Inconsequential Nazi

by Ward Wagher

Beria nodded in agreement. “We must find more ways to appeal to the patriotism of the narod. The Motherland concept is still strong in the people. If we can tie their work to supporting the Motherland, I believe we can weather the storm.”

  Stalin picked up his pipe and filled it from a pouch of tobacco that lay on his desk. He leaned over and struck a wooden match against his boot. The sharp smell of burning sulfur enveloped the room, and a few moments later, it was replaced by the aroma of pipe tobacco. The premier puffed energetically as he pondered the situation. Beria was completely correct in his analysis, and Stalin had learned this from others as well.

  “Perhaps a war would unite the people,” he murmured.

  “How would we overcome our weakness in time to fight a war?” Beria asked. “If the war begins and we work from there to motivate the people. It may well be too late.”

  “That indeed is the problem. Very well, Lavrentiy, I want you to talk to the commanding generals and ask for their advice in planning a war against Germany. We have some time, so if we plan a quick strike, we would have the Red Army motivated and ready. After the war begins, I think the people would rally behind us.”

  “That is very risky, Comrade,” Beria commented in his careful voice.

  “Ha! What is life without some risk? Now, see to it Lavrentiy. You will then report back to me what the generals suggest.”

  “Of course, Comrade,” Beria responded.

  It was clear to him that the meeting was over. One did not simply walk out of a meeting with the premier. One waited for dismissal. Stalin puffed some more on his pipe as he considered the little man across the desk from him. Beria would have loved to know what Stalin was really thinking. The man was a cipher. Finally, Stalin waved a hand, as though shooing him out of the office. Beria had been dismissed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  December 8, 1942; 12:30 PM

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  President Harry S. Truman had two guests for lunch on this Tuesday in December. Cordell Hull, the Secretary of State sat to Truman’s left. Colonel William Donovan, the Director of the OSS, sat across from the president. They had begun working their way through the soup and the president spoke.

  “I assume you know I didn’t invite you over just to socialize,” Truman said with his trademark grin.

  “Oh, dear,” Hull commented with a smile. “My wife will be so disappointed.”

  Donovan chuckled. “The president socializes with his poker buddies. You and I are the lower class around here, Cordell.”

  Hull shrugged. “What can we help you with, today, Mr. President? And, by the way, this soup is very good.”

  “Thanks. I inherited Roosevelt’s chef, and he seems to really know what he is doing. No, we needed to discuss the situation in Europe. I am normally in favor of letting sleeping dogs lie, but I don’t think we should ignore matters on the other side of the Atlantic.”

  “Other than whatever happened in the Alsace,” Hull commented, “it has been very quiet. The Brits are outfitting their fleet for the Far East, of course. And Schloss is struggling to digest his gains.”

  Truman said, “What I need from you gentlemen is some advance warning if any problems are getting ready to arise over there. We cannot afford to be distracted from the Pacific war.”

  “Let me see if I can summarize,” Donovan said, “And Cordell, you feel free to interrupt me.”

  The OSS Director laid down his soup spoon as he spoke. “First of all, the investigation into President Wallace’s assassination is not going well. The key people on the British side have all clammed up. Our investigators are getting squat.”

  “I thought they had promised full cooperation,” Truman said.

  “The queen and the prime minister have given vocal support to getting to the bottom of this,” Hull said. “I would say that somebody in the middle layer, probably of MI6 is not being helpful.”

  “Which means, as far as I’m concerned, that the rot goes pretty high up in the British government,” Truman said.

  The steward stepped in and picked up the soup bowls and replaced them with salads. The three men around the table stopped speaking until the steward left the room.

  “Probably good not to say anything when the staff is about,” Hull commented.

  Truman snorted and managed a one-sided grin. “You think they don’t already hear everything? At a certain level, you simply have to trust people.”

  “Do you think we need to approach the prime minister again on this, Sir?” Donovan asked.

  “This is about as sensitive as can be,” Truman replied. “We all agreed that the team the Portuguese captured would take the fall for the assassination, and we and the Brits would cooperate on a quiet investigation.”

  “I think this means that the operation was approved by the prime minister,” Donovan said.

  Truman shook his head. “Hell, Winston was probably directing the thing. You know how hands-on he liked to be. But the last thing anybody needs is for this to pop up on the front page of the New York Times.” He pointed at Donovan. “Okay, Colonel, stay on it but keep it invisible. We need the Royal Navy too badly right now to stir things up.”

  “Very well, Sir,” Donovan agreed. “Next item is the coordination between the Brit navy and ours. Fortunately, that’s Frank Knox’s problem. They are insisting on moving through the Suez and on through to Australia.”

  “And they don’t have the tonnage,” Truman supplied.

  “Exactly. I can understand how desperate they are to relieve the Aussies, but all they are going to do is get a bunch of ships sunk and people killed.”

  “I have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs this afternoon, and that will be one of the topics of conversation,” Truman said.

  Donovan nodded. “Third, is the foofaraw in the Alsace. We think Schloss tried to arrest his Gauleiter there, and things got out of hand.”

  “That was the one who was killing people all over the place?” Hull asked.

  “Right. Robert Wagner. A thoroughly nasty piece of work. I think that with the war over, Schloss was working to ease some of the worst of the Nazis out of their positions. This one backfired on him.”

  “Do we need to worry about it?” Truman asked.

  Donovan tilted his head back and forth in thought. “In and of itself, no. It is an internal German problem. But, if the conquered provinces take this as an opportunity to revolt, things could get messy. That might tempt the Brits to intervene.”

  “And we don’t need that,” Hull interjected.

  “Right,” said Truman. “If the worst happens, I would probably twist the prime minister’s arm pretty hard to keep the Brits in line. Just keep an eye on it, William.”

  “Will do, Sir. The last item of concern is the Soviet Union. Their economy is in shambles. This last round of purges that Stalin conducted has had some unintended consequences.”

  “I’m not hearing anything,” Hull said,

  Donovan considered what Hull had said. He had numerous reports of State Department employees openly sharing information with the Russians. At some point in the future, he would have to bring the FBI into it, and there would be trouble. Today was not the day for it, however.

  “Do you think Stalin might start a foreign adventure to pull the Russian people together?” Truman asked.

  “That would be my conclusion,” Donovan said. “By appealing to Russian patriotism, he could get away with quite a bit of economic bad news.”

  “And I repeat,” Hull said, “I have heard nothing about this. And I think I would.”

  Donovan glanced over at Truman, and the president nodded almost imperceptibly. Okay, Donovan thought, Truman is already aware of the problems there. Now was not the time to pursue it.

  “And that’s the sum total, Mr. President,” Donovan said.

  “Fine. Cordell?”

  “Mr. President, I think Mr. Donovan summarized things concisely. We are gradually resuming normal diplomatic relations with fr
ee nations in Europe. Unfortunately, the Anglo-German treaty cut the legs from under the freedom movements over there. They are still active, but the Brits are not giving them overt support.”

  “Probably there is some under-the-table aid going on, don’t you think?” Truman asked.

  “I think that is a safe assumption,” Hull said wryly. “With the resumption of normal links, both sides will find it much easier to slip agents into the other’s lands. If Atlee and Schloss are prepared to ignore it, I believe we can safely do the same.”

  “I would suggest, however, Gentlemen, that we send everyone a warning that we would not accept any Americans getting caught in the crossfire,” Truman said. “The people here would not take kindly to that. Especially after what happened in Lisbon.”

  Both guests murmured their agreement. The steward brought out the plates containing the roasted beef brisket, along with roasted new potatoes, and asparagus. After the steward withdrew, the conversation continued.

  “I think the Germans are going to exercise their option to buy the hundred B-17s from us,” Truman announced. “Unofficially, they are going to also request a license to build them in Germany.”

  “Boeing is delighted,” Hull said. “They can ship the blueprints over, and let the Germans get busy. Unfortunately, we lost all the tooling in the Seattle raid.”

  “The Boeing bomber is almost ideal for Europe,” Donovan commented.

  “The Brits are unhappy about it,” Hull said.

  Donovan shrugged. “I don’t think Schloss has any particular designs upon the United Kingdom. If he stumbles into a war with the Russians, he will need every airplane he can get his hands on.”

  “Do either of you have any particular objections to the approval of the export license?” Truman asked.

  “No, Mr. President,” Hull said. “I think it can move ahead. I understand the advance team is already in Berlin.”

  “I’m fine with it,” Donovan said. “I think Frank Knox is itching to get his hands on Schloss’s next generation U-Boat.”

  Truman laughed. “I know he is. He mentions it just about every time the Germans come up in conversation.”

  “Keep working on them, Cordell,” Truman said.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Truman quickly worked his way through the main course, and then looked at his guests. “Was there anything else we needed to discuss, Gentlemen?”

  “Will I get to see the final report on the San Francisco raid?” Hull asked.

  “I plan to distribute the report to the cabinet. After all, the Japanese already know what they accomplished.”

  “And they accomplished quite a lot,” Donovan said quietly.

  Truman looked disgusted. “I had somebody do the math for me, but it looks like they got away with about fifteen tons of gold from the Federal Reserve Bank in the downtown, there. It was a lot of troy ounces.”

  Hull looked shocked. “What does that do for our financial stability?”

  “It won’t help us. I think we are going to have to keep it quiet for a while. It’s not a secret, but I don’t want us talking about it a lot. I’m going to ask the press not to talk about either. We don’t need a financial panic right now,”

  “I still cannot believe they managed to pull something like that,” Hull said.

  “I was amazed myself,” Truman said. “Unfortunately, I am going to have to shuffle some of our top commanders because of this. I really don’t want to, but the country is getting noisy about our conduct of the war.”

  “We haven’t exactly covered ourselves in glory,” Donovan commented.

  “Everyone has been assuring me that the Japanese cannot win, because of the comparative size of our economies,” Truman said. “Apparently no one has told that to the Japs. The only American forces that are doing anything worthwhile right now are the U-Boats we bought from Schloss. Obviously, we’re not hearing anything from Tokyo, but the reports from our U-Boat skippers indicate that we have managed to sting them.”

  “Good for them,” Hull said.

  “We will commission the Enterprise in January. The Navy wants to wait until we have at least four in commission before we begin operations. The army has come up with an idea that may allow us to, at least, embarrass the Japs. I think if we can minimize the risk, I will tell them to do it.”

  Truman stood up. “If there is nothing else, I need to move on to my next meeting.”

  Hull and Donovan quickly stood up. After thanking the president, they left the dining room. As they walked down the hallway towards the door, Hull looked over at Donovan.

  “What was it you didn’t want to bring up in there?”

  “Cordell, the State Department is riddled with Communists. Edgar thinks this dates back to the early 1930s. It’s not your fault, but if it blows up in our faces, it will not help the president at all.”

  “What does Hoover know?” Cordell asked. “I can’t believe that.”

  “The career diplomats are not telling you what you need to hear about Russia.”

  They stepped out into the bright December sunshine. Hull stopped and turned to Donovan.

  “Come on, William, it surely cannot be that bad.”

  Donovan quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe, maybe not. But, if I were you, Cordell, I would start quietly checking around. J. Edgar Hoover may be arrogant and abrasive, but he is rarely wrong.”

  “That’s what worries me,” Hull replied. “I am not excited about asking the FBI to rummage around in my files.”

  “You may not have a choice. We were able to ignore it in the past because the Soviets were on the other side of the world. It was acceptable to dabble in odd ideas like that. Even Henry Wallace was into some far eastern nonsense for a while. Thank God he got his head screwed on straight.”

  “Little good it did him,” Hull replied dryly. “Listen, William, is this something you can help me with? If Hoover starts a witch hunt at State, we will get nothing done for years. Little enough gets done at Foggy Bottom as it is.”

  “There is little I can do officially, Cordell. My directive from the President is to stay out of the continental United States. If you agree, you and I could meet privately with Hoover and agree to a very quiet investigation. Stipulate that he reports the outcome to you.”

  “And everything he uncovers will go into his files.”

  Donovan shrugged. “That’s the way things work in this town. But I think it is the best way to keep it off Truman’s desk and out of the papers.”

  Hull stared at Donovan for a few moments and then looked around him. His and Donovan’s cars were both lined up at the base of the steps. He gave a deep sigh.

  “Very well, William. See what you can do. I appreciate your help.”

  Donovan nodded his head and then walked to his car.

  CHAPTER SIX

  December 9, 1942; 10:00 AM

  Tempelhof Airport

  Berlin, Germany

  Schloss looked out the window of the Mercedes 770 at the three Boeing bombers looming over the wind swept tarmac of Tempelhof. The guard in the car with him scanned the area, making sure that the Reich Chancellor’s security force was in place. After the adventures of the past eighteen months, Schloss no longer begrudged the loss of privacy.

  “Everything look okay, Adrian?” Schloss asked.

  His guard commander, Adrian Wacha nodded. “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. If you will permit me to exit the car first, that would make everyone more comfortable.”

  “Of course,” Schloss replied. “There are not any overt threats at the moment.”

  “No, Sir, but there are several we keep an eye on. And, of course, there is no predicting that situation in the Alsace.”

  “von Rundstedt has things under control, I hope. But it still pays to be careful.”

  Wacha nodded as he continuously scanned the tarmac. It seemed a little strange to have the Nazi Party managing the Reich Chancellor’s security when there was a surfeit of armed retainers in the country. When Schloss
had arrived in this world, he gradually discovered that his doppelganger, the alter-Schloss had not only developed a smoothly running bureaucracy in the party but had also engendered intense loyalty.

  In the days following Hitler’s death in early June of 1941, Schloss and Rainer had developed the party security force. This was mainly because they could not be sure who else to trust. After Rainer took over the SS following the death of Himmler the previous December, he saw no need to change the arrangements. It also served as a check on some of the ambitious SS officers.

  Schloss spotted the American airmen standing near the bombers. Next to them was Gordon Smoke, the American ambassador as well as Misty Simpson, the first secretary of the American Embassy. Goering stood impatiently next to them.

  “It looks like we’ll be the last to join the party,” Schloss commented.

  Wacha nodded. The man was the perfect security officer, as far as Schloss was concerned, but he rarely spoke unless the situation required. When the massive car rolled to a halt, Wacha leaned out and opened the door. He stood outside the car in the cold December wind and carefully scanned the environment. He turned back to the door.

  “Very well, Herr Reich Chancellor, you may leave the car.”

  Schloss stepped out of the car to polite applause. In addition to the objects of the meeting, a group of Luftwaffe airmen stood nearby, as well as representatives of the various German manufacturers, who were vying for the manufacturing contract.

  Schloss walked across the tarmac, nodding to Goering as he did so. He walked up to the ranking American.

  “Good morning. I am Heinrich Schloss.”

  “Colonel Cliff Carlsen, Sir. An honor to meet you.”

  “I thought this would be a good opportunity to practice my English.”

  “You speak it very well, Sir. Unfortunately, I am now in the throes of learning German.”

  Schloss chuckled. “You are probably lucky, Colonel. I understand it is much easier to learn German than to learn English.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to argue with you, Sir,” Carlsen said. “Allow me to introduce my adjutant. This is Major Lane Johnson.”