, and everyone waited for the General Secretary to break the silence. As the silence grew, the birdsong outside the windows intruded as did the labored breathing of the two military leaders.

  “How many tanks did you lose in the opening engagement?” Stalin asked quietly.

  “Six-hundred-eighty, Comrade Stalin,” Zhukov replied, his voice steady.

  “And how many men died?”

  “Eight thousand.”

  “And how goes the offensive?”

  “The Red Army continues to advance,” Zhukov stated. “We are pushing the Germans back towards Warsaw.”

  “When did the plan specify the Red Army would be in Warsaw?” Stalin asked.

  “Day three, Comrade,” Zhukov said firmly.

  “So, we are a month into the war, and you have not yet achieved your first objective?”

  “As I told you, Comrade Stalin,” Zhukov spoke again, “there is unpredictability in modern warfare.”

  “Comrade Kruglov?” Stalin spoke, interrupting Zhukov.

  “Yes, Comrade General Secretary?”

  “I have heard enough.”

  “Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Kruglov motioned to the guards, and they spun the soldiers around and marched them out of the conference room. The sound of Stalin refilling his pipe was loud in the place. Following the scratch of the match, he looked at the two members of the politburo. Kruglov continued standing behind him.

  “Georgi, you will return to the front and select replacement generals. Make sure they understand we expect results.”

  “Of course, Comrade General Secretary. I will leave immediately.”

  “Nikita, what happened in Kharkiv?”

  Kruschev took a deep breath. The blood was in the water, and he knew he was swimming with sharks.

  “We suffered multiple instances of sabotage in Factory 183, Comrade.”

  Stalin nodded. “And what was the result?”

  “The explosion and fires destroyed two buildings and halted production of critical parts. Production halted on the T34 because of the missing parts. The manufacturing line was undamaged.”

  “And what are you doing about this affront to International Socialism?” Stalin asked.

  “I had the factory guards shot,” Khrushchev replied immediately. “I pulled in the workers who survived the burned building and questioned them rigorously. We are working around the clock to rebuild the destroyed facility.”

  “Why did you allow the guards to be so lax?” Stalin asked softly.

  “Comrade Stalin, Comrade Kruglov insisted my security was inadequate at the factory and replaced my guards with people from the NKVD.”

  Stalin turned to look at the new Minister of State Security. “So, Sergei, is this true?”

  A pale Kruglov stepped around Stalin and walked a short distance down the table and turned to look Stalin in the eye.

  “Comrade Kruschev was correct in every particular, Comrade General Secretary. My people failed badly. I am investigating who sent such incompetents to Kharkiv.”

  Stalin puffed a large cloud of vile tobacco smoke. “Very well, Comrade Kruglov. See to it that something like this never happens again.”

  “Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Stalin stared at each man individually. Then without another word, he rose and left the room. Waiting in the alcove outside of Stalin’s office sat a 14-year-old girl with handsome features.

  “My little Butterfly,” Stalin said. “Would you like some ice cream?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she replied as she stood up.

  “Come into my office, then. I will order up some ice cream.”

  In the conference room, Georgi Malenkov and Nikita Kruschev stared at each other. Kruglov pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “I believe we are perhaps one step removed from following Zhukov and Budyonny, my friends.”

  Kruschev looked over at him. “Your guards saved my life today, Sergei. It did nothing for you, however.”

  Kruglov shrugged. “I believe my life has been limited since Lavrentiy died.”

  Malenkov looked quizzically at the NKVD man. “How so?”

  “If I get my shoelaces tied together and Comrade Stalin has a bullet put in my ear, there are probably two dozen men in my organization who want my job.”

  “Do you want to live, Sergei?” Kruschev asked.

  “Of course, I do. Who doesn’t?”

  “Then never again admit to Comrade Stalin that you have failed in any task. Always have someone ready to blame. I thought you knew that by now.”

  “I had no convincing excuses, Nikita.”

  “Very well. I trust you well learned the lesson. I trust you took care of whoever sent those guards to me.”

  “That problem at least is solved,” Kruglov breathed.

  “And I want you to tell me the names of those who are a threat to your position,” Kruschev continued.

  “Why do you need such?” Kruglov asked.

  “So, I can help you manage your threats, you fool.”

  “What game are you playing, Nikita?” Malenkov demanded.

  The stocky, bald man glared back at Malenkov.

  “We are all on a tightrope, my friends. You are tasked with managing the war, Georgi. I have to keep the economy staggering along to support the war effort. And you, Sergei, are tasked with safeguarding the revolution.”

  “And who is safeguarding us from Comrade Stalin?” Kruglov asked.

  The two men raised their eyebrows at Kruglov’s question.

  After a few moments, Kruschev spoke. “Who, indeed?”

  He then stood as did the others. “I have much to do, and so do you. If it needs to be said, I trust we will each warn the others of any possible threats.”

  Kruschev then turned and walked out the door. After a moment, Malenkov followed. Kruglov watched them leave. He turned and exited the room through the door Stalin had used. Stalin joined him in the hallway.

  “You will watch them, of course, Sergei,” Stalin murmured.

  “Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”

  “It is also the little mice that destroy the barley.”

  With that, Stalin returned to his office. Kruglov walked out of the building to his waiting Chaika limousine and returned to his new office at Dzerzhinsky Square.

  § § §

  May 15, 1943; 9 AM

  Government Council Room

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “Where is the Reichsmarshall, today?” Schloss asked.

  He looked around at those in the room for the meeting. General Erhard Milch and Colonel Reinhard Gehlen joined Guderian at the table.

  “The Reichsmarshall was not well today,” Guderian replied. “I asked General Milch to attend with us.”

  “Very well, I see the map of Poland. What have you to report?” Schloss asked.

  “The Russians are making a major push towards Warsaw,” Guderian said. “At this point, the only way to make it expensive for them is to make it expensive for us.”

  “We will lose our railhead,” Milch commented.

  Schloss looked up from the map on the table with a small smile. “Model has no magic tricks to play on the enemy?”

  “We have been trading ground for enemy lives, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Guderian replied. “Rommel and Model have asked for the release of the Strategic Reserve. The Russians have focused their forces on taking Warsaw, and we believe their flanks are weak.”

  Schloss unders
tood immediately. “So, you want to swing around behind them and cut their supply lines, correct?”

  Guderian nodded. The brutal hours required to manage the war had not removed his trademark smirk. “This involves a certain amount of risk, of course.”

  “This is called a salient, correct?”

  “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “So, the risk is that the Russians will cut off this salient, and we will lose our strategic reserve.”

  “That is correct. We are flying reconnaissance aircraft everywhere we can over Eastern Poland and into the Ukraine. I am convinced that the Russians are fully committed. If we break through their lines far enough behind them, we will have cut off the bulk of their armies. We would force them to counterattack from the west, or retreat, either of which would not be a simple matter?”

  “Why is that, Herr General?” Schloss asked.

  Guderian looked over at Milch. “Would you like to explain?”

  “Of course, Herr General,” the colorless officer replied. “You see, Herr Reich Chancellor, an army is not simply a mass of fighting men. You have the men and equipment at the front who are doing the actual fighting. Behind them is the support organization. Something less than fifty percent of the personnel are actually involved in the fighting. Maybe fifteen percent are administrative, and the rest I would lump into logistics.”

  “When you think about it,” Schloss commented, “that makes a lot of sense.”

  “Right,” Milch continued lecturing. “So, most of an army does not fight, and it is situated behind the front. For the Russians to swing around and attack in the other direction, they must move through their support train, which is very messy.”

  “And meanwhile, they are vulnerable on their original front,” Schloss stated.

  “Exactly. Cutting through the Russian left flank is a risky move but could be very rewarding.”

  “And the Russians would fight like madmen to get out of the trap,” Schloss countered. “That could become expensive for us.”

  Guderian nodded. “We are all agreed that our number one priority is preserving our forces. Following that, we want to destroy the Red Army. If they threaten our salient is in any way, we must be prepared to withdraw quickly. But if we break through the Russian flank, they will have to honor the threat. If we cut the Russian supply lines, they will run out of fuel, and then they will run out of food. Probably they will run out of ammunition as well.”

  “That is the best-case scenario, correct?” Schloss asked.

  Guderian raised his eyebrows and nodded, again smirking. “You could have been a general, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “Ha!” Schloss snorted. “There is a phrase I heard somewhere. I know just enough to be dangerous. Considering the strategic realities, you have done well, Herr General. Are you recommending we allow Rommel and Model to proceed?”

  “That would be my recommendation. It is for situations like this that we hold a strategic reserve. Besides, the Russians are starting to act stupid.”

  “Explain that,” Schloss snapped.

  Guderian looked over at Gehlen, who had said nothing to this point.

  “I have unconfirmed reports that Stalin had Zhukov and Budyonny shot because of the first day of the war.”

  Schloss stared into the distance. “That would mean that we are facing less skilled leadership. How solid is this information, Herr Colonel?”

  “The information from this conduit is usually reliable. I hesitate because of the significance,” Gehlen said.

  “But it makes sense,” Schloss said.

  “It makes sense,” Guderian agreed.

  “In other words, Comrade Stalin may have made some bad decisions,” Schloss speculated. “Herr General, make sure that Rommel and Model are prepared to snatch their forces out of the salient if they are threatened. Is it not correct that if the Russians start maneuvering to meet the threat, they will give us opportunities along the western side?”

  “Almost certainly,” Guderian said. “I will prepare messages to Rommel instructing him to go ahead with this. It will take a couple of weeks to set it up. We will likely need to retreat out of Warsaw.”

  “This will likely be a little difficult for the people in Warsaw, then,” Schloss said.

  “We have been gradually pulling people out of the city,” Milch said. “Most have not required a lot of convincing. They are terrified of the Red Army.”

  “And we have been preparing some welcoming gifts for our incoming guests” Guderian’s smile was now positively evil.

  “Just don’t lose an army in there, Herr General,” Schloss said. “Even aside from the deaths, it would be painful.”

  “I understand,” Guderian said. “I am very careful. And Model has proven himself to be a master at preserving his people.”

  “But nobody has a perfect record.”

  Guderian’s smirk was back. “I try very hard to make sure that Model makes small mistakes.”

  Schloss returned to his office and surrendered himself to the pile of paperwork that awaited. At least the council meeting only required an hour of his time. He now had a couple of hours until lunch to wrestle with the administrative monster.

  As he worked through the morass, he again wondered why good Germans could not make decisions. And the Germans who were willing to make decisions often exhibited execrable judgment. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the Germans intrinsically. People were people. Perhaps it was something in the educational system. He shrugged and forced his attention back to the paperwork.

  After finishing a long, dry report from Ribbentrop’s Commerce Ministry, he spun around to refill his coffee cup. Earlier, He had sensed Willem in the room to place a fresh pot in place, but it had not broken his concentration. He was at a good stopping place, so after putting the cup on his desk, he made a quick visit to the toilet and then returned.

  When he sat down, he picked up the next item in the stack. It was a short memo from Peter with another piece of paper clipped to it. Germany had recently installed facsimile machines in the major embassies. The slick paper paper-clipped to the back of the memo had come from one such device.

  He glanced at the memo. Peter called his attention to the attached facsimile of a New York Times article that the embassy in Washington, DC had sent, and requested a directive on how to respond. When he looked at the headline, his blood congealed.

  German Government Complicit in the Murder of Jews

  The persecution of German Jews by their government through the 1930s and more recently has been something widely known and received little comment. This reporter has been able to interview many of the citizens of the new nation of Judaea and has pieced together some of the actions by the government of Germany that constitute criminal conduct.

  Although policies changed following the death of Hitler, many of the top Nazi party officials, who remain in power, are culpable in the deaths of many Jews over the decade since the party came to power. More recently, most of the Jews in Europe were forcibly uprooted from their homes and dropped into the inhospitable desert land of Palestine. Most arrive with only the belonging they could carry, having lost their homes and wealth to the Nazis.

  The great contradiction apparent to right-thinking people is the level of respect and gratitude shown by the citizens of Judaea to Heinrich Schloss, the German Chancellor. While this reporter does not have visibility into the German policy decisions, it is clear that before Hitler’s death, Herr Schloss was personally responsible for the despoiling and death of thousands of European Jews.

  One can surmise that the changes that placed Herr Schloss in the position of leadership of Germany also bound him to a change of policies that ultimately benefitted the Jewish people. While this represented an improvement in the general outlook for the Jews and resulted in the establishment of their nation, it cannot absolve Herr Schloss of the bloodguilt from the deaths of so many human beings.

  Further articles in this series will explore the bac
kground of the German chancellor as well as the murky events surrounding his rise to power.

  Schloss leaned over and rested his head in his hands. Was the newspaper reporter correct? Was the Alter-Schloss guilty of enormous crimes against the Jewish people in his land? It was certainly possible. Hitler had directed Himmler to fashion a Final Solution to the so-called Jewish Problem. He knew that in his former world, the Germans had murdered over six million Jews during the twelve years they had been in power.

  Himmler drove hard to that solution here in this world. Goering had made himself incredibly wealthy by despoiling the Jews. Goebbels had enthusiastically supported the Reich’s obscene policies. Bormann and Hess had certainly been willing participants.

  The great puzzle to Schloss was that he had no analog in Nazi Germany in the universe he came from. The Alter-Schloss was a cipher. Had he indeed been a genocidal maniac? How on earth would he find out?

  Schloss spun himself into a tighter band of worry, and suddenly jumped up and fled to the small toilet next to his office and vomited. The waves of nausea swept over him, and he continued to heave until there was nothing left to throw up but bile.

  He opened the door, and a concerned Willem Kirche stood before him.

  “Are you ill, Herr Reich Chancellor?

  Schloss shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me all of a sudden.”

  “Maybe you should go lie down.”

  How do I even answer a question like that?

  “Perhaps you are right, Willem. Call me if anything urgent occurs.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  Kirche followed Schloss into the hallway and watched as the chancellor moved slowly toward the stairs and began to laboriously climb to the next floor to the Reich Chancellor’s apartments.

  CHAPTER SIX

  May 17, 1943; 12:15 PM

  Isengast Bierkeller

  Berlin, Germany

  Hans Isengast stood in the small kitchen of his café and faced his daughter. “The Reichsprotektor is in the house. You will serve him personally, of course.”

  “Of course, Poppa. As always.”