by Wagher, Ward
Schreiber nodded but said nothing.
Schloss stood up and walked from the council chamber. Kirche snapped his notebook closed and looked around the table.
“I will notify you when the Reich Chancellor wants to meet again.”
Several of the men nodded as they stood and walked through the double-doors at the end of the room. Kirche shook his head and followed Schloss’s path through the single door near the head of the table.
§ § §
July 28, 1943; 10 AM
The General Secretary’s Conference Room
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
“So, we have two pieces of good news today,” Stalin said.
The men around the table did not volunteer to speak and so waited for the General Secretary to continue.
“We captured seventy-five thousand Germans, and then we hear that Hermann Goering is dead. The war goes well.”
Around the table with Stalin sat Georgi Malenkov and Sergei Kruglov. Several lesser ranking members of the party were also on hand, Stalin was speaking to his two direct reports. Khrushchev was still in the Ukraine managing logistics for the war.
“And to have Model’s army captured by a Soviet Colonel, no less. What do we know about this Colonel Smirnoff, Sergei?”
“He is a graduate of the Frunze Academy and has had uniformly excellent reviews.”
“According to Khrushchev, he was able to get the other generals along the front to follow his lead. I think we have hurt the Germans badly.”
“Do we need to pull him in?” Kruglov asked.
“No, I believe we should promote him,” Stalin replied. “In this case, I think we can reward his initiative. If he steps out of line in the future, then you can pull him in.”
“Of course, Comrade Stalin.”
“And Georgi,” Stalin continued, “what news you bring today?”
“We have just started production of the T34 tanks in Yekaterinburg. It will take a few months to get up to speed, but we will immediately start shipping tanks to the front.”
“That is good news,” Stalin noted. “We cannot seem to stop the Germans from bombing the plant in Kharkiv. And I have an idea.”
“Yes, Comrade Stalin?” Malenkov looked nervous.
“The plant in Kharkiv is pretty much a complete write-off, is that correct?”
Malenkov was thinking quickly. One was never quite sure whether Stalin was simply seeking information or leading the speaker into a trap.
“That last raid almost completely demolished the plant.”
“Would it be possible to stretch canvass over the buildings and make it look like a roof?”
“I am sure we could arrange something like that, Comrade,” Malenkov stammered.
“If we could convince the Germans to keep bombing that plant, then many of their bombs would not be available for other uses,” Stalin explained.
“If you wish, I can contact Khrushchev and get this implemented.”
“Very well, Georgi.”
“Now then, Sergei, tell me about the people. Are they still restless?”
“I believe they have settled down since the start of the war,” Kruglov said. “Productivity has improved as has quality.”
“So, our plan to appeal to the patriotism of the people is bearing fruit?”
“Yes, Comrade. We had a good harvest, and a much higher percentage of the harvests arrived in the cities before it spoiled. Our most serious shortage is fuel oil. The Red Army requires the bulk of what we produce. It will be a cold winter in the cities, but at least the people will have food.”
“That is good news, then,” Stalin said. He turned to Malenkov. “Georgi, can you encourage our commercial attaches to explore a purchase of oil from the Persians?”
“I will do so, Comrade Stalin.”
“Good, good,” he nodded.
Stalin pulled his pipe from his pocket and began filling the bowl from the ever-present tobacco pouch. He then struck a match with his shoe and held the flame over the bowl and puffed contentedly. He was in a good mood. Despite a horrifying setback during the first days of the war, they had continued to press the Germans back. And capturing one-hundred-thousand German soldiers was a significant victory indeed. Thinking about the prisoners, he turned back to Kruglov.
“Sergei, I would have you transport the Germans to one of our camp locations in Siberia. We do not want them where they could get themselves into trouble.”
“Should we not just shoot them and be done with it, Comrade?”
“Oh, that is their eventual fate, but they are possible bargaining chips while they live. But do not coddle them.”
“I understand, Comrade Stalin,” Kruglov replied.
Stalin looked down the table at one of the military officers present. “Admiral Kuznetsov, please report on the state of the war.”
Nikolay Kuznetsov was visibly nervous. After the execution of Budyonny and Zhukov, Stalin had pulled him from a relatively obscure position and put him in charge of the Soviet military machine. This not only earned him the enmity of the senior officers in the Red Army but made him very visible to Stalin. At this stage, he thought he would be delighted to simply survive the war without being garroted in the basements of Dzerzhinsky Square.
“We believe that with the surrender of General Model, the Germans have lost their strategic reserve. It means the German units at the front are at something close to nominal strength, but they are battle-weary. If we can avoid giving them a chance to pull units out for rest and recuperation, we can eventually wear them down enough to achieve a breakthrough.”
“Why have we not achieved a breakthrough yet, Admiral?”
Kuznetsov struggled to keep his voice steady. He was undoubtedly aware that a single false step would have him joining the unfortunate Red Army generals who had failed the Revolution in the opening days of the war.
“The Germans have been remarkably proficient in pulling their troops back when they sense an attack coming from us. Other than the wonderful news about trapping the German sally behind our lines, we have not been able to come to grips with the German Army. And they are adept at chopping up our units that stray too far ahead of their comrades.”
“And you understand why we cannot have a stalemate, correct Admiral?”
The ice was getting thin under the Admiral, and he was thinking hard.
“Yes, Comrade Stalin. Our greatest deficit is that we cannot control the air above the battlefield. They are pounding us with that Boeing Flying Fortress bomber. They bought one-hundred of the things from the Americans.”
“Can you not shoot them down?” Stalin asked.
“By surging our pursuit squadrons, we have been able to shoot down a few of the bombers. We think they may have sixty or seventy left. Our intelligence sources in the United States learned that the Americans had an agreement to sell the rest of their stock of Flying Fortresses to the Americans, but put it on hold because they needed to fly cargo to Hawaii.”
“So it is a chance to whittle them down, correct?” Stalin asked.
“Correct Comrade General Secretary. But that new fighter of the Germans was a bad surprise. We have not yet been able to develop a plan to counter them.”
“So, they have a new fighter plane,” Stalin waved a hand, “certainly we can hold our own with sufficient aircraft of our own.”
“We guess the Germans have approximately one-hundred of the things. It utilizes some kind of rocket power – it has no propeller. It may be as much as two-hundred kilometers an hour faster than our aircraft.”
“I assume you are doing everything possible to reduce the problem.”
“Frankly, Comrade, we hope to recover the wreckage of any of these aircraft that land on our side of the line. It is something we badly need to study.”
“Please instruct Comrade Khrushchev to expedite the retrieval of such an aircraft,” Stalin ordered.
Stalin’s pipe had gone out, so he emptied the bowl by knocking it
against his shoe. He worked his way through the process of refilling the pipe. Once he had it lit again, he puffed away in thought. Finally, he waved a hand.
“That is all. Leave me now. Sergei, you stay.”
After the others left and the doors were shut, Kruglov turned to Stalin.
“Anything new in your investigation of Beria’s death?” Stalin asked.
“No, Comrade Stalin. The bullets came from Soviet Army weapons.”
“So, there is another player out there.”
“That is very much our concern,” Kruglov said. “Unfortunately, we do not have a lot of evidence to work with.”
“As Comrade Beria used to say, find me the man, and we will find the crime. You do not need proof, Sergei. If we become convinced as to who is the worm that shortened Beria’s life, we can do whatever is necessary.”
“Of course, Comrade Stalin.”
Stalin pondered the problem for a while and then waved Kruglov out of the room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
July 28, 1943; 10 PM
Commanding Admiral’s Quarters
British Naval Base HMS Highflyer
Trincomalee Fortress
Ceylon
Admiral Charles Forbes paced back and forth in the small living room of his quarters. A Royal Navy lieutenant delivered the radio message an hour previously, and the admiral considered his options. The US Navy had reported a large task force transiting the South China Sea There was little doubt it was headed for Singapore. Admiral King would be landing troops in another day and would not be able to repel a strong sea-based attack. Trincomalee itself was also vulnerable since a good bit of the allied tonnage was with Admiral King’s task force.
The alternatives were clear, but Forbes’s choices were unpalatable. He finally picked up the phone and called his flag lieutenant.
“Get the staff together, Richard, we have some decisions to make.”
Forbes took the time to shave and change into a fresh uniform. One had to set the example for the lads, he thought. As he cleaned up, he considered his options.
The rational choice would be to summon King back to Trincomalee. That would give them some hope of standing up to a Japanese attack. But that would mean the Australians would have to wait longer for rescue. He shook his head as he fastened the row of medals on his tunic. When he stepped out of his bungalow, Lieutenant Severs was waiting in the Humber Snipe staff car with an enlisted driver.
Forbes climbed into the back seat and pulled the door closed.
“Sorry to pull you out tonight, Richard. Something has come up.”
“Not a problem, Sir,” Severs replied. “I was kind of at loose ends tonight anyway.”
“Well, we have a bloody great Japanese task force headed our direction, and we need to make some decisions before Admiral King lands in Perth.”
“I understand, Sir. And that is not good news.”
The driver was not the fastest Forbes had ridden with, and he had to restrain himself from ordering the sailor to cob the throttle. The man drove carefully so as not to upset the admiral. Severs had been with Forbes long enough to know what he was thinking. The lieutenant grinned to himself. The admiral had always had a hard time concealing his impatience.
When he walked into the staff meeting room, Forbes was pleased to observe that he was the most presentable. He always felt the leaders needed to set the example. Several of the officers glanced at his fresh uniform and slipped into their chairs around the table so that he would not notice their wrinkled outfits.
“Thank you for attending me tonight, Men. Please allow me to frame the discussion before we begin. We received a message that the US Navy spotted a large Japanese task force in the South China Sea. There were two carriers and numerous support vessels, including freighters and tankers. Please give me your thoughts on where they may be headed.”
It was quiet in the room as everyone pondered what Forbes had just said. A lieutenant commander raised a finger.
“Yes, Commander Elliott?”
“They would have to be heading for Singapore or here. My guess is Singapore first so they can park the logistics train. Then they will head here.”
“Could they know about Admiral King’s task force?” Captain Balfor asked.
“That possibility has occurred to me,” Forbes admitted.
“That would be unlikely, though,” Elliott responded.
“Once King lands in Perth, the Nips are going to go hellbent for leather to Australia,” someone offered.
Forbes nodded. “That is what I think, too.”
“Regardless of where we meet them,” Elliott said, “it is going to be two carrier decks against one.
“Admiral, have you received any notification from London on when we might receive reinforcement?” Balfor asked.
“The naval contingent is going to be mid-August at the earliest,” Forbes replied. “We can expect replacement aircraft for the carrier at any time. I do not think we should count on significant reinforcements getting here in time. We must decide on how to face this threat and arrange our forces accordingly.”
“Having aircraft to fly off the Intrepid will be helpful, though.”
Forbes nodded in agreement. He looked over at the USN Commander, who had said nothing to this point.
“What are your thoughts, Commander?”
“I think we ought to go ahead and stage the landing,” Chapler said. “The risks are high, but it will force the Japs to react to us.”
“Which would be nice for a change. But if Admiral King leaves all his aircraft in Perth for the invasion force, and the replacements don’t get here in time, we will be badly off balance.”
“I don’t think the Japs could sink Ceylon,” Chapler said quietly.
“Ha!” Forbes barked a laugh. “True, but it could be painful, nonetheless. I am more concerned that they will have enough airpower in that task force to scrape King’s marines off the beaches of Perth.”
Balfor raised a finger.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Considering the information we have at hand, would London or Washington override any decision we make?”
Forbes nodded slowly. “We are a long way away from London, Gentlemen. At whatever point I meet with the First Sea Lord again, I am sure I will face some rather pointed questions. Regardless we must decide tonight. It looks like we face some bad choices.”
“Could we ask Admiral King to make the call?” Elliott asked.
Forbes looked down at the table and smiled. “I suppose we could, but that would not be playing cricket with our American colleague.”
“Then, I think we need to recall the task force,” Elliott continued. “We will at least preserve our troops, if not our ships.”
“And we leave them sitting here in Ceylon?” Balfor asked. “We have those men out here to fight. We will be asking a lot of them, but, by God, I think they are up to it.”
The arguments volleyed back and forth for another forty-five minutes before Forbes called a halt.
“We are now into rehashing things. Very well. Send a message to Admiral King instructing him to execute the landing and offload his cargo as quickly as possible. We need him back here.”
“And we just abandon the Marines?” Elliott asked.
Forbes pulled out his pipe and tapped it in the ashtray. “If necessary. We are going to force the Japanese to react to the landing. We think they are as stretched as we are. It will throw them off-balance. Besides, I don’t think they will be able to dislodge the Marines.”
Chapler was grinning.
“What are you so happy about, Commander?” Forbes snapped.
“Sir, I am not happy about this. But I think the Marines will be a rude surprise to the Japs.”
“I believe you are correct,” Forbes said. “Very well, let me see the message before you send it. It needs to be on its way before midnight.”
§ § §
August 4, 1943; 2 AM
Minsk, SSSR
/> With a bump and a jerk, the train came to a halt. Walter Model quickly sat up and peered through the darkness. Outside the boxcar, he could hear shouts in Russian as people ran the length of the train.
“What is going on, Herr General?” his adjutant asked.
Model shook his head and then realized the other man could not see him in the dark.
“I do not know, Georg.”
The adjutant, Major Georg Klein, pulled himself to his feet and tried to peek through a crack in the boards that made up the slap-dash sides of the boxcar.
“We are in a town, Herr General.”
“It is probably Minsk.”
“It seems like this trip will never end.”
“It can last as long as it likes, considering our destination,” Model commented. “You never were patient, Georg.”
Since the Russians had not summarily shot them when they finally surrendered, the welcome awaiting them in Moscow would be unpleasant. He and his staff had been bundled into the railcar in Eastern Poland and began the long journey to the Russian capital. The train had not moved quickly and suffered frequent stops. Model assumed that the pauses were to repair the track and roadbed after the numerous German bombings. He had to admire the Russian determination to keep the railroads in operation despite the German interdiction.
Now that he was awake, Model pondered the events that had led to his captivity. He was still confident he had not misread the intelligence on the state of the Red Army. But, the forces around Warsaw had slammed the door on his salient quicker than he was able to withdraw. Even with Rommel pushing from the west to relieve the pressure, Model’s forces were trapped in the pocket.
Attempting the breakthrough was not the best alternative in the first place. Yet, given what he knew at the time, he still thought he had made the correct decision. Assuming he even survived the Russian prison camps, this would do his career no good. Worse yet, he had let Rommel, Guderian, and Schloss down. Germany was in a difficult position, and this defeat did not help.
He began to reflect on his current problem. Would it be possible to escape? Would that be the honorable thing to do while his troops were marching to their prison camps? He had not given the Russians his parole. Escape was unlikely, given that the guards had a generation’s experience in guarding and controlling prisoners with nothing to lose. Yet it made for an interesting mental exercise.