Himmler's war

by Robert Conroy

  “American planes rule the skies, yet we were able to overfly those areas without too much interference. And, why then did they do such a poor job of hiding those landing craft? And they surely must know that many of the Germans remaining in the Rhineland are spies.”

  Rundstedt paused. “Are you hinting that the Yanks will again use Patton, their best general, as a decoy?”

  “I simply don’t know, Field Marshal. But finding the landing craft does seem too pat, too easy. I believe we’ve found what the Americans wish us to find.”

  Rundstedt smiled grimly and tapped Varner on the shoulder with his field marshal’s baton. “That kind of thinking is why you got promoted. Go find what we’re not supposed to find, Varner, but do it soon.”

  ***

  “This is utter insanity,” said Truman, now the thirty-third President of the United States. “Our soldiers are petitioning for us to negotiate a peace with the Germans?”

  The President had a report saying more than half a million GI’s had so far signed the petitions, and hundreds of thousands more were expected to. Word had reached the news media and columnists were raising the question: would the U.S. and the world be better off if a peace was negotiated with the new Nazi regime? More and more, popular opinion was shifting towards a negotiated end to the war, even if it meant that Himmler and other monsters went unpunished for their crimes and atrocities against humanity. Let God be their judge, some were saying.

  Also, nobody had forgotten that the war with Japan continued to rage with the Japanese military getting more and more fanatical in their resistance. The war in the Pacific was developing into a bloodbath. Could the American public handle two such wars?

  The soldiers’ petition was his first domestic crisis, and he had to wonder whether there was merit to their proposal. He also had to wonder whether he had enough clout in Congress to continue with the war against Germany’s new regime. Nobody said the job would be easy, he mused.

  And then there were the Russians.

  “What the hell are they doing? Now, months after the Soviets abandon us they attack Japan?” He turned to Acheson. “And what did your good commie friend Gromyko have to say about this?”

  Acheson shrugged. He had concluded his usual unsatisfactory meeting with the Russian ambassador only an hour earlier. “I would rather have a viper as a friend than Gromyko. I believe it was the usual pack of lies. He tried to say that they were responding to our needs by attacking our enemy, Japan. When I tried to tell him that invading Manchuria would do nothing to help Eisenhower, he simply shrugged. In my opinion, the invasion of Manchuria is another land grab by Stalin. I believe he feels that the Japanese army is so weakened that Soviet armor will punch through without much difficulty and they will wind up owning Manchuria and perhaps northern China. They will also be in a position to aid the Chinese communists if they so desire and simply crush Chiang Kai-shek’s corrupt and ripe-for-failure Nationalist armies.”

  Truman turned to Marshall. “Can they do that?”

  “Without too much difficulty,” Marshall said. “We believe the Japs have been pulling their best front line forces back to Japan in anticipation of our invading the Home Islands. Even though the weather at this time of year in Manchuria is terrible at best, the Soviets have already mauled Japanese armies in battles prior to this war’s beginning. The Japs cannot stand up to Russian armor and their other weaponry is really second rate at best.”

  “On a marginally positive note,” Acheson said, “Gromyko insisted that rumors of a Russian invasion of Turkey are untrue, and that they simply moved some of their forces to the Turkish border to let them rest.”

  “Do you believe him?” Truman asked.

  “About as far as I can throw him,” Acheson said grimly. “Before you became President, sir, we did make the point that we considered both Turkey and Greece in our sphere of influence. We did so unofficially and without FDR’s knowledge. Given his state of health and his feelings that Stalin was an honest broker, we did not think he would concur with our initiatives.”

  Truman nodded. “And how many secrets are you keeping from me now, Mister Acheson?”

  The other man was unfazed and simply smiled frostily. “Well sir, if I told you then they wouldn’t be secrets, now would they?”

  ***

  Otto Skorzeny enjoyed the flicker of fear on the face of Werner Heisenberg as he entered the physicist’s cluttered office. He did not consider himself to be a particularly cruel man, but it did give him a sense of power to see others cringe when he confronted them. Size, strength, and those wicked dueling scars on his face frequently came in useful.

  “When can you move the bomb?” he asked.

  “Not for a couple of months,” Heisenberg stammered. The stress of producing a true super-weapon was overwhelming and was beginning to affect his health. The scientist was pale and his hair was turning gray.

  “You have two weeks,” Skorzeny said.

  Heisenberg was shocked. “That’s too soon. The components might be ready, but the people who will detonate the bomb need to be trained in its assembly and the steps needed to detonate it.”

  “You know what to do, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Heisenberg said and then his face fell. “Oh, no.”

  Skorzeny laughed. “Oh yes, Professor Heisenberg. You and a small staff will accompany the bomb on its journey to the heart of Russia. And it will do you no good to protest. It’s been decided by Reichsfuhrer Himmler himself. If the bomb does as promised you will be a hero to the Reich. If it doesn’t, you won’t wish to be in or near Berlin.”

  “But why so soon?”

  “Himmler is concerned that the Reds are beginning to move their armies back into position and will attack Germany at the height of the battle for the Rhine. Your bomb is the only way we can prevent such a stab in the back from the Bolsheviks from happening. Oh yes, you will leave notes behind so that the weapon can be reconstructed should that prove desirable.”

  “I don’t speak Russian,” Heisenberg said, grasping at straws.

  “You won’t have to. Others will take part in any conversations necessary. If anybody does question your and the others’ presence, they will be told that you are captured German scientists, which is true in a way, isn’t it?”

  “But if I am captured, the Russians will be able to extract all our nuclear secrets from me.”

  Skorzeny shook his head. The poor academic fool didn’t understand. “Doctor, you will not be captured. I will be right there with you and, should that unhappy event seem likely, I will personally blow your brains out.”

  Heisenberg understood and nodded solemnly. A quick and merciful death would be better than an eternity in the hands of the Russians. Or the Gestapo, for that matter. “And what about my family, especially if I should fail?”

  “They are of no interest to us. They will be left alone. I am a soldier and I kill Germany’s enemies, Doctor, I am not a murderer.”

  Heisenberg managed a small smile. “And tell me, Colonel, where will you be when the bomb goes off in the heart of Moscow?”

  ***

  “And just what the fuck is this?” Sergeant Tyree Walls asked. “It looks like an abortion on wheels.”

  Normally, Walls wouldn’t have spoken like that to a white man, but this sergeant at a huge motor pool outside the channel city of Cherbourg seemed to be an okay kind of guy.

  Sergeant Copland laughed. “What’s the matter? You don’t recognize a General Motors truck?”

  Walls returned the laugh. “I recall seeing a picture of something called a platypus, Copland, and this is just like it, neither fish nor fowl.”

  Walls read the poop sheet he’d been given. It was called a DUKW and, surprise, pronounced Duck. It was built by the Yellow Truck Division of General Motors on top of a standard 6X6 cab-over chassis. It weighed six and a half tons and could go fifty miles an hour on the ground and, real surprise, six in water. The damn thing was a boat. Now he knew where he’d seen the
thing-in newsreels of the Normandy landings.

  So what the hell was he doing looking at an amphibious machine that could go both in water and on land?

  Oh shit-The Rhine.

  Copland read his mind. “That’s right, Sergeant, you and a whole bunch of others are going to be driving these abortions across the Rhine and right into the heart of Germany.”

  “I thought the navy drove ships.”

  “Small things like this are called boats, not ships, and I understand the navy isn’t at all interested in providing drivers for these.”

  “I see where these things can have machine guns mounted. Can I have one? Might not hit anything, but it’d feel good.”

  “I can almost guarantee it.”

  Walls shook his head. He knew when he’d been fucked. “Just out of curiosity, Sergeant Copland, where the hell will you be when I’m cruising the Rhine?”

  “Maybe right alongside you, Sergeant Walls. I’ll be skippering one of these things as well.”

  Tyree thought that was better. He stuck out his hand which the white sergeant took. “Sergeant Copland, I’m proud to be a member of the U.S. Army’s navy.”

  ***

  Morgan could barely conceal his elation. Jessica would be in Rheinbach, only a dozen or so miles away. Now all he had to do was find a way to get to Rheinbach without getting court-martialed.

  He nobly considered that he didn’t want much time with her and quickly discarded that ridiculous notion. He wanted a lifetime with her. However, he would settle for even just a few minutes.

  In the quick phone call she’d made, she said that she had volunteered to check out the possibly deplorable refugee situation at a camp outside Rheinbach and that she hoped that he would, somehow, manage to get there. Damn. What the hell to do now?

  He walked to where Jeb’s quarters were. Like a number of enterprising GI’s of all ranks, Jeb had managed to get a tent all to himself, whereas Jack was still sharing with Levin.

  A piece of wood by the flap served as a knocker. Jack knocked, announced himself, and walked in. “Oh shit,” he said.

  A pretty young blonde sat up in Jeb’s cot. “Hello,” she said with a radiant smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Jeb has said a lot of nice things about you.”

  She was naked and Jeb was asleep beside her. The cot looked too small for two people, but neither seemed to mind. “I’m Hilda Brunner and I’ll wake him for you,” she continued in heavily accented English.

  Hilda wrapped an army blanket around her and, after a few not so gentle shoves, Jeb woke up and yawned. “I see you’ve met Hilda. Hilda, this is Jack.”

  Hilda beamed again. “Hello.” The army blanket had opened and Jack was acutely aware that she was a true natural blonde with an incredibly lean and slender body.

  “Jeb, I have to ask, how old is she?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Jesus, that would be illegal in some states.”

  “Yeah, but not in Germany. Now you’re going to ask what essential service she provides to make it legal according to the new fraternization rules. It’s simple, she raises my morale.”

  Hilda patted Jeb on the cheek. “That’s not all I raise.”

  Jeb grinned and Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Jack, if you hadn’t taken an oath of celibacy in order to impress my cousin, there are a number of wonderful German women who’d love to meet you, including some of Hilda’s relatives. And, in case you haven’t noticed, Hilda speaks English, which means our relationship isn’t all carnal.”

  Hilda giggled. “It isn’t?”

  “Now, Jack, what the hell is so important that you have to interrupt my afternoon siesta? I am just totally exhausted. Hilda is one hell of an athlete.”

  Jack explained the situation with Jessica going to Rheinbach as part of a Red Cross investigation of the refugee camp.

  Carter patted Hilda on her delightful rump. “Rheinbach. Isn’t that near where you live?”

  “Yes. It’s just a little place and wasn’t badly bombed. My family still owns businesses there.”

  “And isn’t one of them a hotel?”

  “Ah, yes,” she said, catching on quickly. “It’s a small but lovely place on the Hauptstrasse, which is the town’s main street. You will give me dates and I will ensure that Captain Morgan and his lover get the best of rooms and service.”

  When Jack started to protest that they weren’t lovers yet, Jeb turned on him. “Damn it, my lovely cousin invited you to meet her in the German town and you’re not going to have a place to take her if she’s willing? How dumb are you? No, wait, we already know that. She’s going to Rheinbach to meet you, Hilda’s getting the rooms, and all you and I have to do is figure out a way to get to Rheinbach at the right time.”

  “You mean you’re okay with my getting intense with your cousin?”

  “My cousin’s free, white, and over twenty-one. She can do whatever she wants with whoever she wishes, and yes, I do wish she’d had an affair with me, but that didn’t happen and it ain’t gonna happen since she’s met you and is settling for less than she should. Look, we’re in a period of what was once called ‘sitzkrieg’ or phony war, but we all know it’s not going to last forever. When the weather turns nice all goddamn hell is going to break loose and a lot of us won’t be around for next Christmas. For God’s sake, take life when and how you can.”

  Hilda sat back down on the cot and pulled Jeb’s hand down to her breast. “Don’t forget, you have me.”

  “Right,” Jeb said, calming down. “Hilda will make the arrangements and, if nothing happens, so be it. If it does work out then you’ll have a night or two to remember for the rest of your lives. And, with the invasion coming on, that might not be all that long. Live while you can, Jacko.”

  Still naked, Hilda walked with Jeb and Jack to the tent flap. “He is joking with you. I’m twenty-one and not sixteen. My family has decided that it will be a long time before Germany again controls the Rhineland, so we are cooperating to the fullest.”

  “And they are indeed,” Jeb said happily. Hilda said goodbye and led an unprotesting Jeb back to the cot. Elated, Jack walked back to his own quarters.

  ***

  The trip across Poland was about as Skorzeny had expected-appalling and miserable.

  Eleven vehicles made up the column. In addition to the warm and fairly comfortable staff car he shared with Heisenberg, there were nine trucks of varying sizes and makes. Although a couple were the crude but robust Russian made Zis three-ton vehicles with their absurd wooden cabs, the majority were General Motors two-and-a-half-ton trucks sent to Russia via lend-lease and captured by the Germans. A bus carrying extra men and scientists completed the motorized menagerie.

  All the vehicles were painted with the dread red shield insignia of the NKVD and their crews were, with the exception of the handful of scientists accompanying them, all Russians who hated the Soviets because they either lost everything in the Revolution, or had been part of Vlasov’s anti-Soviet army and wanted revenge for his capture. Skorzeny declined to tell any of them that it’d been he who had turned Vlasov and the others over to the Reds to be butchered. Let them believe the fairy tale that a Soviet raid had captured Vlasov.

  Skorzeny’s second in command was a young major named Ivan Davidov. He hated Stalin with a white-hot fury because his parents and brother had disappeared into the Siberian gulags for the crime of being intellectuals who asked questions. He didn’t give a crap what had happened to Vlasov whom he considered a turncoat who couldn’t be trusted. Davidov considered himself to be a true patriot.

  None of this was a great concern to Skorzeny. He had his orders from Himmler and would carry them out. Of course, Himmler had tried to pin him down as to how long it would take to get to Moscow and detonate the bomb. Skorzeny first had to remind the Reichsfuhrer that no one knew for certain if the damn thing would explode or not, which obviously frustrated Himmler.

  Nor was Himmler happy when Skorzeny said they’d arrive when they got th
ere, that he had no idea what the conditions were in Poland and western Russia, and what kind of delays would ensue.

  Now he knew. Poland was a study in desolation. It had been fought over and savaged several times by both Russia and Germany since 1939 and in wars prior to that. Few buildings were intact. Decomposing and dismembered corpses, animal and human, lay everywhere. Mounds of rubble gave off intolerable stenches because thousands of bodies were buried underneath, the result of more recent battles.

  Few people were seen. Either they were all dead, or had fled somewhere, or were living like rats in the rubble. Skorzeny didn’t blame them for hiding. Both the Germans and the Russians despised the Poles. Men had been massacred while women and children were raped by both sides. Poland was well on its way to becoming a ghost land.

  Before the war, Poland had not been noted for its efficient road system and now the situation was worse. Craters forced detours and many bridges were down. Spring was coming and creeks were becoming rivers. Several times the convoy had to wait for the floods to go down or Soviet engineers to repair bridges.

  While the NKVD insignia gave them priority, it was often an empty honor. Nothing could solve the problem of a downed bridge or a blasted road except patience. Still, slowly and gradually, they made their way across Poland and to the Russian border, where they found things only marginally different. At least there were people, even though they were gaunt and in filthy rags, and there were few children or old ones. When they noticed the hated and feared NKVD symbol they scurried away and hid as quickly as they could.

  Nor did they push their luck when it came to taking priority against westward traveling columns of trucks and tanks. It was not lost on Skorzeny that the Soviet Army was again building up against the Reich. Himmler had told them that the Americans would attack as soon as the Rhine was clear and that the Reds were rebuilding. Therefore, the bomb had to be detonated as soon as possible.