by Ward Wagher
“The Brits are our allies in this war. If they are determined upon this course of action, I suggest we scrape up however many useful hulls we can find off the East Coast and send them through the Med to join the British Fleet. If I could be permitted to generalize, the British admirals are a competent bunch. And there is nobody else in the world that can touch them for sheer bloody-mindedness.”
“I just hate to waste our men and ships on a lost cause,” Marshall said.
“As opposed to sitting by a dock rusting?” Knox said incredulously. “I agree that we are wise to gather our assets in the Pacific before we do something. But, I believe we may be missing an opportunity, here.”
Truman was content to allow the argument to volley back and forth. It was much more educational than simply getting the daily military briefing that subtly reflected Marshall’s thinking. It was more entertaining, as well. Things finally subsided to the point where Marshall and Knox simply glared at one another. Truman was thinking hard and decided it was time to make a decision.
“Very well, Gentlemen. I will have a memo created for the record, but my instructions are simple. You are, as Secretary Knox put it, to scrape up whatever usable hulls you can find on the East Coast, and send them to join the British fleet. You will need to select a flag officer to command it. And make very sure everyone understands they will be subordinate to the British fleet commander. I will also send a message to the British informing them of what we are doing.”
“You realize, Mr. President,” General Marshall said icily, “that you are likely sending a lot of American sailors to their deaths.”
Truman stared at the chief of staff for perhaps ten seconds. The general began to look uncomfortable.
“I do understand that, General,” Truman said softly. “The great tragedy of war is that we are sending our best and brightest to die under an alien sky. Men who will never see home again. Unfortunately, we are going to have to spend that coin to win this thing. And we cannot be timid about it. So now, Gentlemen, let’s be about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
February 5, 1943; 4 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
Schloss stood as Peter Schreiber walked into the office.
“You don’t have to stand for me, Hennie,” he chided.
“I’ve been sitting too long this afternoon,” Schloss replied. “I’m getting stiff. What do you have for me?”
Peter handed him an envelope. “Ambassador Smoke delivered this to me a little while ago. I decided it was worth interrupting your afternoon.”
Schloss opened the flap on the parchment envelope and slid out the single sheet of paper. “Why do the Americans use this odd size of paper, anyway?”
Peter chuckled. “Why do the Americans do what they do?”
“Right.” He quickly scanned the diplomatic note and then looked up at Peter. “So, it looks like the Americans are joining the English in the Indian Ocean. Nice of them to let us know.”
“Kind of interesting,” Peter commented. “First, that they were considerate enough to let us know what they were doing. And, the strategic considerations bear thinking about.”
“Does that give them enough power to get a landing in Australia?”
“That would be a question for Hermann,” Peter said, “or perhaps Admiral Raeder.”
“And how will the Japanese react? I suspect that is in your wheelhouse, Peter,” Schloss murmured with a grin.
“You’re right, Hennie. And I have given this some thought. First of all, I don’t think the Japanese will be surprised. Somebody is bound to notice an entire fleet transiting the Suez Canal. And you can be sure they’ll find out about it in Tokyo in short order.”
“I looked at the map when I heard about what the English are planning,” Schloss said. “It will present some interesting challenges for the English. Will they try to recover Singapore first, and then Australia? It’s closer, after all.”
“They’ll head for Australia,” Peter said immediately.
“Okay, why do you think that?”
“As the queen said, the Australians are family. The people in Singapore are Asians. They may be loyal citizens of the empire, but the English definitely treat them as lower class.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me,” Schloss mused. “They are nearly as bad as we are.”
“That might be a slight exaggeration,” Peter replied dryly, “considering what we were getting ready to do to the Jews.”
“Point taken. Let’s assume they will head for Australia. And the question remains, can they do it?”
“I suppose we should find out.”
“Put it on the agenda for next week’s meeting,” Schloss said. “I really don’t want to see everyone again this week.”
“What? You don’t like our smiling faces?”
“Don’t push it, Peter,” Schloss growled.
Schreiber rolled his tongue around in his cheek as he considered his brother-in-law. He thought it was fun to tease the chancellor when he was tired and grouchy. He had discovered it was also fun to roll out one-liners when Schloss was in a very public spot and had to maintain his dignity. Neither Renate or Gisela thought he was very funny when he did things like that. That, of course, added more spice to the repast.
“Okay, Peter, I’m not going to win this afternoon, obviously. Go ahead and draft a message back to the Americans and tell them we appreciate them sharing this information. Also, I would like you to explore the idea of a summit with President Truman.”
Peter nodded. “I will do so. Should I remind you that Karl will likely not allow you to leave the country?”
“Leave Karl to me,” Schloss snapped. “He gets even more officious than you.”
“I did have something else for you,” Peter said.
Schloss glared at him and then marched around his desk and slumped into his chair. “Okay, Peter. Let’s have it.”
“Probably not so good news. Our ambassador to England had a conversation with Eden yesterday.”
“That’s interesting,” Schloss said, straightening up in his chair. “And what was the substance of that conversation.”
“The English have apparently noticed the strange things going on in Russia.”
“Have they now? And did this come from their foreign intelligence service?”
“Reading between the lines, it seems the English MI6 is non-functional at the moment. No, this came from the English embassy in Moscow.”
“That is interesting in and of itself,” Schloss commented. “But what did they find out?”
“It seems Stalin is developing some underground bunkers.”
“Developing them? How? In what way?”
“They are finishing the interiors with meeting rooms, sleeping quarters, and offices.”
Schloss picked up his pencil and began tapping it on the desk. After ten or fifteen seconds he looked up at Peter.
“Bomb shelters?”
“That was the conclusion drawn by the English,” Peter said.
“Do we consider this information to be reliable?” Schloss asked as he continued tapping his pencil.
“The English foreign office has always been pragmatic.” Schreiber scratched below his lips with a thumbnail. “I would call the relationship correct. But, yes, I believe them.”
“Okay, put that on the agenda for our next meeting. And probably you should talk to Gehlen and Karl ahead of time. Gehlen should have picked up on this.”
“I don’t know, Hennie. This line came out of the diplomatic corps. I don’t think Gehlen has any sources in that area. Our people in the embassy in Moscow aren’t hearing anything.”
“Fine. Are you done ruining my afternoon, or are you going to add flatulence to your repertoire?”
“Mein Gott, Hennie, you really are in a bad mood this afternoon!”
“I was doing fine until you waltzed in here with that Russian thing.”
; “That wasn’t me, Hennie.”
“I know. I know. But, whatever Stalin has up his sleeve has me frightened to death. He’s going to march clear into Berlin and stand us all up against the wall.”
Schreiber walked over and put his hand on Schloss’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Hennie. We know what we must do. We just have to find a way to do it.”
Schloss stood up. “I think I’m done here for today. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Peter.”
The Reich Chancellor turned and trudged out of the room, leaving a very surprised Peter Schreiber standing there. A few moments later Willem Kirche bustled into the room.
“Where is the Reich Chancellor?”
“He told me he was going home.”
“He just left?”
Schreiber nodded. “Just like that.”
“I wonder if he is unwell.”
“I think he is tired, Willem. We need to see if we can make him take another weekend off.”
“I will do what I can, Herr Schreiber,” the secretary said.
Peter Schreiber frowned as he considered what he just saw. He hoped the Reich Chancellor was not ill. While he was confident that they could meet any challenge that faced them, he also knew that it depended almost entirely upon one Heinrich Schloss. The thought of his brother-in-law getting sick terrified him.
§ § §
February 5, 1943; 6 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Apartment
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
Gisela Schloss had spent the afternoon with Renate, planning for the arrival of Peter and Renate’s baby. There was a lot of excitement in the family about the upcoming arrival, and everyone wanted to participate in getting things ready.
She opened the door to the Reich Chancellor’s apartment and was surprised to step into near darkness. She turned the switch that controlled the lights in the room and then walked through the alcove into the sitting room. She halted in surprise and looked at Schloss, who sat on the sofa holding an empty glass and staring into space. On the coffee table was an open bottle of brandy.
“Hennie, whatever are you doing?” She asked.
He looked up, seemingly surprised at her presence. He looked down at the glass in his hand, and then carefully set it on the coffee table.
“I am just so tired,” he muttered. “I can’t seem to get rid of the problems.”
She walked quickly over to the sofa and slid onto it next to him. She put her arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, and then felt his forehead.
“What is the matter, darling?” She asked. “Are you ill?”
He studied the bottle on the table for several long moments and then turned to her.
“I was in a meeting with Peter this afternoon, and we were discussing whatever the Russians were doing. I just suddenly got so tired. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left the office and came here.”
“I think we are going to declare tomorrow to be a rest day, Hennie. Tomorrow is Saturday, anyway. I have never seen you this way, and it frightens me.”
“I can’t suddenly decide to take a day off,” he protested. “The work just never stops.”
“I think what we need to do is get some supper into you and get you to bed. You really need to rest. Where is Frau Marsden? She would be hovering over you, normally.”
He shook his head. “I made her take the children and go out for a bit. I did not want to see anyone.”
He leaned forward and picked up his glass again and reached for the bottle. She leaned forward and grabbed his hand.
“I don’t think that is the answer to your problems tonight, Hennie.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
She stood up and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you into bed, and then we can decide what else we need to do.”
“I know I am not being very personable, tonight,” he said. “I just cannot summon the energy to do so.”
She put her arm around his back and began leading him again. “Come on, Hennie. Let’s get you comfortable.”
She helped him undress and got him into the bed. She pulled the covers up and plumped the pillows. As she was doing this Frau Marsden eased into the room carrying a tray with a bowl of soup on it. She was not moving with her usual robust energy.
“I have some soup for you, Herr Schloss,” the old woman said. “We’ll get some of this into you, and that will help set you to rights.”
Schloss said nothing but continued to stare straight ahead. Gisela took the tray from Frau Marsden and set it on the top of the Bureau.
“Thank you, Frau Marsden,” she said. “Let me take care of this.”
Frau Marsden studied Schloss briefly and then turned to leave the room. Gisela took the bowl and moved over next to the bed and begin spooning the soup into Schloss’s mouth. He passively accepted the nourishment and she was able to empty the bowl. She set it back on the tray and when she turned, his eyes were closed.
She turned out the light and carried the tray out of the room. Frau Marsden was waiting in the hallway and took the tray from her. Gisela then followed the old woman to the kitchen.
“Where are the children?”
“I took them to the Schreiber’s. They will spend the night there.”
“What is wrong with Hennie?” Gisela asked.
“I believe it to be a combination of worry, overwork, and discouragement,” Frau Marsden said. “He will sleep the night through. We shall see how he feels tomorrow.”
“I’m going to call Willem,” Gisela said. “I will have him cancel all the appointments for tomorrow. Hennie can either sleep or relax or something.”
“Convincing him to stay away from the office will be difficult,” the old woman said. “However, I think it important that he gets some rest. And it should be for at least a couple of days. Since tomorrow is Saturday, we should have no problem making him take a couple of days to rest. Perhaps Herr Kirche can reschedule Monday’s appointments to give us another day if we need it.”
“I just cannot understand how this could suddenly happen,” Gisela said, her voice breaking. “He is always so strong. He seemed to be fine this morning.”
“These things can happen suddenly. And when it does happen, it is important to get some extended rest. He will be fragile for several days.”
“Frau Marsden, thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
The old woman laid her hand on Gisela’s shoulder as she began weeping. “That is what I am here for, Liebling. Herr Schloss is a great man and a great leader. However, he does not know his own limits. It is during times like this that he needs you most.”
“And I do not know how to deal with this,” Gisela said as she continued to weep.
“You do far better than you realize,” Frau Marsden said. “It is remarkable in how many ways you complement your husband. Understand that the Maker placed you here for this purpose.”
“The maker?” She looked confused.
“The one who created all things. He planned for Herr Schloss to rescue this land. And He placed you here to help him. I know it is difficult, however, you must remain strong. Her Schloss depends on you.”
Gisela turned and walked out of the kitchen. Frau Marsden watched her leave and studied the doorway for a few moments. Then she turned and began her evening’s chores in the kitchen. Gisela tip-toed down the hallway and peered into the bedroom. In the dim light, she could see his chest move as he slept quietly. She watched him for a long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
February 7, 1943; 4 PM
Willem Kirche’s office
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
A somber group gathered in the secretary’s office that Sunday afternoon. Karl Rainer gazed out the window at the falling snow while Peter Schreiber sat on the edge of the desk with his arms folded. Willem Kirche sat behind his desk with his elbows resting on the top, and his chin resting in his closed fists. Gisela
sat in the chair across from Kirche with her legs crossed and her hands clasped around her knee. The dim light from the windows seemed to deepen the mood.
“I just do not know what to do,” Gisela said. “He sits in the chair in the corner of our bedroom and stares into space. He says nothing.”
“Whatever was it that set him off?” Rainer asked.
Peter unfolded his arms and raised his palms up. “I have no idea. We were discussing the Russian issues, and he seemed his normal self. But he suddenly just stood up and walked out of the room.”
“Just like that?” Rainer asked.
“No, he was doing fine and then suddenly he accused me of ruining his afternoon. Then he commented that Stalin was going to march clear into Berlin and stand us all up against a wall. I tried to reassure him, and he just stood up and walked out.”
“That is very unlike the Reich Chancellor,” Kirche said. “I have never seen him act that way.”
“Frau Marsden suggested that he was simply exhausted, and needed to rest,” Gisela said.
“The question before us is what do we do next?” Peter posed. “I don’t mind telling you that this has me frightened.”
Karl looked at Peter with a raised eyebrow. Peter stared at him for a moment and then snorted. “Okay, okay. That was an unnecessary statement. I know we are all frightened.”
Rainer gazed out the window for a few moments longer and then turned back to the room. “I suggest we let the Council know that Herr Schloss is suffering from a cold and will be indisposed for a few days. That will allow time for him to get some more rest. Hopefully, he will settle down in a couple of days.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Gisela asked as she pushed a knuckle against her teeth.
“He simply must,” Peter replied. “Unfortunately, he is the one indispensable member of this government.”
“Well, we had better start thinking about some alternatives in case he does not recover,” Karl said. He looked over at Gisela. “I am sorry, Frau Schloss, I really do not want to make this any more difficult than we can help. But we must consider the alternatives.”