by Wagher, Ward
“Of course. Is there something I should know about?”
“He was trying to force Heinkel to maintain resources on the He 177 at the expense of the Boeing bomber. I ordered him to cancel the He 177 program. He did not take it well.”
“I understand,” Rainer said. “That program has been in trouble since the day it started. I don’t know why Hermann kept it going.”
“Exactly. These people can’t seem to step back and look at these things objectively. Milch was pretty upset with me, and then he seemed to acquiesce too quickly.”
“Milch is a political operator.” I think he is a good administrator, though. I will keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks, Karl. Sorry to interrupt you.”
“Might I suggest you head upstairs and have dinner with Gisela.”
Schloss laughed. “I was actually on my way when Milch showed up.”
“Then, I shall not keep you.”
Followed by two guards, Schloss left his office and walked up the stairs to the top floor of the Reich Chancellery, to the Chancellor’s apartments. He was slightly winded when he got to the top level, although it didn’t seem to bother the guards. His two guards joined the other two in front of the door when he made his way into the only place where he enjoyed a modicum of privacy.
§ § §
August 11, 1943; 6:30 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Apartments
Berlin, Germany
Gisela sat on one of the sofas in the sitting room and jumped up when Schloss walked in.
“Oh, Hennie, you are finally home. I asked Frau Marsden to allow the children to start the meal.”
“A good idea,” he replied. “I was all set to leave the office a half-hour ago when Erhard Milch demanded a meeting. Things went downhill from there.”
“What went wrong, Darling?” she asked.
“He was trying to pull resources from the Flying Fortress project for the He 177.”
“Why would he want to do that?” Gisela asked.
“A very good question. I suppose the best explanation is that the He 177 is a pet project of his. He somehow managed to keep it going under Goering, but with the problems they have, I don’t think they will ever have a reasonable airplane. And they have built two-hundred of the things.”
“That sounds like a monumental waste to me.”
“It is a monumental waste,” Schloss said. “But he remains convinced he can make the thing work. And he was trying to pull people in from the Fortress project to keep things going.”
“And we need as many of the Boeing bombers as we can build, do we not?” she asked.
“Exactly. I hope Milch was afflicted with a moment’s poor judgment. However, I am fairly sure I made a poor decision to appoint him as the Reichsmarshall. Everyone seemed to think he is a good administrator.”
“What are you going to do about the He 177?”
“I told him to cancel it,” Schloss said. “He grew angry about that. I called Karl and asked him to make sure somebody was watching Milch. We cannot afford any delays with the Boeing bomber. We have lost nearly thirty of our fleet as a result of some pretty intense battles.”
“Do you really think it was a mistake to appoint him the Reichsmarshall?”
“I don’t know,” Schloss sighed. “I suppose we shall see.”
She took his arm. “Well, come on, Darling. Frau Marsden has prepared a pork loin for you. I know that is one of your favorites.”
“I smelled it when I walked in the door and my mouth is already watering,” he confessed.
Hans-Friedrich and Anna-Lisa were already eating when they walked into the dining room.
“How are my favorite children?” he boomed, arms opened wide.
“Poppa!” Anna-Lisa shouted, throwing herself in his arms. “I’m glad I saw you before I went to bed.”
Schloss walked around the table and patted Hans on the shoulder. After he leaned over and kissed Anna-Lisa on the cheek, she turned and gave him a huge smile. He then slipped into his usual chair. Gisela sat down next to him.
Frau Marsden chose that moment to walk in with his and Gisela’s plates already prepared. He pulled the ring off the napkin and shook out the cloth before laying it over his leg.
“This looks marvelous as usual, Frau Marsden.”
“It is probably no longer warm, Herr Schloss,” she grumped.
He used his fork to separate a piece of his pork loin and put it in his mouth. “No, this is very good, Frau Marsden.”
She emitted her usual skeptical harrumph and returned to the kitchen. He looked over to see Gisela grinning at him.
“What?”
“She is pleased that you like her cooking, Darling,” Gisela said.
“I do like her cooking. She just never seems to believe me. If I did not like something, I would certainly tell her.”
He turned to the children. “And what did you two do today?”
“Mutti-Gisela took us to a toy store,” Hans said. “I found a tank car for my train set.”
“And I got a new dolly,” Anna-Lisa explained.
“They had not been out of the building for a couple of weeks, so I thought an outing was in order,” Gisela said.
“I think that was a good idea,” Schloss said. “I should have thought of that myself.”
Gisela put her hand on his shoulder. “That is why you have me around, Darling. That way you won’t have to worry about the family.”
“I worry about you all the time.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, using a smile to remove the sting.
He relented as he turned to her. “Thank you for that, Schatzi. I am not giving you or the children the attention you deserve.”
“I think you do very well, Darling,” she replied.
They worked their way through dinner, and Schloss was able to give some attention to the children. Later, after the children were in bed, they returned to the sofa in the sitting room. Gisela had a glass of white wine and Schloss had a cup of coffee.
“A long day, Hennie,” she stated.
“Yes, and I worry about the war. We are managing to hold the Russians; just. Guderian keeps predicting they will falter due to a lack of resupply, but we haven’t seen it yet. We have a couple of new divisions coming on-stream in the next couple of weeks. Rommel would like another offensive and Guderian would like to start rotating the current forces back for rest and refurbishment. Both make a lot of sense.”
“Isn’t that Heinz’s responsibility?” she asked.
“Yes, and I do remember that. Unfortunately, I also remember Guderian made the call that lost us Model’s army group. I keep telling myself that anyone can make a bad call, and Guderian is better than most.”
“Do you think Heinz has lost his nerve?”
“I don’t know, Schatzi. All of us supported his decision, so he wasn’t alone in that. But he has blamed himself for it.”
She sipped her drink and then pulled her legs up under her. “Does Rommel usually make good calls?”
“Yes. Rommel has the coldness of a professional gambler. I think he has ice water in his veins. I suspect he is probably right, but then I would have to override Guderian.”
“What is the Reichsmarshall’s opinion on this?” she asked.
“Milch doesn’t have an opinion.”
“What?” she looked surprised.
“Milch is doing what he does well,” Schloss explained. “He administers. He overtly leaves the military planning and execution in Guderian’s hands. Which, on balance, is probably a good thing.”
“Except when he is playing with his bombers,” she said wryly.
“Precisely.”
“Perhaps, Darling, if you sat Heinz down for a one-on-one meeting and just talked through the issues. Maybe that would encourage him to accept Rommel’s advice. I don’t think we will win this war by playing defense all the time.”
Schloss nodded in agreement. He often used the evenings to bounce ideas off Gisela. She
had a unique perspective and had a surprising strategic sense. He was still amazed at his fortune in being bounced into this universe and meeting Gisela. He would cheerfully go through the terror of the past couple of years again for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
August 13, 1943; 2 PM
Red Army Theatre Headquarters
South of Warsaw
Colonel Ivan Smirnoff waited nervously outside of his command tent for his visitor to arrive. One did not often entertain members of the Politburo. In fact, he had hoped never to come to the attention of the Politburo. Too many bad things happened to those unfortunates who drew Comrade Stalin’s attention.
Standing beside him was Lieutenant-Colonel Belyaev and Major Kuzmin. In the hectic days following the death of the general, he had worked closely with these two men, and they had gelled into a capable team.
He had drawn the General Secretary’s attention by crushing an incursion of nearly one-hundred-thousand Germans and forcing their surrender. He had come to understand the real meaning of mixed feelings. But in the end, he knew of nothing else to do, except his duty. The Red Army was one of the arms of the Communist Party, and he was happy to serve the party.
A battered Emka staff car bounced over the rutted path from the west and entered the encampment. Smirnoff wondered if this was his guest. It seemed unusual that there was not a full motorcade. The car stopped with a squeal of worn brakes. Even before it halted, Nikita Khrushchev bounded out of the back seat.
The stocky, bald man in a field marshal’s uniform strode over to Smirnoff.
“Colonel Smirnoff, I presume,” Khrushchev said.
Smirnoff saluted. “Comrade, please allow me to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Belyaev and Major Kuzmin. They have been an enormous help to the cause here in Poland.”
Each saluted Khrushchev crisply. He returned the salutes casually and looked back at Smirnoff.
“Comrade Colonel, we made it without huge difficulties, and that surprised me.”
Smirnoff nodded. “Comrade Khrushchev, it is dangerous for you to travel this close to the front with only two guards.”
“With the Luftwaffe roaming the skies, any group of vehicles on the road becomes a target. I have started sending supply convoys in single truck units. I thought it wise to follow my own advice.”
“I understand, Comrade. And the supplies are beginning to get through. And I am happy that you also survived the trip.”
Khrushchev laughed. “Perhaps if they bag me, they will lose the war.”
Smirnoff laughed along with the imperious little man and thought frantically. How should he respond to the apparent joke?
“All the same, I am glad you survived the trip, Comrade Khrushchev. The Germans have become all too good at directly attacking our command structure.”
“Indeed, but you have done well.” Khrushchev continued with the bonhomie. Smirnoff thought it was genuine, rather than an affectation.
Khrushchev reached out with both arms and put his hands on Smirnoff’s arms. “You are to be congratulated for your quick thinking during the German incursion. You have shown initiative, and we wish to reward you.”
“Thank you, Comrade Khrushchev, but I was simply doing my duty.”
“Nyet, nyet,” Khrushchev responded. “I hereby confirm that you are now officially in command of the western front in this war. I have the paperwork promoting you to general.”
Smirnoff half expected this since he had not been immediately relieved, and a replacement had not arrived from Moscow. He also knew that he was now riding the tiger. And the survival rate for Soviet tiger riders was not high. He made up his mind that he would simply have to do his best and hope to avoid any unfortunate consequences.
“There is one more thing, Comrade General Smirnoff,” Khrushchev continued.
Smirnoff now wondered what the one more thing would be. There were no NKVD troops with Khrushchev, so he didn’t think the chubby bald man was going to arrest him. But what would the other man be talking about?
“We are going to award you the Hero of the Soviet Union medal,” the man proclaimed.
Smirnoff was shocked. “Certainly, Comrade, I am not deserving of such an honor.”
“Ha!” Khrushchev barked, “You just provided us our first major victory in this war. You certainly deserve it.” He glanced at the other men. “And now we will go talk privately.”
“Of course, Comrade Khrushchev,” Smirnoff replied.
Once inside the command tent, the two men retreated to Smirnoff’s office. While the tent canvass was hardly soundproof, Khrushchev pitched his voice low so that it would not carry.
“I am sure you understand that along with your greater responsibility and honors, you incur more personal risk.”
“I am not sure I understand,” Smirnoff replied.
“It is simply this; Comrade Stalin expects you to resume the offensive against the Germans. He expects that you will not fail.”
“I serve the Soviet Union,” Smirnoff immediately replied. Given the circumstances, there was little else he could say.
Khrushchev gave him an old-fashioned look. “Correct. And what are your honest expectations for a renewed offensive, Comrade General?”
Smirnoff hesitated and Khrushchev spoke again. “I expect total honesty, Comrade General. Comrade Stalin has tasked me with riding herd on the general officers. He is holding me responsible for seeing that the offensive resumes. So, you understand that it is my head as well as yours.”
Smirnoff stared at Khrushchev. It seemed he could see the doors of hell drawing open and wondered what would happen to an atheist like him. Could he afford to trust Khrushchev? Could he afford to trust anybody?
“You have no choice but to trust me,” Khrushchev said. “There are two things that you and I must survive. We must survive this war, and we must survive Comrade Stalin.”
“How can you say things like this?” Smirnoff whispered.
“You will observe that there are no political officers with me. In effect, I am the political officer who is reporting on your reliability. Do you understand me?”
For all his life, Smirnoff had worked assiduously to avoid situations like this. Any group of officers and bureaucrats not directly aligned with Stalin tended to have short lifespans. Smirnoff decided he had little choice in the matter.
“Very well, Comrade,” he stated, “what are your instructions?”
“You will begin planning a new offensive. I am working on getting supplies and reinforcements to you. You understand that under the circumstances, don’t you, that you must deliver?”
“I understand, Comrade Khrushchev.”
Smirnoff thought carefully. If Khrushchev expected honesty, he would get it.
“To accomplish my mission, I need at least ten more divisions on the front. We need a tank-heavy force to break through the German lines.”
“Done,” Khrushchev immediately replied. “I cannot guarantee the quality of the forces, but I will find you ten more divisions.”
“Thank you, Comrade. I suppose I should start planning.”
Khrushchev stood up. “First, I will visit the troops in the headquarters unit. Then I will return to Kiev and then to Moscow. Comrade Stalin will not be pleased that I am asking for ten divisions. But he will understand. What he does not understand, Comrade General Smirnoff, are excuses. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Comrade Khruschev, I understand.”
Khrushchev stared at him for a few moments, then suddenly grinned. He clapped his hands on Smirnoff’s arms once again and then left the office.
§ § §
August 16, 1943; 9 AM
Headquarters, OKW
Berlin, Germany
Generals Erhard Milch and Heinz Guderian sat around a table in an alcove of the Reichsmarshall’s office. The office itself now reflected Milch’s tastes. After Goering’s passing, the new Reichsmarshall had wasted no time in removing the grotesquely ornate fittings in the office. Schloss had pointedl
y suggested that Milch put the artwork into storage against the day there would be an accounting for the pillage of the Jews. The office was now decorated in a way fitting for a modern military leader.
“I like the way you have changed the office,” Guderian commented as he looked around.
Milch snorted. “Our grand Hermann, God rest his soul, had a taste for the heroic. I’m sorry, but I could not abide it.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Erhard. I liked Goering. But we all know he had warts. This is an improvement.”
“Yes, well, I suppose we don’t need to discuss the décor.”
Guderian looked across the table at Milch. “What is on your mind today?”
“The war won’t be over by winter,” Milch said simply. “I assume you have given thought to your needs for winter warfare.”
“I have given it some thought,” Guderian responded, “and the implications frighten me. The Russians are accustomed to operating in the winter. We are not. We will be at a serious disadvantage. Fortunately, their tactics are rudimentary.”
“I have given this some thought,” Milch stated. “Given some advance notice, we can begin equipping our troops with winter garments. I do not know what effect the cold will have on our vehicles and weapons, but I suspect it is not good.”
“Gehlen had people running around in the Ukraine and Belarus last winter,” Guderian commented. “I suppose we could ask for his recommendations.”
“That is a good idea. That had not occurred to me.”
“I have a team investigating winter tactics,” Guderian added. “The Finns did a great job of tying the Russians up in knots during the winter of ’39. We are studying that.”
“I’m glad you are thinking about it, Heinz,” Milch said. “I am not a tactician. I am an administrator and, I think, a decent logistician. I thought we needed to explore some ideas before Herr Schloss starts offering suggestions.”
Guderian laughed. “What, the Reich Chancellor makes you uncomfortable?”
“He canceled the He-177.”
The generals studied each other. Finally, Guderian spoke.