Resolute Nazi

by Wagher, Ward

  “How well does Admiral Forbes get along with the Americans?”

  Atlee smiled. “I believe the phrase is like a house afire. It was one of King’s people who suggested the Australian landing. I gather some of Forbes’ people were horrified, but Forbes gave it the green light enthusiastically.”

  “Well, it certainly seems to have paid off.”

  “The question is whether they can maintain the foothold. The Americans spotted a lot of tonnage headed south from Japan. Everyone has concluded that they have written off their operation in Hawaii.”

  “The question,” the queen posed, “is what the Japanese intentions are at the moment. They must have surely realized they cannot win this war.”

  “They have done well so far. I think Yamamoto knows he cannot win it, but we do not know if he represents the faction that controls the government. Nobody has any assets in Tokyo that are communicating with us anymore. We’re in the dark on this, Your Majesty.”

  “They have to know about our attitudes when we discovered the murder of the civilians. We have made it clear that we are going to push this war to a successful conclusion. So, what are they doing?”

  “I do not know.” Atlee shook his head. “And we have no way of gathering information.”

  “I do not like waiting for the other shoe to drop, Clement.”

  “I don’t either.”

  The queen glared at the prime minister, but he had grown accustomed to her moods and wasn’t much intimidated. However, the question she raised bothered him a great deal. Although the Royal Navy was the model for how the Japanese built their fleet, Japan’s historic isolation from the West resulted in few British and American people truly understanding the culture. This made it incredibly difficult to perceive their desires and intentions.

  § § §

  September 27, 1943; 7 AM

  Government House

  Perth, Australia

  General Alexander Vandergrift was met by a messenger just as he arrived at his office that morning. To this point, he had had a good war. The First Marine Division had made an unopposed landing on Freemantle Beach. The Japanese forces consisted of military police and administrative personnel. That was all that was required after Australia’s surrender to the Japanese. Some of the military police had fought brave but losing battles with the Americans.

  “Sir, the Japs have landed in force on Cottesloe Beach. They estimate the Japs are in division strength, or perhaps two divisions. General Blamey asked that I tell you he has executed Plan B.”

  “Thank you, Corporal. Return to your station.”

  Vandergrift walked into his office, where most of the staff had already arrived.

  “Did you hear the news, Gunny?” he asked the Chief Master Gunnery sergeant who guarded the entrance to his office.

  “Yes, Sir. I think the Japs are going to get a nasty surprise.”

  “I think so, too. But please notify the battalion commanders on what is happening. I think we should have an all-hands meeting in a couple of hours. Please ask the S2 to see me. I don’t want us to get overconfident.”

  The gunny gave the general an evil grin. “I think the correlation of forces is going to bite them big time.”

  “Three divisions against one might have that effect. Anyway, get cracking, Gunny.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  Following the successful marine landing, the Royal Navy had somehow scraped up the necessary shipping to move the three divisions of the Australian Army from where they were interned by the Germans in Egypt to Perth. While there was limited armor, the total force makeup by the allies was guaranteed to give the Japanese pause. General Blamey, the Army commander, had devised a plan to allow the Japanese to get their first wave ashore and then initiated a massive counterattack.

  Between the Australian army and flight groups from the Intrepid, Vandergrift expected the Japanese to have a bad day. Following the plan, the Japanese on the beach received a massive mortar barrage while the artillery worked over the landing craft. American Navy pilots attacked the offshore fleet. Admiral King had had the foresight to offload a supply of torpedoes for the Avenger attack planes. The Japanese Navy was forced to defend themselves while attempting to support the landing.

  A few of the Japanese freighters had wandered within range of the howitzers and paid for their inattention. The warships in the invasion fleet engaged in counter-battery, but the damage had been done. The Japanese forces had lost coherence and were wiped out.

  By the time General Vandergrift convened the 10 AM Intelligence Briefing, the battle was over. The Australian Army, aided by armed civilians, were highly motivated and disinclined to give quarter.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  September 28, 1943; 2 AM

  Baku, Azerbaijan

  Sergeant Freidmann and Corporal Baumann walked through the oil refinery as though they owned it. Of course, the borrowed NKVD uniforms helped immensely. Neither had been inside of an installation like this before. So much of what they saw was new to them.

  “It looks like we are going to have to improvise, as usual, Uwe. But there seem to be all kinds of things around here just waiting to explode.”

  “I had heard somewhere that the Russians are prone to industrial accidents,” the Corporal said. “A place like this is an accident waiting to happen.”

  The oil refinery was a noisy place, so they had little worry about someone overhearing the conversation. Baumann carried a tool bag as they marched along. Anyone having concerns about what the two men were doing pointedly looked the other way. Nobody wanted to bother the Chekists. Friedmann walked over to a six-inch pipe that ran along the base of a cracking unit.

  “This looks like as good a place as any,” the sergeant said.

  Friedmann glanced around as Baumann removed a grenade from the bag along with a spool of string. He tied the string around the neck of the grenade and played out several feet from the spool. Holding the trigger on the grenade, he eased the pin out and then leaned over the pipe to slide the grenade down where it was wedged between the pipe and the base of the cracking unit. He unwound the string and tied it around a valve handle in such a way that it was easy to spot.

  Friedmann nodded. “That works. I think the Russian lettering on this pipe says that it’s benzene.”

  “That should work.”

  Friedmann started walking. “Come on then, Corporal. We have another dozen grenades to plant.”

  The two men wandered deeper into the refinery, planting their improvised booby-traps. In some cases, they wedged them under the hitch of a tanker truck, so that the movement of the vehicle would drop the grenade loose and it would explode. In other places, they wedged the grenade in and then tied the string to one of the valves so that as a worker spun the valve, it would pull the grenade loose.

  Baumann looked at the empty tool bag. “I think we’re done here, Sergeant.”

  “Very well. Set the bag somewhere and we can leave.”

  As the two men walked out of the gate, they complimented the guard on the tight security around the plant, warning them to be careful because of possible saboteurs. They walked to the car that they had borrowed from the local NKVD office and drove off.

  The borders of Soviet Azerbaijan were impossible to control. There were dozens of paths and rudimentary roads crisscrossing the country. Since the car seemed sturdy, Friedmann selected one of the routes and began navigating cross country.

  Friedmann pulled to a stop as they crested a particularly high hill, and they got out of the car to look behind them. From fifteen kilometers away, they could see the lurid orange glow of the burning refinery. As they watched, a massive explosion drove flames and debris into the sky.

  Friedmann glanced over at Baumann with a one-sided grin. “I think we can count that as a victory for Herr Schloss.”

  “I believe you are right as usual, Sergeant.”

  “Of course, I’m right. I am always right.”

  Late that afternoon, the two Ge
rmans reached Germi, Persia, still driving the NKVD car. Major Geddes invited them to his hotel room to talk.

  “Can you confirm your mission was a success?”

  Friedmann nodded as Baumann smirked. “Oh, yes. I suspect the refinery is a total write-off. We observed some of the explosions from fifteen kilometers away.”

  Geddes smiled. “I would count that as a success. I think we can return to Mosul tomorrow. Beyond that, I have no instructions.”

  “Do you have a radio in Mosul?”

  “Oh, yes. If you can encode a message, Stolp can send it.”

  “Very well, Major. Thank you for your help.”

  § § §

  September 28, 1943; 6 PM

  OKW Headquarters

  Berlin, Germany

  General Heinz Guderian was beginning to think about leaving his desk for a while to get something to eat. Yet his day was nowhere near being over. Still, he had learned to take breaks periodically, either for food or to rest his eyes. It seemed to give him the energy to continue. He looked up as a communications Sergeant stepped into his office. The man handed him an envelope and then saluted.

  With that, the Sergeant immediately turned and left the room, telling Guderian that this was an informational message and required no response. He used his letter opener to cut the edge of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of foolscap. He unfolded the paper and then read it. Raising his eyebrows, he picked up the telephone.

  “Please see if the Reich Chancellor is available to see me now?”

  He listened for a moment, then set the phone down. He left his desk and walked down the hall to the Reichsmarshall’s office. He tapped on the door and Milch, who was on the phone, waved him in. Guderian stood near the desk and patiently waited for the Reichsmarshall to finish his conversation.

  “I do not care who he is, Herr Weber, you should have sacked him after the first accident. He injured two other workers this time. The Reich Chancellor has informed me in no uncertain terms that we cannot delay the project. We should be looking at ways to accelerate it.”

  Milch listened for a bit and then apparently interrupted the caller. “You are not listening to me. If I have to leave here and come to the plant to do your job for you, it means you are not the right person to run the project. So you need to toss the Gauleiter’s son into the street and fix your operation. If you get interference or threats, let me know. I am sure the Reichsprotektor would be happy to make an example of some people there.”

  He listened some more. “Very well. Let me know when you have things where they should be. And Herr Weber, you must never bring this kind of nonsense to me again. Is that understood?”

  A moment later, he slammed the receiver down and looked up at Guderian with a raised eyebrow.

  “Mein Gott, Heinz. Some fool managed to shut down the B-17 line through some idiocy, and the program manager calls me to ask what to do.”

  “It sounds like you took care of the problem, Herr General.”

  “But I should not have had to. And I certainly hope you do not have bad news. It has not been a good day.”

  Wordlessly Guderian handed him the radio message. Milch carefully read the note and pulled his lips back in an approximation of a grin.

  “So Gehlen’s little friends scored again, nicht wahr?”

  Guderian’s grin was more natural. “If anything, this pair tends to underestimate their accomplishments. At a guess, I would say the refinery in Baku is a total loss. I have arranged to take this message to the Reich Chancellor. He needs some good news. Would you like to ride along?”

  “Yes, and thank you for asking, Heinz. Before we leave, I would like to make a photocopy of the message.”

  “Of course.”

  The two generals walked down the hall to the stairwell and descended to the next floor. They entered a room full of expensive-looking office equipment. A technician worked among duplicating machines, and devices to make photographic copies of documents. The technician took the communiqué and spread it out under a camera and laid a piece of glass over it. He pushed a button, and a bright light came on, and they heard the trip of the shutter. The technician handed the document back to Milch. They then walked to the main entrance of the building where Guderian’s car and driver waited.

  Without a word, they climbed into the back seat of an Opel diplomat and looked out the windows for the short ride to the Reich Chancellery.

  “You do not like me,” Milch said suddenly.

  Guderian looked over with his trademark smirk. “Whatever makes you say that, Herr General?”

  “I am not a fool, Heinz. I know I did not achieve my position because of my sparkling personality. I can read people pretty well.”

  Guderian looked out the windshield of the car for a while and then turned back to the Reichsmarshall.

  “I have come to respect your skills, Erhard. For a political general, you are a skilled administrator. You have never heard a shot fired in anger, but you have been excellent at anticipating the needs of the Army. You are correct; I do not like you. And you probably do not like me.” He chuckled softly. “But we seem to work well together. And in the current environment, that is what counts. Herr Schloss depends upon us to save Germany. I refuse to allow my likes or dislikes to interfere with that task.”

  Milch rolled his tongue around in his cheek for a few moments. Then he looked over at Guderian.

  “I don’t think you have said anything with which I would disagree. I am glad we had this conversation. The Reich Chancellor does not particularly like me, either. I made a rather bad mistake a while back, and I appreciate Herr Schloss allowing me to correct it. He was unhappy with me.”

  “Unhappy?” Guderian now laughed loudly. “He was beside himself with rage. I was surprised he did not sack you on the spot. I’m glad he did not.”

  “I am glad as well. Every day when I wake up, I ask God not to let me make a fool of myself. I clearly forgot to talk to God that morning.”

  “Herr General, the Americans have a saying that good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from poor judgment.”

  “The Americans seem to have a wealth of those pithy little aphorisms. I think I will remember that one.”

  The Opel rolled to a stop in front of the Reich Chancellery. The two men left the car and walked to the front entrance of the building. They took the elevator to the third floor and walked the hallway to Schloss’s office. Willem Kirche, the Reich Chancellor’s secretary waited in the doorway.

  “The Reich Chancellor is waiting for you, gentlemen.”

  A weary-looking Heinrich Schloss stood at his desk as they walked in.

  “I do not need any more bad news today, meine Herren.”

  “This is some good news for a change, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Guderian said as he handed the paper to Schloss.

  He skimmed the message and then looked up at Guderian. “Is there any way we can confirm this?”

  “This is the team that raised so much hell behind the lines at the opening of the war. Judging from the content of the message, I would say that they managed to destroy the refinery. It will take a big bite out of Stalin’s petroleum supplies.”

  “That is good news. We haven’t been able to stop the Russians any other way. Perhaps they will simply run out of gas.”

  “I am hopeful we can stop them at the Oder River,” Guderian said.

  “You’re hopeful, not confident?”

  “I have learned not to be overconfident, Herr Reich Chancellor. However, we must stop them at the Oder. If they get across the river, then Berlin is lost.”

  Schloss walked back behind his desk and collapsed into his chair with a sigh. He waved the two generals into the chairs across from his desk.

  “Willem! Some coffee for the generals.”

  He studied his two guests carefully. “As you know, we have relocated the critical government operations to Munich. Are you suggesting the rest of us evacuate?”

  “I think that would
be wise, Herr Reich Chancellor. I find myself completely baffled as to how they managed to keep coming. We control the air. We continuously bomb their supply lines as well as the front lines. And yet they fight.”

  Schloss glared at them for a few moments before speaking. “What is that old saying from the Spartans? Come back with your shield, or come back on it?”

  “You are speaking of the Russians? Perhaps he is shooting the generals pour encourager les autres.”

  Schloss barked a short, sharp, sour laugh. “That is it exactly, I’m afraid. I had no illusions about what war with the Russians would involve. You have done far better than anyone could expect, Heinz. You have achieved the very difficult. I am now asking for the impossible.”

  Kirche walked into the office with a tray containing two cups and a coffee carafe. He set it down on the small table between the two generals and poured each of them a cup of coffee. Schloss grinned at the two generals.

  “Willem is obeying my wife’s dictate. No more coffee for me today. However, please feel free to enjoy that. Now let’s talk about the war.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  September 29, 1943; 8 PM

  The Willard Hotel

  Washington, DC, USA

  “So, do you feel as though you had a successful trip to America, Herr Commerce Minister?” Hans Thomsen asked.

  Ribbentrop tilted his wine glass and looked at the ruby-colored liquid, and then scanned the restaurant of the Willard Hotel, where they dined.

  “I think that having the opportunity to meet President Truman was a major coup. And I was honored to be invited to the White House. I did not expect to close any large business deals. The Americans are fighting their war, and they have serious material needs.”

  “Getting an invitation to spend an evening with the president and his friends was amazing. The man likes you.”

  “For some strange reason, anyway,” Ribbentrop commented. “It was enjoyable and a chance to get to know the president better. Even if it did cost me three-hundred dollars, American.”