Improbable Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “Is that likely?”

  “I think if it were going to happen,” Rainer replied, “it would have happened by now. I do not know what to do. I could not bear to lose her.”

  Schloss laughed and dropped back into his chair. “Welcome to the world, Karl. You have never been in love before?”

  “No, Sir. It just sneaked up on me.”

  Schloss leaned forward and picked up a pencil. He tapped the eraser on his desk as he looked at the Reichprotektor.

  “I suppose I must ask you this. What about the Reich?”

  “I… I have not changed my views. I serve the Fatherland. I serve you.”

  “And you hope never to be put into a position to where you have to choose between the girl or your nation.”

  Rainer nodded. “That is exactly what concerns me. But if a situation like that arises, I will come to you.”

  “Let me see if I can put your concerns at rest,” Schloss said. “I trust you completely. If anyone raises questions about your activities, refer them to me. And you are right, there is some risk because of her serving a different government. If you get into that kind of a situation, we can work it out together.”

  “Thank you, Herr Reichschancellor. You have really set my mind at ease.”

  “It is the least I can do, Karl.”

  “Very well, Sir. The next item on the list. We have captured an English spy.”

  Schloss sat up straight. “Indeed. Judging from the fact that you felt compelled to bring it to my attention, this spy must be significant.”

  “We think so. We think he has links into the Heydrich organization.”

  Schloss felt his eyebrows climbing into his forehead. “Okay, Karl, you have my attention.”

  “We have an Englishman named Archibald Menzies in custody. Through other sources we have a fairly solid confirmation that he belongs to the English MI6 organization.”

  “What was he doing here?” Schloss asked.

  “Among other things he was trying to arrange your assassination.”

  “The English?”

  “So it would seem,” Rainer said. “They heard about your upcoming trip to see the Me262 squadron and plan to shoot down your plane when you are either approaching or leaving Lechfield.”

  “That does not reassure me, Karl.”

  “We were fortunate to catch this. I will not lie to you.”

  “And how did they find out about the Lechfield trip? I only received the formal invitation from the Reichsmarshall yesterday.”

  “That is something we are also investigating. Apparently the English have a source in the Reich Air Ministry.”

  “Very well,” Schloss said. “What are you doing about it?”

  “Our Englishman, who has styled himself as Glendower by the way, has somehow arranged for a vehicle mounted anti-air gun. It will be situated along the approach path towards Lechfield.”

  “And when we were low and slow, we would fly right into the fire.”

  “Exactly. I would like to keep this closely held, Herr Schloss. We can divert your aircraft at the last minute. When you did not pass over-head, the people will disperse. We can then tail them. Heydrich has become very cagey. But, if you simply did not show up, he would not necessarily think the operation was busted.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see that,” Schloss said. “But, I really would like to see the Me262 squadron.”

  “Let me work on this for you. We have some time. Plus, there is one other item in this.”

  “The English,” Schloss said. “I noticed that.”

  “This makes me think the bombing raid on Berlin, when you were returning to the city, was not coincidental.”

  “Why are the English risking this, and how high in their government does this go?”

  “This seems a little out of character for Churchill,” Rainer said.

  “Oh, it is not out of character for him at all,” Schloss said. “It’s pretty clear the leadership of MI6 is running this, but you can bet Churchill is fully aware of it.”

  “The question is why?” Rainer asked.

  “They haven’t been able to beat us by conventional means,” Schloss said.

  “There is more than that,” Rainer said. “You have been successful in a very unconventional way. You have made the leadership of the English armed forces look foolish.”

  “Which has made Churchill look foolish, I guess. But what does he gain by sweeping me from the board?”

  Rainer looked down in thought. “Perhaps…”

  “What is it, Karl?”

  “Suppose Hitler had not been killed last year. Suppose you had not succeeded in dealing with Himmler.”

  “Then we would be bogged down in Russia. We would be at war with America.”

  “And Churchill had a plan to pull Roosevelt into the war,” Rainer continued. “Perhaps Churchill thinks that if something happens to you, the maniacs would take control again.”

  “I had already considered that, Karl. Churchill is certainly capable of planning something like this. If we were to study our foes and our potential foes, Churchill is easily the most dangerous. That is one of the reasons I am working to generate dissatisfaction with his leadership.”

  “And the game gets more interesting,” Rainer said.

  “Kirche!” Schloss bawled. “More coffee.”

  A few moments later Willem Kirche walked quickly into the room with a carafe and topped off their cups.

  “And I am going to have some pastry,” Schloss continued.

  “Regardless of the pinches?” Rainer asked.

  “I am not afraid of Gisela,” Schloss muttered.

  “May I quote you on that, Sir?”

  Schloss pointed his finger at Rainer. “At some point, we need to discuss your life expectancy, Karl.”

  “I understand, Sir.”

  § § §

  May 6, 1942; 2AM

  Feldgendarmarie Stockade

  Lyons, France

  Fritz Guderian considered the cell he inhabited. After being charged with rape and murder, he had remained in the cell, but had not been tried. He had been treated well, but otherwise ignored. He was surprised his uncle had yet to get him out of the place. He failed to understand why anybody cared about a little Jew girl. He had not intended to kill her, but in the midst of his excitement as he violated her, he had strangled her. And the rush that he received from her death during the process was like an opiate. Once he found his way out of this military prison, he wondered if he might have another opportunity for a little fun. He had never experienced anything like this before.

  He looked up when he heard the key rattling in the door. An SS major stepped into the cell, and Guderian quickly jumped to his feet. The major looked around the cell in distaste and then looked back at the solder.

  “Come Corporal, it’s time we got you out of here. You’ve been waiting long enough.”

  “Major, I am delighted someone finally recognized that.”

  “Quietly, Corporal. We have resorted to some irregular measures to gain your release. It would not do for us to attract any more attention than absolutely necessary.”

  The corridors of the prison were deserted as they walked through. There was not even a guard at the doorway from the public areas into the prison itself. He decided that the SS still commanded a lot of influence if it could rescue him from the prison and encourage the guards to be elsewhere for a few minutes. He looked around as they stepped out onto the street. It was the middle of the night, and a light rain fell. Otherwise things looked unchanged. Guderian was relieved to be out of the oppressive atmosphere of the prison.

  They led him to a small panel truck. The SS Major opened the doors and motioned for Guderian to climb in. The Major followed him. Once the engine started and the truck started moving the major pointed to a hanger swinging from a bolt attached to the wall of the truck body. On the hanger were the paper wrappings from the cleaners.

  “Your uniform is there. Please change into it. Quickly.”


  “Yes, Sir,” Guderian said quickly.

  As a corporal, he had long since understood that one did not question the orders of someone from the German SS. If they wanted him back in his uniform, it certainly meant that they had another assignment for him. He quickly peeled out of his prison garb and tore the paper off the hanger. His uniform had been cleaned and pressed. It looked nearly as good as when he had bought it. A paper bag lying below the hanger contained his shoes and a new pair of socks. The shoes had been buffed to a high sheen.

  The SS major watched as he changed clothes, but said nothing. The truck was making its way along the city streets, and Guderian had to steady himself against the walls of the truck body several times. After about fifteen minutes the truck stopped. The major waited until the doors opened from the outside.

  “Step out with me, please, Corporal,” the SS major said.

  Corporal Guderian stepped down into the street. A fine mist drift down from above, but it was not uncomfortable. The major motioned him over to the curb, where they stopped under a street light.

  “Let me inspect you, please,” the major said.

  The major carefully looked over Guderian’s uniform. He straightened one of the badges pinned to the tunic and then stepped back.

  “That looks good, corporal. Give me your hat.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Guderian said as he pulled his hat off and handed it to the major.

  “We have secured your release from prison, Corporal, so that we can demonstrate to your uncle the penalties of his betrayal of our cause. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Guderian was confused. “Sir, I… I do not understand.”

  “We attempted to reason with your uncle, and he has failed to cooperate. He will now understand the clear penalties of his failure.

  “Sir… I...”

  Corporal Fritz Guderian had time for a brief intake of breath when the loop of piano wire dropped around his neck. It was yanked tight and he felt himself quickly pulled into the air. He frantically clawed at his neck to restore his breathing, but the weight of his body embedded the wire deeply. He swung his feet around, hoping to gain purchase on the lamp pole. He stripped the skin off his fingers trying to pull himself up on the wire. The SS Major watched as the corporal lost his struggle and was still. He threw the corporal’s hat on to the sidewalk below the body. He looked at the driver and executioner.

  “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  May 6, 1942; 9AM

  Office of the Reichschancellor

  Reichschancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “How goes the propaganda war?” Schloss asked as Peter Schreiber settled himself in the chair across from the Reichschancellor’s desk.

  “Oh, there is no question the English are still better at this than we, Hennie. But, all things considered, we are doing well. You have consistently made the English look bad, and that is a hard thing for them to overcome.”

  “Why are their efforts more effective?”

  Schreiber looked around the room and smiled. “I suppose there are a number of reasons, but I think a part of it is that they are so much better in the use of humor. They are gifted at taking our quirks and turning them into something to laugh at. Fortunately, the prime target of their ridicule is no longer with us.”

  “Hitler?”

  “Right,” Schreiber said. “Because he took himself so seriously, he opened himself up to a lot of fun by the English at his expense.”

  “And we cannot turn this upon the English? They certainly have their share of, what is the word, quirky characters.”

  “The problem is,” Peter replied, “that they are the masters of self-deprecating humor. Eccentricity seems to be a major English industry. To be honest, I think the English treasure their eccentrics for the entertainment it provides. And because they understand themselves so much better than we do, their stilettos are more on the point.”

  Schloss thought about this for a few moments. “So, Peter, how do we combat something like that?”

  “The answer is: not well. It is a cultural phenomenon. I have quietly been working to encourage some of our domestic humorists, which is not easy. They are terrified of saying something that will result in Karl Rainer pulling their finger nails out.”

  Schloss snorted. “Karl has bigger fish to fry, I’m afraid.”

  “True, but some of the lower level people in the SS and the local police have not gotten the message.”

  “At least we disbanded the Gestapo. I wish we could have shipped all of them to Madagascar.”

  Schreiber laughed. “Probably would have served justice.”

  Early in the Hitler years, the Germans had looked seriously at banishing all the Jews to the island of Madagascar. This was before they settled upon the so-called Final Solution, which would have fed them to the furnaces. Schloss had brought that to a halt, but it required the deaths of a lot of radical Nazis, including Himmler.

  “You had Bohemia on the agenda this morning?” Schloss asked.

  “Yes, I did. We got a Thanks, but no thanks message from the government in exile in London. Ribbentrop was afraid you would blame him for it.”

  “Does he have a guilty conscious about something?”

  Peter shook his head. “On that question, I do not have an answer. However, he is not to blame for this. It appears the English found out about it, and twisted some arms rather hard.”

  “That does not surprise me,” Schloss said. “If the English cannot keep everyone aboard, they will sooner or later be forced to the conference table. Are we making any progress talking to the Dutch and the Belgians?”

  “They are listening, politely, I think, but are staying noncommittal. Have you given any thought to talking to Marshall Pétain?”

  “Are you suggesting we allow Pétain to extend control over all of France?” Schloss asked.

  “Just a thought. We would allow him to move his capital from Vichy back to Paris. That couldn’t help but undercut De Gaulle. And it would be more difficult for the English to spike that initiative.”

  “There would likely be opposition to a move like that from the party,” Schloss said.

  Schreiber raised his eyebrows. “Do you have opposition within the party? Karl hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “Not directly, no. The Heydrich movement is actively working to build contacts within the party, but has not been notably successful so far. Rainer has a bigger problem within the SS. But, I would need to give careful thought to anything that might stir the party in a negative way. So far, it has been supportive. It is my one real power base. You will forgive me for being chary about disturbing that.”

  “Point,” Schreiber said, “but it is something worth thinking about.”

  “It comes back to, and I have been thinking about this Peter, is what are our long-term goals? What do we want Germany to look like in ten years? I mean Hitler annexed Austria and Bohemia, along with occupied France. I am sure he planned to do the same once he depopulated Poland. I do not know about France and the low countries.”

  “He was pretty clear he wanted the Reich to stretch from the Atlantic to the Urals,” Peter said. “Is that still our goal?”

  “That is a good question, and one we must ponder,” Schloss said. “One that I do not intend to get into a war with the Russians over, though.”

  “But Russia is showing some internal stresses. I wonder if their experiment with Communism will bring about their collapse. It might be an opportunity for us.”

  “Do you really think so, Peter? I most certainly do not want to get sucked into a land war with Russia.”

  “What if they invite us in?”

  “Have you talked to the Foreign Minister about this?”

  “Actually, he brought the subject up.”

  “I don’t know,” Schloss said. “I suppose we ought to game the scenario and make some contingency plans. But, the idea makes me very uncomfortable.”

  “Why is t
hat, Hennie?”

  “Peter, we have talked about this enough. The Wehrmacht is a good tactical fighting force, but it does not think strategically. Plus, I think it may be overrated. This is problem I have not had time to address. We need to sit down with the leadership of the armed forces and decide upon their mission for the next twenty years.”

  “You have often told me that you want to have the Fatherland in a position where no one can challenge it for the next hundred years.”

  “Yes, I have. And to do that we need a plan. Herr Hitler was right in that Germany had lost its way. There was a leadership vacuum and he walked into it. We need to figure out how to avoid having another Hitler ever get into power. That means we not only have to develop an unassailable military, but we are going to have to change the entire culture as well.”

  “Is that even possible, Hennie?”

  “I do not know. But, we’ve got to try.”

  § § §

  May 10, 1942; 8AM

  Great Pyramid of Giza

  near Cairo, Egypt

  Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery carefully inspected his uniform and decorations. He adjusted his hat precisely, and then decided he was looking for reasons to postpone the ceremony on this bright Sunday morning. He stepped out of his tent and turned where his adjutant was waiting.

  “Very well, Ridley, let’s be about it,” he said with a cheerfulness he did not feel. The two walked to his command car.

  The sun had already burned off the coolness of the desert night. It was going to be very hot, as usual. Montgomery’s driver took them to where the troops were already assembled. The impromptu parade ground was arranged under the watching pyramids. Across the grounds from the British armies were the host of Huns, as Montgomery wanted to call them. Yet, he had to admit Rommel had played the game of war skillfully and honorably. The Germans had won this one. And he was ashamed to have lost.

  When the Germans had succeeded in closing the Mediterranean to the British Navy, defeat was all but foreordained. The British in India had been unable to ship the needed supplies up the Suez Canal to keep the Eighth Army fed. When the supply of munitions dried up, Montgomery had no choice but to surrender. While the Germans had been gracious in offering to let him pull his armies back to the port of Suez for evacuation to Australia, Montgomery felt that surrender to the Germans was preferable to the inevitable surrender to the Japanese. And there was not enough sea lift available even if he and Churchill had agreed to something like that. Churchill had clearly made the cold-blooded decision that Australia was already lost, and even though the army would be interned in Egypt, they would eventually come home. Of course, the Anzacs in the commonwealth armies had rather a different view. But, they had acquiesced, fortunately.