North Reich

by Robert Conroy

  “Sergeant, right now a bunch of officers is trying to figure out how to write a report on this that will save their asses. I don’t need that. In your own words, tell me what the fuck happened.”

  The sergeant grinned. He was missing a couple of teeth and the wound looked fresh. “It’ll cost you the rest of the pack.”

  “Done,” Koenig said and handed over the bribe.

  “Sir, are you aware that we had spies and saboteurs in the field the other night? Well, one of our men went outside to take a piss and saw motion by a tank. He sounded the alarm and we all spilled out of our barracks. The spies got away, of course. When we checked the tanks, we found that one had been tampered with and dirt had been poured into the gas tank.”

  Koenig seethed. He’d been told nothing about the incident. Heads would roll, that is, if the incompetent fools were still alive.

  The sergeant continued. “This was all reported at least to my captain who, I assume, passed it upward. It was obvious to all that the Yanks now knew about the Panthers in the field and would attack as soon as possible. I woke my men up early and even though they pissed and moaned, got them the hell away before the bombers came. That’s why they’re working. They’re alive and grateful that I showed initiative.”

  “The tanks should have been moved,” said Koenig.

  “I think that was planned, but dawn came too early.”

  Koenig stood and dusted himself off. The sergeant was a good man who’d done his best. The officers had failed. The tanks should have been moved at night, if only a little ways away from the damned field that was now a well plowed junk yard. Even moving them a short distance might have saved them to fight another day. Now they were charred and shattered hulks. He nodded to the sergeant and walked away, keeping an eye on the sky above for the return of American planes. He saw a small scout plane, but that was it. Nor was the Luftwaffe going to come and chase it and anti-aircraft guns had been either bombed or pulled away to protect something else.

  Damn it to hell, he thought. Were the American Jews going to win this battle?

  Patton had flown to Ike’s headquarters which was now situated just outside Buffalo. Omar Bradley was there as well. Coffee and sandwiches were served. It had been noted many times that there was an abundance of food for the American military. Bradley had commented that it was one advantage of fighting in one’s own country — the people liked you.

  Patton let out a deep breath. He was stuffed. “Ike, I think it’s time we stopped pussyfooting around and hit the bastards with everything we have. We’re ready. My boys have moved east and are now past Stratford and London. Hell,” he laughed, “it sounds like I’ve invaded England and not Canada.”

  He didn’t add that both towns had been destroyed by the fighting. Bombs and artillery had smashed almost every building and what bombs and guns hadn’t, the Germans had demolished. It didn’t escape the men that London was on a river named the Thames and the portion of the Thames that ran through Stratford was called the Avon. In Patton’s opinion, neither would be called much of anything for many years to come.

  “I think I agree with George,” Bradley said. His army had been slowly moving up through the more formidable defenses above the Niagara River, and now was approaching the city of Hamilton, on Lake Ontario. “We now outnumber them in all areas. If they weren’t such good and tenacious fighters, we would have crushed them a long time ago. As it is, George now has room to maneuver and should do it.”

  Ike nodded. Patton did have room to maneuver. Bradley was still more or less constrained by the lake to his right, which left a relatively narrow front. He thought he knew what his generals were planning.

  Ike smiled and lit a cigarette from the one that was down to a glowing ash. “Let me guess, George, you want Brad to exert all the pressure he can against the krauts fronting him while you do the same with yours. Then you’ll launch an attack on their right flank and try to get in their rear.”

  Patton grinned. “Right, and then then they’ll turn their flank and extend their lines to cover us, weakening them badly. Maybe they’ll even have to take units from in front of Brad to keep from falling apart. Either way, we win. When they’re stretched thin enough, we’ll attack in overwhelming force and they’ll collapse. It’s worked before. If I remember my history, Grant did it to Lee outside of Petersburg and Richmond. Just like Lee, the Germans will reach a point where they’ll be too weak to defend everything.”

  “And it ended the Civil War,” Bradley added just a little gratuitously. Ike didn’t need the history lesson.

  “When can you launch your end run?” he asked. Bradley was already exerting all the pressure he could, so the possible final move would be up to Patton.

  “Tomorrow,” he responded. “I’ve been positioning my boys for a couple of weeks now.”

  Ike grinned. “Bastard.”

  The meeting broke up. Patton and Bradley left to fly to their respective commands. Ike got on the radio to Marshall who was very pleased. Roosevelt, he said, had been taking all kinds of grief from the Canadian government in Ottawa to stop destroying Ontario. The Canadians were wondering if it was necessary to destroy Canada in order to save it. While efforts had been made to limit bombing to military targets, too many of those were located in civilian areas. Also, when the Germans took a stand in or near a town, that town was invariably obliterated. The Canadian people were utterly shocked by the devastation that was being wreaked upon their land. Some were blaming the US, arguing that the response to the German attacks on the US should not have been so massive.

  Neumann could read maps as well as the next man, and it was apparent to him that the Americans were going to continue their attacks until the over-extended German lines collapsed. Thus, it was time to play his trump card, his prisoners.

  Altogether he had a little more than three thousand of them, both civilian and military. Moving them would take hundreds of trucks and he didn’t have more than a few score. He’d broached the topic to Guderian and been told that the military had priority over any vehicles, and that he could solve his own problem if he wanted to move the prisoners. Neumann had argued the point to no avail. Even invoking Hitler’s name had changed nothing. Hitler was a world away in Berlin, while Guderian was surrounded by Americans in North America.

  Guderian had ordered Neumann to not harm the prisoners. Neumann had agreed, but his promise was a lie. He reported to a higher authority, Himmler and Hitler, and would not be ordered around by a mere field marshal. The survival of the Reich in North America was at stake.

  He looked out his office window. It was almost dawn and he was in Toronto. He had a terrible headache that was like a hammer pounding between his eyes. He’d planned on being at either the camps or the farm but instead he’d gone to a party thrown by that Nazi sympathizer from the U.S. State Department, Dylan Wade. The idea had been to bolster the morale of those pro-Germans in Toronto and the party had included influential Canadian civilians who needed to be convinced that the Americans would ultimately fail.

  He’d intended to leave early, but he’d been smitten like a school child by a lovely young lady named Sherry. They’d had far too much to drink and, when he’d suggested that they go back to his office for some privacy and some more champagne, she’d agreed.

  His office was actually a suite with a cot in a separate room and a private bath. He recalled having some more champagne and kissing her passionately. He also recalled sliding her dress down to her waist and kissing her exquisite breasts while she exposed and fondled his manhood. After that his recollections were dim at best.

  Had he fucked her or not, he wondered while his headache continued to pound. Well, he could call her up and ask her if he could only remember her last name. Hell, had she even told him? He’d awakened on the couch in his office and the place had been a mess. He’d first attributed it to their wrestling around on the desk and elsewhere, but now he had a nagging feeling that all was not right.

  He called the commandant of
the civilian prison and informed him that the prisoners were to be on the road and heading north on foot as soon as possible with the military prisoners right behind them.

  “Sir, that’s already been done,” he was told. “A large number of trucks and busses arrived during the night and took them all away.”

  “By whose orders?” Neuumann almost screamed.

  The commandant was puzzled and stammered his reply. “Your orders, sir. It was on your stationery and had your signature. We were ordered to hurry and we did. They were escorted by Canadian civilians and police. The last of them left a couple of hours ago.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Sherry Piper hugged Sam Lambert with a ferocious intensity. Behind them, the last of the trucks and buses carrying the prisoners from the two camps drove by.

  “Tell me it was worth it,” she sobbed.

  “We got the prisoners and we got a ton of information from that snake’s office, Sherry. Yeah, it was worth it.”

  At least he hoped it was. He’d gotten from Sherry the fact that the bastard had passed out before he could consummate the deed, but he knew that she’d been pawed and undressed by the man who was responsible for both her rape and her brother’s death.

  “I could have killed him, but I just couldn’t do it. He killed my brother and so many others, but I couldn’t bring myself to take his life.”

  “Just as well,” Sam said gently. “It would have haunted you forever.”

  She’d been through enough. He didn’t think she was the type who could savor bloody vengeance. She had been brave beyond words, but there was a point beyond which she couldn’t handle things, and killing a sleeping Neumann was one. Neumann would get to live for a while longer.

  She thought she had put enough knock-out drops in his drink to kill a horse, but obviously she was wrong. When he finally passed out, she just stood above him for a few moments, half naked and in shock. She’d finally gathered her wits, straightened her clothes, and gotten Tinker into the room to steal anything that looked important. While he did that, Sherry found Neumann’s stationery and typed out an order sending the prisoners on their way. She had no idea what Neumann’s signature looked like, but figured that the prison guards didn’t either.

  A few yards away from them and out of earshot, Grant watched as the last vehicle passed by. The military prisoners had cheered, while the civilians showed a range of emotions. Basically, they were still scared.

  “What now?” asked Landry.

  Damn good question, Tom thought. He’d always wanted an independent command, and now he had one. But what the hell had he inherited? He had Landry’s small company of Rangers as a core, but the next best unit was Lambert’s detachment of police from Toronto and other local communities. He had several hundred Canadian volunteers from the reserve units in the area and he felt that they might give a good account of themselves when the Germans who had to be chasing the prisoners showed up. Many of them had served in the First World War, which was both a benefit and a curse. They had combat experience, but now, more than twenty years later, many were long in the tooth and out of shape.

  What he also didn’t have was weapons and ammunition. The Rangers had what they’d brought, which wasn’t much, maybe six or eight clips per man. The police had revolvers and shotguns and very little extra ammo. The same with the volunteers. They’d broken into several armories and armed themselves with old Enfield rifles and any ammunition they could find. Altogether, they had enough for one quick skirmish and then they’d be out. Nor did they have any artillery and they only had a handful of machine guns. More than one volunteer had nothing more than a shotgun or a hunting rifle.

  Landry’s radio operators had been in contact with Truscott’s headquarters, but his men were fighting desperate German units south of Toronto and needed everything they had in the way of air assets for themselves. Yes, they would try to help, but they didn’t know how much they could provide.

  Damn it, he thought, he had to delay the Nazis long enough for the caravan of former prisoners to get far enough away to be safe. Oh yeah, Tom thought. It would be nice for him and his men to save their own butts as well.

  Field Marshal Guderian was livid. That shithead Neumann had lost his prisoners and now wanted help finding them. He was of a mind to tell Neumann to go fuck himself, but one did not do that to a Gestapo commandant. No, he would provide help for the Gestapo chief even though it was the worst of times — both his military fronts were crumbling.

  To the west, Patton’s flanking movement had succeeded in dislodging General Raus’s army which was on the verge of disintegrating. The German retreat towards Toronto was in danger of becoming a rout. North of the Niagara, Steiner’s front was fighting a ferocious battle against Bradley’s army which was steadily pushing him back and causing heavy casualties. Most of the German armor had been committed and almost all of what remained of the Luftwaffe had been destroyed. He had hated to use his remaining tanks as part of a defensive line instead of having them attack and destroy the enemy, but American control of the air prohibited that.

  However, he did have an SS regiment that had been mauled in battle and was being re-equipped near Toronto. It was perfect. He gave the order to send them north to help Neumann, but not before stripping them of any artillery and armor they might still possess. He doubted they’d need either against a mob of prisoners and those who’d freed them. He would have it both ways. He’d keep the guts of the regiment in reserve while sending two battalions of infantry to do whatever Neumann wanted.

  Well, he thought, almost anything. “Koenig, come here.”

  Koenig snapped a salute. Guderian smiled grimly and handed him a piece of paper. “These are your orders. You are to go with Neumann as he recaptures the prisoners. Your job will be so see to it that they are not massacred. Do you understand?”

  “I do, sir,” Koenig responded.

  Yes, Guderian thought, Koenig understood fully. The German armies in Canada were being destroyed and surrender might just be the next option. There would be enough to answer for and no one wanted to be accused of war crimes resulting from the massacre of American and Canadian prisoners. Whether he liked it or not, Koenig would indeed try to protect the prisoners. Guderian’s only question was how would he do that when surrounded by the Gestapo, the Black Shirts and two battalions of SS?

  Canfield was too close to the front lines which made Dubinski and others nervous, but that was where he felt a good commander should be. He was not going to build a fortress and try to control events from behind thick walls like Fredendall had.

  He had to admit that the krauts were fighting hard and skillfully and making the Americans pay for every foot, every inch that they wrested from them. Many Germans had crossed the line between fighting hard and into fanaticism. What kind of mad loyalty had Hitler inspired, he wondered? Canfield answered his own question. Hitler had turned an entire civilized nation to madness.

  But the Germans were crumbling. Finally. Enemy troops were surrendering more frequently now. This bunch now approaching was typical. Canfield counted seventeen of them led by a German sergeant and guarded by a handful of GIs. The Germans looked beaten. Being bombed and shelled all day and night will do that to a man, Dubinski had said. The Germans were gaunt and dirty. Their uniforms were in tatters and some appeared to be dazed, although a couple looked at their captors with undisguised hatred.

  Many of the Germans had the leaflets that had been raining down on them for several days. They were promised food, shelter, and clothing if they quit. They were told they’d be sent to work on farms in places like Kansas, which had led some to approach American lines while gripping the leaflets and yelling out “Kansas,” which amused the GIs.

  He and Dubinski and a couple of others were standing on one side of a road while the prisoners walked slowly down the others. Neither prisoners nor guards were in any great hurry to reach their destination. One waved a leaflet and grinned.

  He’d seen enough. Dubinski and
the others were right. If he could almost brush sleeves with enemy soldiers, even if they were surrendering, he was too damn close to the action. He needed to be where he could command.

  “Grenade!”

  Canfield had only a quick glimpse of a German potato masher grenade rolling towards him. A shadow passed in front and it was followed by an explosion that threw him to the ground. For an instant he thought he was dead; but then realized that he’d survived. He lurched to his feet and stared down in horror. Dubinski had taken the brunt of the explosion and his shattered and bloody body had been torn to shreds. His eyes were still open and he still seemed to see. Canfield knelt down beside his friend.

  “You saved me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. Dubinski tried to respond but the only sound he made was a gurgle. The light then left his eyes.

  “Sons of bitches,” someone yelled and gunfire followed. Canfield was unable to stop the guards and other Americans from pouring fire into the Germans who screamed and fell as they were shot. In just a few seconds it was over and the column of German prisoners had been reduced to a bloody heap.

  Part of Canfield’s mind said it hadn’t been necessary to kill all of the Germans since it was likely that only one had carried the grenade. But which one, he wondered, and how many of the others knew the soldier had carried it and was planning to use it?

  Another thought intruded as he fought for control of his emotions. He was almost shaking from the shock of such close by death. There was blood all over his uniform and it was all Dubinski’s. Had his old friend from what seemed an eternity ago jumped on the grenade to save his and other’s lives, or had he simply stumbled and fallen on it while trying to get away?

  “He was a hero,” a young lieutenant said. Canfield took a second before remembering that the man’s name was Clark. “I saw it, sir. He jumped right on that grenade and saved all of us.”