Resolute Nazi

by Wagher, Ward

  Several of the men chuckled softly as they rose to their feet. They were relieved to see that Schloss seemed to be handling this well.

  “Might I have a few minutes?” Ribbentrop asked.

  “Of course, Joachim. I assume you wish to wait until everyone leaves.”

  Schloss stood and Ribbentrop walked over to Schloss as the others filed out of the room.

  “What can I help you with, Joachim?” Schloss asked.

  “I think that we are getting our production of war materials up to the level at which we are using them.”

  “That is excellent news,” Schloss smiled. “From the look on your face, I suspect you are getting ready to give me the bad news.”

  “Just that we are burning through our stockpiles of strategic elements at a rapid pace.”

  “How rapid?”

  “We are replenishing them, but at the current rate, we will use everything within about two years.”

  “What are you doing about this?” Schloss asked.

  “Obviously, we are not going to get anything from Russia. I am exploring other sources. The South Africans have been trading with us, and I believe they can increase their output. We are getting probably as much wolfram from Portugal as they can produce. I just wanted to let you know I am working on this as my highest priority.”

  “Thank you, Joachim,” Schloss said. “I have been pleased with your performance of late and appreciate the effort. Incidentally, how is the oil project in Libya progressing?”

  “The pipeline from the fields to Tripoli is complete. This will increase the flow to the refineries. They did have a fire at the first wellhead recently. It seems one of the Libyans attempted to steal oil. He opened a gas valve and turned himself into a torch.”

  Schloss shook his head. “What a way to go. I trust there was no serious damage.”

  “It took about a week to make repairs. The oil is flowing again. We are contemplating a refinery in Tripoli. I hope to have a recommendation for you within the next couple of weeks.”

  “That is good news indeed, and we can use some,” Schloss commented.

  “I am planning a trip to the United States, assuming, of course, that you approve. I want to meet with the American Commerce Department and get to know some of them personally.”

  “I believe that is a great idea. I will prepare a letter for you to give to the president. Either the ambassador can deliver it, or perhaps they will invite you to the White House to give the letter to Truman.”

  “I will be happy to do so.”

  Schloss waved a finger in Ribbentrop’s face. “But, no diplomacy, Joachim.”

  Ribbentrop looked shocked. “Of course not, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “Just make sure you treat this as a business trip. You do very well at that, and we badly need the commerce.”

  “I understand. I hope to have a very successful trip.”

  “How do you plan to travel?”

  “I am investigating if one of the Condors can make the trip.”

  Schloss raised his eyebrows. “That’s a long flight for a Condor.”

  “The pilots assure me that if we travel via the Azores and then to Maine in the United States, we will safely have enough range.”

  “If you say so,” Schloss grinned. “When will you leave?”

  “I think at the end of August or early September.”

  “Very well. Keep me posted on your progress.”

  “Thank you for your time, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  Schloss watched as Ribbentrop left the council room. The man was not someone who he thought he would ever trust, but he had no complaints about his performance. He was uneasy about Milch, but the man seemed like the best solution for the moment. Now if they could just turn this war around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  August 9, 1943; 7 AM

  Soviet Administrative Offices

  Kiev, Ukraine

  Nikita Khrushchev was an unhappy man. The war that was planned by Stalin and Beria had begun badly. The Red Army nearly shattered itself against the German defenses. While the Army continued to press forward, its progress was fitful and slow. Stalin had tasked Khrushchev with keeping a close watch on the generals, as well as managing the movement of supplies and ammunition to the front.

  Khrushchev had narrowly avoided joining Zhukov and Budyonny in front of the firing squad after the disastrous opening day of the war. And now with the Germans continuously bombing the rail lines and roads with the Boeing bombers supplied by the Americans, he was in peril again.

  Up until now, he had considered himself a successful apparatchik in the Soviet Union. Stalin had awarded him the Order of Lenin for his work in superintending the construction of the Moscow subway system. He had followed Stalin’s orders and liquidated over fifty thousand people in the Ukraine during the purges while preserving himself and his family.

  Sitting in a private office he had commandeered in the Soviet Administrative Office building, Khrushchev worried about his future and also the future of the revolution. Beria was now dead. Other than the six men he had with him that night when he rescued the American diplomat, no one suspected he had personally killed the NKVD chief. With Beria gone, the need to track down traitors to the revolution had seemed less urgent. Kruglov was efficient, but the exigencies of the war turned his efforts elsewhere.

  Yet, if the invasion of Germany failed because of a lack of bullets or food for the troops, it was Khrushchev’s neck. And that was the danger. The supply lines to the front were rapidly thinning out. He knew it, and the generals knew it. No one wanted to raise the issue with Moscow for fear of being labeled as defeatist and enemies of the people. At some point, though, the invasion would grind to a halt and something would have to be done.

  He looked at the desk clock and decided to quit feeling sorry for himself. He had scheduled an early morning meeting to address the logistics problem, and it would not do to keep the people waiting. He left his desk and plodded down the hallway to the rudimentary meeting room.

  “Now,” he said without preamble while striding into the room, “we have a major problem getting war materiel to the front. The Germans have succeeded in bombing the rail lines as fast as we can repair them. Their Stuka airplanes attack our road convoys repeatedly. Comrade Stalin depends upon us to keep the supply lines open.”

  “Why cannot our air force drive off the invaders?” someone asked.

  Another voice joined in. “If our air force was doing its job, we could get ours done.”

  “So, you are telling me this is not your problem?” Khrushchev asked ominously.

  “We have no way of attacking the German aircraft.”

  “True,” Khrushchev conceded. “That means we must be smarter. We must find new ways to get shipments to the front.”

  “We send them by rail or truck, and they get obliterated. What other way can we do this?”

  “We can use magic,” one of the men suggested. “Nothing else seems to work.”

  “Be serious, Lav,” another warned. “We have a big problem here. And Comrade Khrushchev has just dropped it in our laps.”

  “And we just snap our fingers and we have our solution. Ha!”

  “That is exactly what we are here to decide,” Khrushchev stated.

  Some of the men in the room looked puzzled. Some looked mutinous. All felt that the demands made upon them were unfair. Khrushchev studied the room for a long minute before speaking again.

  “It is time we try something different. Not magic,” he said with a quick grin. “We will send individual trucks with supplies out of Kiev towards the front. They will travel during the night. We will schedule each truck to start fifteen minutes after the previous one. We will station military police at each major intersection to guide the drivers and keep them from getting lost. We will instruct the drivers to follow no closer than when they can see the truck ahead of them. It will make it difficult for the Germans to identify the trucks carrying supplies.”

&
nbsp; “That will slow down deliveries, comrade Khrushchev,” one of the functionaries said.

  “And right now, our deliveries are speedily not getting through at all,” Khrushchev shouted. “And if Comrade Stalin decides to shoot me for failure, guess who will be lined up with me?”

  The room went silent. Khrushchev laughed to himself. He was responsible for enough bloodletting in the Ukraine during the great purges that people took no liberties with him. He now spoke softly.

  “When the usual methods no longer work, we must get creative. Our comrades in the Red Army will not win the war without our help. We must do whatever is necessary to get food, ammunition, and spare parts to the front.”

  The room remained quiet.

  “Any questions?” Khrushchev waited. “Very well. Let’s get busy.”

  § § §

  August 10, 1943; 6 PM

  Freemantle Beach

  Perth, Australia

  After walking off the landing craft, Colonel Wesley Borden strode up the beach. The heavy winter rain dampened the combat, and the combined American-British landing was almost unopposed. The beach was broad and deep, allowing the allied forces to come ashore in strength. The colonel had been briefed to expect fierce opposition from the occupying Japanese army. But it seemed like the Americans were the only people around. Major Mervin Welkie stepped out of the shadows and halted the colonel’s progress.

  “Any enemy activity, Merv?” Borden asked.

  “Other than the occasional sniper, it is very quiet, Sir.”

  “It won’t hold,” the Colonel replied. “Take the opportunity to get the men into defensible positions before advancing. If we must fall back, I don’t want them pushing us into the sea.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. Already in progress. We are beginning to get contacts from the local Australians.”

  “I suppose they are glad to see us.”

  Welkie laughed. “I believe the word is overjoyed.”

  “Make sure you get as much information from them as you can on Japanese dispositions. I would like to knock on their front door before they figure out what is going on. Otherwise, we will have a tough slog.”

  “I understand, Sir. So far, we are on-plan or a bit ahead.”

  Welkie nodded. “Very well. But don’t get cocky. Whatever we landed with has got to last us a while. The Jap fleet showed up in Singapore, and Admiral King is trying to get his chicks herded back to Trincomalee.”

  “That does not sound like good news, Sir.”

  “It is not. However, we expected a strong reaction. It looks as though the Japs may have only lightly invested Perth. If that is the case, we should be able to build a strong position here. I think if we can hold on for sixty days, we will have strong reinforcements. At least, that is what the general says.”

  “I hope so, Sir. It’s a long walk back to Norfolk.”

  Borden laughed. “Ain’t that the truth, Merv.”

  Borden turned and walked further along the beach, checking the marine positions. For once, a landing had gone smoothly without the usual snafus. He hated working in the rain, but it was probably a blessing in that no one was interested in fighting during the storm. The division meteorologists expected the front to clear off by morning. That is when Borden expected the Japanese to counterattack. He knew that they could not afford to allow him to achieve a secure position.

  Borden walked to the center of the landing zone and walked into the command tent. General Vandergrift noticed him immediately and stepped over to shake his hand.

  “Any problems, Wes?” the general asked.

  “Nothing we can’t handle, Sir. My area of responsibility is clear. I think we have some Jap snipers out there, but nobody can see anything, so aiming is a crapshoot for both sides. I thought I would wait until daylight and the weather clears to conduct a reconnaissance in force.”

  “I was surprised we had an unopposed landing,” the general said. “It looks to me like the intelligence was correct for once. There are not that many Japs around. We just need to invest the city without accidentally getting any Aussies in the crossfire.”

  “I understand, Sir. I’m looking forward to getting the civilians armed.”

  “I know what you mean,” Vandergrift replied. “If the Japs try to push us out of here, they are liable to get an unpleasant surprise.”

  “That is my fervent hope, Sir. I suppose I’d better get back to my unit.”

  “Just don’t let the Japs sneak into your lines in the dark,” the General warned. “That could get messy.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. With your permission?”

  “By my leave, Colonel.”

  The US and British marines accepted the weather philosophically. Being cold and wet was expected. And it was preferred to being overrun by the Japanese. In a bit of inspired thinking, Admiral King had landed five thousand M1903 Springfield rifles along with a considerable load of ammunition. Australians began showing up to welcome the liberators. They were given the M1903s and told to wait for instructions from the colonel. An organized home defense force wouldn’t hurt.

  General Vandergrift had planned to seize a perimeter around Freemantle and then take the time to clear any Japanese out of the parts of the city held by the allied forces. Later the troops would cross the Swan River and take the city of Perth proper. He did not expect to accomplish this until reinforced by the Army. But with the Japs swanning around in the southern Indian Ocean, he just might have to make do with what he had.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  August 11, 1943; 6 PM

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “What is it that we need to talk about, Herr Reichsmarshall?” Schloss impatiently returned to the office. “Gisela is waiting on me for dinner.”

  Erhard Milch looked uncomfortable. “Herr Reich Chancellor, I am having difficulties with the Heinkel people related to the Flying Fortress production. I thought I should come to see you.”

  Schloss moved over behind his desk and dropped into the chair. He waved Milch into the chair across from him.

  “And what kind of problems do we have?”

  “We have prototypes on the line in Salzburg,” the new Reichsmarshall explained, “and things have gone amazingly well. But Heinkel insists on diverting more resources to the project, and this is delaying production of the He 177 bomber in the Rostock factory.”

  “How many of the He 177 bombers have we constructed so far, General?” Schloss asked softly.

  “About two-hundred so far. We have committed to building a thousand.”

  “Who is we? Herr Reichsmarshall?” Schloss asked.

  “Why the RLM, of course. The He 177 is an important part of our strategy for air warfare.”

  “And how does the Flying Fortress fit into our air warfare strategy?”

  Milch hesitated, not at all. “Why, of course, it is a stopgap until we can perfect the He 177. It really is a superior aircraft.”

  “And how many of the He 177s are in service?” Schloss asked.

  “None at the moment, Herr Reich Chancellor. They are still in development.”

  Schloss glared at Milch for nearly a minute. The other man began to grow uncomfortable.

  “How is the war going, Herr Reichsmarshall?” Schloss asked.

  “It has been going about as well as expected,” Milch replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, given the correlation of forces, we are facing a foe with more soldiers and equipment. They also seem to be well motivated.”

  “Correct,” Schloss said. “Before the war started, I was content to allow continued development of the He 177 because it wasn’t costing that much. And who knows, perhaps it might have developed into a capable bomber. But we are out of time. I want you to cancel the He 177 program and focus Heinkel’s resources on building as many Flying Fortresses as possible. Any new bomber development is going to focus on jet-propelled aircraft.”

  “But that… that is unreasonable,” Milch sp
uttered. “We have invested a lot of money in the He 177. It is also a much faster airplane than the Flying Fortress.”

  “And we have little to show for it,”

  “That is not true, Herr Reich Chancellor. We have produced two-hundred airframes and done extensive testing.”

  “And the engine problems are intractable, correct?” Schloss pointed his finger at Milch.

  “I believe that with some effort, we will quickly have an effective aircraft.”

  “Perhaps,” Schloss said. “Perhaps not. Nevertheless, it is what I want you to do.”

  “I do not think you understand, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “I understand all too well, Erhard. I just gave you a directive, and you are going to do it. We do not have the resources to focus on multiple bombers. The Boeing bomber will be our main propeller-driven bomber. New research will focus on jet propulsion.”

  “I think that is short-sighted and dangerous.”

  “I made the decision,” Schloss exploded. “And you will go out and implement the decision, or I will find someone else to do it! Now, do we have an understanding?”

  Milch turned bright red and was seething in his chair.

  Good, you’re mad. Now I have your attention. Come on, Erhard, do not force my hand, Schloss thought. You still have things to learn.

  “Very well, Herr Reich Chancellor. I will do it.”

  “Thank you, Herr Reichsmarshall. Now was there anything else we need to talk about?”

  “No, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “Then, thank you for coming to see me with this urgent matter,” Schloss said as he stood up.

  Milch rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled out of the office. Schloss shook his head.

  “Kirche,” he shouted. “See if the Reichprotektor is still in his office.”

  A few moments later, Schloss’s phone tinkled.

  “What can I help the Reich Chancellor with this afternoon?” Rainer asked.

  “Do you have someone keeping an eye on Milch?” Schloss asked.