Inconsequential Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  Smoke had folded the paper up again and smacked in the palm of his other hand. “I suppose I should start canvassing the other embassies in the city and get a feel for how they are reacting.”

  Misty reached down beside the desk for her purse. “I wonder if the Russians will try to bomb Berlin.”

  The attaché shook his head. “They don’t have anything with the range to hit Berlin. I don’t doubt that Beria has people spotted around the country for sabotage.”

  Misty opened her mouth to speak and just as quickly closed it.

  “You were going to say something?” Smoke asked.

  “I was going to say he was probably right,” she shook her head. “But we really don’t know that, do we?”

  “Seems like a safe assumption to me,” Smoke commented.

  She pulled a small notebook out of her purse and opened it. “I suppose I ought to get on the phone and start making some appointments.”

  Smoke studied her for a moment. “I guess we all have things to do. Thanks for bringing the paper.”

  “Think nothing of it.” The attaché had already turned and was walking back to his office.

  Misty watched as Smoke turned and walked away. She would call Karl. Among other things, he was her gold-plated source. As the head of the SS and the second or third most powerful person in Germany, he could not tell her everything she would like to know. But the information he gave her was always dead reliable and provided Washington a view into the workings of the German government.

  The SS headquarters, like most of the other German government offices, was a center of organized confusion. Karl Rainer stood next to the large table in the meeting room and studied the maps of the eastern Greater Reich. Even though they had made some very good guesses as to when the Russians would actually attack, there was still frantic activity in making the transition to wartime.

  The SS was tasked with the security of the roads, rail lines, and airlines. The organization, being the senior police force in the nation had to coordinate with the local police departments. Although Schloss and Rainer had destroyed the Gestapo, they still struggled to meld the replacements into a coherent whole.

  Rainer watched as his people moved markers around on the map. Things were beginning to make sense to him. He hoped they would get things together soon. He was convinced Stalin would take full advantage of any mistakes made by the Germans.

  He looked up as one of the young men from his office walked over. He handed Rainer a folded slip of paper. He opened it and quickly read it with a satisfied expression. He continued to watch the work and after a few minutes, he excused himself and returned to his office. The young man looked up from his desk and Rainer mimed holding a telephone receiver to his ear. The young man nodded and picked up his phone.

  Rainer got to his office and sat down at the desk as the phone began to ring.

  “Yes?”

  “I have Fraulein Simpson for you Herr Reichsprotektor.”

  “Thank you, Felix. Please make the connection.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m at the embassy. I got in last night. Can we meet?”

  Rainer glanced at his watch and frowned. “Perhaps you could come over to my office for a quick lunch. I do not expect to get out of here today and will probably be here all night”

  “Is it as bad as the newspapers intimate?”

  “It is likely worse,” he replied. “But I cannot speak of this over the phone. I will send a car for you at noon.”

  “Thank you, Karl.”

  “I must go, now.”

  He hung up and walked back to the door of his office. His secretary looked up quizzically.

  “Send a car to pick up Fraulein Simpson at noon. Bring her back here. We will have lunch in my office. Have something brought in for us.”

  “Of course, Herr Reichsprotektor,” was the immediate response.

  § § §

  April 17, 1943; 11 AM

  The Kremlin

  Moscow, USSR

  Pravda and the radio were blaring messages about the heroic Red Army repulsing the perfidious Germans. But it was very quiet in Stalin’s office. Khrushchev and many of the others were at the front guiding the troops. Beria had remained in town but, no one knew where he was. The intelligence coming back from the German border was disquieting. It seemed the Germans did not break and run after all.

  “Where is Beria?” Stalin growled. “He was supposed to be here this morning.”

  Since Malenkov and Khrushchev were both in the Western Ukraine, keeping an eye on the invasion, the meeting this morning was with lower-level functionaries of the government. This constrained Stalin’s desire to talk about several topics. There were many things this group had no need to know about.

  “Comrade Kruglov is waiting outside of the meeting room,” one of the functionaries said.

  Stalin pointed a tobacco-stained index finger at the functionary. “Ask him to come in, please.”

  The man scurried out of the room and a moment later Deputy Commissar Sergei Kruglov walked into the room. As Beria’s deputy, Kruglov often brought reports and presentations to Stalin. And Stalin thought that the man looked nervous on this morning.

  “Thank you for coming Comrade. Can you tell me where Beria is?”

  Kruglov swallowed and took a breath. “Comrade Stalin, Beria is dead.”

  Stalin had been fiddling with his pipe during the conversation, and now he carefully set it on the table.

  “Everyone else except Comrade Kruglov leave the room he ordered.”

  The two men waited until the room emptied and the door was shut. Stalin looked at the deputy commissar.

  “You might as well come to this end of the table and take a seat, Sergei. We won’t have to shout at each other.”

  Kruglov bobbed his head and moved down to the chair on Stalin’s right.

  “I presume you can tell me precisely what happened.” There was an ominous tone in Stalin’s voice.

  “Comrade, when we heard nothing from Beria this morning or his people, I took a group of officers to his house., I authorized an entry. Everyone in the house was dead. Everyone was shot.”

  “Everyone?”

  “This is correct,” Kruglov continued. “We are combing the neighborhood, but no one admits to having seen anyone.”

  “Tell me about Beria.”

  “Comrade Beria’s body was completely naked. There were restraining straps on the bed. He had obviously invited a female to dinner. Apparently,” he said dryly, “he had planned on the woman being his evening’s entertainment.”

  “And who was the woman?” Stalin demanded.

  Kruglov looked uncomfortable. “We do not know. You are aware of how careful he plans his evenings. He was always secretive. I really hate saying this, Comrade, but I wonder if we do not have a recidivist team in the city that we know nothing about.”

  Stalin picked up his pipe again and studied it. As he turned it over in his fingers, he looked at each little scar that the years had left in it. It was his favorite pipe.

  “It appears you have been promoted, Sergei. Two things.”

  “Yes, Comrade Stalin?”

  “You will personally take charge of investigating the death of Beria. You are also taking care of cleaning the house, correct?” Kruglov nodded.

  “Also please contact Ambassador Herriman. Tell them that since the Germans have attacked, we will have no time to continue our discussions. We can arrange for a train to take them to Leningrad. I’m sure the Americans will be able to dispatch a ship to pick them up.”

  “I will see that these things are taken care of, Comrade Stalin.”

  “I know you will. And there is a third thing, now that I think about it. With the demise of one of the key members of this government, everyone will be scheming against everyone else. You will need to keep an eye on this and let me know if things are getting out of hand.”

  “Of course, Comrade Stalin. I will see to it.”

>   “That will be all then, Comrade Kruglov. Thank you for coming in today.”

  “Of course, Comrade Stalin. It is an honor to serve you and to serve the people.”

  Stalin shifted the pipe from his right hand to his left hand and then made a shooing motion with his right hand. Kruglov quickly walked from the room and quietly shut the door. Stalin toyed with his pipe a bit more, then opened the bag of tobacco and filled the bowl. He hummed to himself in his strange monotone way as he struck a match and began drawing on the pipe. He finally stood up and returned to his office.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  April 17, 1943, 2 PM

  Government Council Chamber

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “Once again, meine Herren, the Reich is at war.” Heinrich Schloss sat in his usual place at the head of the table.

  “We need to determine our responses to the Russian invasion,” he continued. “First of all, I would like a report on the battle, Herr Reichsmarshall.”

  Goering opened a notebook and cleared his throat. “Meine Herren, the opening battle of the war went just about as well for the Reich as we could have hoped. We trapped the Russians in a sack by mining the open corridors through the forest to the west of Brest. The advance Russian group was almost totally destroyed.”

  “So, we halted them completely?” Rainer asked.

  “No, not entirely. They were able to push through the minefield and begin to push against our lines. They are rapidly moving their second echelon through the area. We are still interdicting with artillery, but we also need to pay attention to those pushing up against our lines.”

  He cleared his throat again. “For the moment we control the air over the battlefield, although the Russians are contesting this. Twenty-five of our Boeing bombers also attacked the Russian forces on the ground. Our fighter aircraft fought off a determined Russian response. The bombers returned to base to rearm, and then attacked the Russian rail lines in the Ukraine. We have a sixty-bomber force arming themselves. They will be leaving early in the morning to attack the rail yards at Moscow. We will time it for them to arrive at first light.”

  “Did our diplomats get out of Moscow?” Schloss asked.

  Peter tapped the table to gain attention. “Stalin asked the visiting American delegation to leave and put them on a train to Leningrad. The German embassy delegation is riding with them.”

  “That surprises me,” Schloss commented.

  “It surprised me, too,” Peter replied.

  Schloss looked further down the table. “Joachim, did we get our pending trade items out of the line of fire?”

  “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. Much of the trade goods came back to Berlin. Since we need pipe for the oil line in Libya, I transshipped most of the pipe to the ports in Italy. I believe our people in Libya will take advantage of the material to speed up construction of the pipeline.”

  Schloss looked down at his notes and pondered the situation. “What has gone wrong, so far?”

  “Very little,” Goering said. “We expected the Russians to, shall we say, consider their sins after we handed them their heads. My most recent information shows them continuing to push west.”

  “Can we stop them?”

  “Model is on the front,” Goering said simply.

  Ah, yes, Walter Model Schloss thought, the Fuhrer’s Fireman. “And he has a genius for improvising. At least that is what everyone tells me.”

  “The man is good, Herr Reich Chancellor. He has continually set these fiendish little traps for the Russians. It has slowed them down, but not stopped them.”

  Schloss picked up his pencil and began tapping it on the table top. “Based upon what you are saying, our plans ultimately have not worked. Is that correct?”

  “I would not say that,” Goering replied. “Rommel took a big bite out of their first wave. They have a lot of tanks, though. But we have defensive depth.”

  “I would suppose defensive depth is good. I just worry when the defensive field may include Berlin. We are close to the former Polish border, here.”

  “Just as a side note, I had a brief message from Ambassador Smoke just before I came over here,” Schreiber said. “The Americans and the English seem to have stopped the Japanese fleet that was to attack Trincomalee. There were heavy losses on both sides.”

  “Thank you for the update, Peter. Please let me know when any further details develop.”

  “The Americans face a very determined foe,” Goering said. “But they are determined also. As are we.”

  “Let me ask this again,” Schloss pointed his pencil at Goering. “Will we hold them?”

  “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  Why do I not believe Fat Hermann? He is getting ready to lose this war for us. I wonder if I could manage a side-conversation with Schneller Heinz.

  Schloss looked toward Schreiber. “What are we hearing from the diplomatic community, Peter?”

  “We are still early in the day for some of them. Italy, of course, is with us. I expect the Americans will stay neutral. I don’t know about the English.”

  We don’t need another war with the English, Hennie. Especially not now.

  “I wonder if I ought to send a message to the queen?” Schloss asked. “Perhaps we could reinforce the peace.”

  “I can have something like that written for your approval,” Peter volunteered.

  Schloss nodded. “Make it so, please. Now, Joachim, talk to us about the manufacturing base for the war.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor. As you know, we were converting some of the factories over from military hardware to civilian good. I have stopped that. I have liaised with the Reichsmarshall to set priorities for the military. The highest priority is munitions. If we are going to utilize the Boeing bombers as much as indicated, we really need to ramp up manufacturing of the 250-pound bombs. Tank production is ramping up again. Fighter jet production has continued after the peace with the English – that was mainly to begin replacing obsolescent airplanes.”

  “What about small arms?”

  “We have warehouses full of them. The oldest weapons we have, of course, transferred to the Judaeans. But our soldiers will not lack for weapons.”

  “Very good,” Schloss said. “I do not want to keep you. Most of you are extremely busy, and I understand that. Please continue to communicate among yourselves and with me. Herr Reichsmarshall, is General Guderian waiting outside?”

  “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “Please ask him to come in.”

  Goering got to his feet and made his ponderous way to the door. The guard at the door reached down to the handle and opened it for him. Goering stepped partway through the door and motioned. He then turned back into the room. Guderian followed behind him. When he settled himself in his chair, Schloss spoke.

  “We have received reports concerning the Russian invasion. What additional information can you supply?”

  “Herr Reich Chancellor, meine Herren, I was at the front early this morning with Rommel. The battle unfolded much as we had planned and hoped. The Russians lost several hundred tanks on the eastern plains. We also caught a large portion of their support train. Since the Russian infantry usually marches with the tanks, we expect their casualties will be heavy.”

  “But they are still pushing?”

  “Yes, they are. They cleared both minefields more rapidly than we expected. They are advancing on our lines. I think getting them to stop after the first couple of hours was a faint hope. They are very determined.”

  Schloss listened carefully to Guderian’ s report and studied the men around the table. As a group, they were more serious and attentive than he had seen before. That was good. He hoped they realized this was not the time to play games.

  “Herr General, I have another question,” Schloss said. “Do you think we will be able to completely halt the Russian invasion?”

  “I believe we can,” Guderian immediately replied. “T
heir new tank, the T34 is formidable, and they have a lot of them. Their aircraft are good, but their tactics are poor. We have been given a lot of time to plan for this attack. Our main strategy is to cut off the logistics tail and let them wither on the vine. The Wehrmacht has been instructed to avoid head to head combat with them. They would lose more men and equipment than we would, but they have a lot of men and equipment.”

  “Will we have time to allow their supply train to dry up? Isn’t it possible they might breakthrough somewhere and advance to Berlin?”

  “Those are cogent questions, Herr Reich Chancellor. We have debated questions like that in the high command. Consider that we have well-trained troops on the ground. And Rommel and Model, among others, are very good. If we can keep whittling them down, I think that they will decide at some point it is just not worth it.”

  “You mean Stalin will decide it’s not worth it.”

  Guderian cocked his head as he considered the question. “Yes, I suppose that is it. Colonel Gehlen has given us some information about the Politburo. They are not as monolithic as we might suppose. Stalin not only has to prosecute the war, but he also must control his scheming fellow thieves. We may debate the man’s ultimate sanity, but we should never underestimate him.”

  “By his lights, he’s sane,” Gehlen added. “The mentality of those people is that they will do anything necessary to preserve the Revolution. Stalin started this war to rally the people around the leadership. It was purely a pragmatic move on their part.”

  “How can we even win such a war?” Ribbentrop asked. “As the Reich Chancellor has said repeatedly, they have more population as well as a larger economy. I know they are not very efficient, but quantity can generate its own momentum.”

  “Well said, Joachim,” Karl Rainer commented. “We had our own true believers in the Nazi party who would have pulled the whole nation down in the name of the Aryan race.”

  “That is the question,” Schloss said, taking the discussion over. “Ultimately we have to break their will. How do we do that?”