American Under Attack

by Jeff Kildow

  “I can’t say that I have. What has happened?” A cold sense of foreboding came over Roosevelt as he waited for Churchill’s reply.

  “Well,” Churchill said, his voice a bit tinny through the transatlantic connection, “the Germans have again moved against Moscow with considerable force, and this time have moved far enough east to have begun shelling and bombing directly into Red Square. The Kremlin itself has suffered considerable damage. Actual invasion of the city could take place at any time. Uncle Joe and his cohorts bravely leapt aboard an east-bound express train toward Kazan, leaving the defense of the city to those few military and civilians still there.” Sarcasm dripped from the last sentence.

  “It seems that whilst they were en route those Dammed bat bombers found his train and gave him a rather bad time of it. The train was derailed and wrecked. The old man was injured – rather badly – and is terrified for his life. Most concerning, rumors have it that he may be receptive to offers of a separate peace.”

  Roosevelt was staggered. “Dear God in Heaven! We can’t allow that! If Stalin should capitulate, the forces on the eastern front would fall upon our invasion armies in no time. How can we prevent this catastrophe from occurring? Will we have to delay the invasion?”

  “I do not know, Franklin,” Churchill said heavily, “we have no official contact with the Soviet government whatsoever. One supposes they will set up a government-in-exile in Kazan, possibly, or perhaps as far east as Chelyabinsk. With the reach of those bat bombers, not even Novosibirsk is entirely safe. Now let us agree that we will both attempt strongly to reach the Soviet government and squelch this dastardly cowardice. Until we resolve this, we must stop sending materiel; it would be used against us, surely. We must suspend all convoys to Russia at once.”

  Roosevelt quickly agreed, “And we must immediately turn back convoys already under way, and divert them to the UK, do you agree?” He made notes on his personalized stationary, in a fluid hand.

  “Yes, an excellent point; diversion signals must be sent straight away. Time, as always, is of the essence.”

  “I shall notify the Navy immediately. I must confer with my generals and admirals immediately, Winston, if you will forgive me. We must decide about the invasion.”

  “Yes, yes, and I with mine. I shall call again soon, with better news, I hope. God protect us all. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye to you, Winston. May God be merciful to us, indeed.”

  Chapter 34

  1 June 1943

  Lieutenant Colonel Knight’s Office

  Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey

  0915 Hours

  Headaches

  Taking over Colonel Randolph’s job wasn’t as easy as he’d thought.

  He took his deputy with him, Joel thought, shaking his head ruefully; so now I’ve got to find one of my own.

  He had been studying a list of candidates, and had narrowed it down to two. As he thought about the men, the decision made itself when he applied the ultimate test: who can really take over for me without compromising the mission?

  He’d made Bill Madsen his First Sergeant when he assumed Randolph’s job, a move that was already paying off. The guy was amazing. Like just now, for example, when Joel had asked him to have the winner come to his office, the First Shirt calmly told him the man was waiting in the outer office.

  How’d he do that? Joel wondered, not for the first time.

  Captain Derek Chapman sat across from him, all but expressionless, his hands in his lap.

  “Let me save you the anxiety, Chappie,” Joel said, using his call sign. “If you want the job, I’d sure like you to be my deputy.”

  Chappie was all smiles, “You bet I would sir! When can I start?”

  “You just did,” Joel deadpanned. He picked up his phone and dialed Bill. “He’s accepted, Bill. Get the paperwork to me right away – You do? Already? OK, I’ll sign it when we finish here.”

  “I swear, sometimes I think that man can read my thoughts,” Joel said, shaking his head. “Now, you’ll get your first chance to run this outfit on Tuesday when I go down to Washington for my almost-every-week intelligence briefing. I’ll get your clearance raised so we can talk about what’s really going on down there in Foggy Bottom.”

  Chapter 35

  3 June 1943

  The Oval Office

  1037 Hours

  More News

  Franklin Delano Roosevelt picked up the telephone receiver with a tug of trepidation; what would Churchill have to tell him this day?

  “Franklin, old friend, good morning. We have a few bits more of information regards the situation in Berlin. The troika, so-called, has been at least defined, if not yet populated. It seems that the first of the three posts will reflect the military, with the Abwehr representing itself, the Luftwaffe and the Kreigsmarine. As you well know, the German military is all but a nation within the nation, and many of the professional military class have chafed under the leadership of the ‘little Corporal.’ They will have a very strong voice. We don’t as yet know whom they shall name. We’ve heard of some bitter struggles as they decide.

  “The civilian production sector will almost surely be headed by Albert Speer. There is no joy for us in that instance. He is all too capable, and apparently ambitious in the bargain. We had expected that the third leg of this unrighteous stool would be the SS. Now, with Himmler under at least house arrest, there is a fair likelihood that ‘Gestapo’ Müller will be in charge of whatever they decide to call it.” He paused to catch his breath.

  “Is this unholy trinity unopposed, Winston? I cannot conceive that these men could be allowed to simply step up and take over.” FDR said.

  “Not at all, not at all, Franklin. There has been a veritable bloodbath all round, next thing to civil war. Only the firm hand of the Gestapo and the presence of the military have prevented the situation from slipping over the edge.”

  “Hmmm. That can only be of benefit to our cause,” FDR said. “But is it only internecine warfare? We have heard rumors of a fair number of assassinations of party leaders at all levels.”

  The Prime Minister growled, “Yes, we’ve heard the same. There’s simply too much killing to attribute to internecine warfare. Himmler’s SS lost well over a hundred of his highest ranking men, probably more. His power base, I should say, has been all but eradicated. Adds a good deal of credence to the rumor that ‘Gestapo’ Müller is taking the job. Additionally, it has come to our ear that a goodly number of these assassinations were planned prior to Hitler’s injury. It appears likely that there is an opposition group at work, but sadly, we know no details.”

  “Now, Franklin,” Churchill continued, “I will counsel against taking heart in this news, despite its surface appearance. Let us not forget that both Speer and Müller are capable and pragmatic; I misdoubt that the military man, whomever he may turn out to be, will be any less. This may mean many fewer amateur decisions such as we have learned to love with ‘Der’ Führer.”

  Chapter 36

  5 June 1943

  Berlin, Germany

  1106 Hours

  Peeling a Bad Onion

  General Heinrich Müller, the newly promoted Director of State Security, sat at his desk, and pondered the turn of events that had placed him in this new position. It had been only twenty days since the Führer was injured, mortally, Müller was sure. The other two members of the “Dreifach” [triple] trying to hold the Third Reich together looked to him to review security measures, especially communications.

  Müller had started his career as a minor police official in Bavaria many years before, and had developed himself into the nation’s foremost counterintelligence specialist. He was an expert on Soviet espionage as well. As he re-read the reports of the attack in Russia, he became more and more convinced that either the Russians had infiltrated the German communications system, or they had broken the “invincible” Enigma coding machines. There was no question, the Russians had known exactly where the
Führer was to be and when.

  A serious, intelligent man who was unimpressed with himself, he wore the trappings of power with a sense of unease, still thinking of himself as a “simple country policeman.” The more he pondered the issue, the more he was convinced that a Soviet spy inside the German communications network was unlikely to the point of impossibility. All of the men (and a few women) were carefully investigated, carefully watched, reliable Germans of long ancestry.

  No, he thought to himself, this is not likely at all. That leaves—. He ran his hand through his thinning brown hair, then leaned forward and lifted his telephone, “Horst, please find Major Fleischer and have him come here immediately.” He sat back and thought some more.

  Fifteen minutes later, Fleischer reported. He was a little red-faced from the exertion of running to the General’s office.

  He is far too fat for a soldier, thought Müller.

  “So, Fleischer, explain to me the encrypting machine ‘Enigma.’ You know of it, yes?”

  “Jawohl, General, what would you like to know?”

  “What I want to know, Major, is how it works.”

  “This is a very high State Secret, General—”

  “I need to know this. Explain it.” His voice was controlled, but menacing.

  “Yes, sir. The machine is used to convert ordinary language into nonsense—”

  “I know that. What I want to know is how it does this.” his voice now impatient.

  The Major was sweating visibly. “Oh. Well, sir, it is somewhat complicated. You see, there is a slightly different version of the machine for the Army, Kreigsmarine, and the Luftwaffe. And an even simpler version is used for weather reports.

  “For example, the Army machine consists of four wheels on an axle, each of which can be connected to the other by rotating one or all of them. They all have twenty-six positions, one for each letter in the alphabet. For the other services, there can be as few as three or as many as thirteen wheels. A keyboard selects the first letter of the message, and the first wheel is set to that letter. The remaining wheels are then rotated either clockwise or anticlockwise according to a daily key. Based on their new locations, an electric current can be passed from a depressed key to first one wheel then another, from front to back, then finally back to the front. When the current reaches the front, it illuminates a new letter, which is the first letter of the encrypted message.

  “The message is typed in a letter at a time, and the corresponding coded letter illuminates, and is written down. When the entire message has been written, the encrypted version can then be sent by Morse code over a teletype or radio. The machine on the receiving end is set to the same wheel positions as the sender. The receiving operator puts the coded message into the machine letter by letter, and the keys illuminate showing the proper letter of the plain language message.” The man tilted his head, to see whether Müller understood.

  Müller considered the description. “So, if I properly understand, in order to decipher a message coded by one of these machines, one would have to have the machine itself, have knowledge of how many wheels it consists, and access to the daily ‘key,’ as you called it. This is correct?”

  “Yes, sir. Without all of that, the message remains garbled nonsense.”

  “What is the likelihood that the Russians could have a machine?”

  The man looked startled at the question. “Oh, sir, the machines are very closely guarded. It is impossible—”

  “I didn’t ask for the political answer, Major. I want your professional opinion as a trained intelligence officer: how likely is it that they could have obtained one of our machines?”

  The portly man flushed at the rebuke. “Mathematically speaking, sir, I would put the likelihood at 0.5; a fifty-fifty chance. They have had several opportunities. In each case, we have been convinced that the machine was destroyed, but—,” he hesitated, “the possibility remains, I must admit, that they might have obtained one intact, or perhaps more likely, assembled one from parts of several.”

  “How about the key? How is it distributed and how do they know when to use what version?” Müller asked him.

  “Herr General, it is taken always by courier, by hand, by a trusted man escorted by armed soldiers. Only a senior officer may receive it. In the case of the Kreigsmarine, it is the ship’s captain who receives it and places it in the ship’s safe before sailing. Or, a coded signal is sent, directing him to a page in a book of settings. We have had no known cases of the loss of a book of keys. A separate book lists the pages and the dates they are to be used. Without both the key and the date book, any message sent could not be decoded. The receiver simply could not receive any message and decode it. It is very safe, General.”

  “Yes, that is what the Führer believed, too,” Müller said dryly, “I am not so sure.”

  Müller was silent a long moment, leaving the young Major to squirm uneasily, wondering if he had said something wrong.

  “So. Who prepares the book of keys and the date book?”

  “Herr General, that is the Signals and Intelligence Group. They are very tightly controlled in the security sense. Generally, no one from the outside can even enter their building. New keys and date books are distributed quarterly, occasionally more frequently.”

  “So, every ninety days, or so, a new key book and date book. How often are the machines themselves changed?”

  The young Major looked shocked. “Machines, sir? They haven’t been changed since I first was part of intelligence, to the best of my knowledge. There is no need, for the system cannot be broken.”

  Müller made notes on his desk pad. No significant changes in the machine since 1939 or so. What hubris to assume no one could unravel our mystery, he thought.

  Chapter 37

  7 June 1943

  The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

  Navy Briefing Room

  0645 Hours

  Pentagon Morning Brief

  Bartholomew Stuart, Admiral, U.S. Navy, swept importantly into the room, scowling behind his bushy, white eyebrows. He observed the men at attention for a moment, and took his place. “Be seated. Please begin.”

  Joel carefully reminded himself of the man’s reputation for brusqueness to the point of rudeness, and his unwillingness to suffer fools gladly.

  “Good morning, Admiral; I am Lieutenant Commander John Bell Higgins. I will be briefing this morning.”

  “Higgins? Where is Fisher? And why three names?”

  “Sir, I regret to inform you that Captain Fisher was taken to Bethesda Naval Hospital this morning around 0300 with acute appendicitis. The operation was successful, and his prognosis is positive. He should be back on limited duty in five or six weeks. I was asked to brief in his absence. I use my middle name, sir, to distinguish myself from Captain John Thomas Higgins, a distinguished officer who is also assigned to this unit and who should bear no responsibility for my gaffs.”

  “Well said. Give my best to Captain Fisher. Continue.”

  “Thank you, sir. In the Pacific Theater—,” Higgins spent forty-five minutes covering the war in the Pacific. He was interrupted several times by pointed questions and comments, all of which indicated to Joel the quick intelligence of the men in the room.

  “Turning to the war in Europe,—” Higgins said, and continued, discussing progress on the Continent.

  “Our English friends have provided some interesting information regarding the outcome of a competition the Luftwaffe held for heavy bombers. They—”

  Admiral Stuart interrupted him; “Why is the Navy interested in Luftwaffe bombers?”

  “Sir, I believe that this is of direct interest to the Navy. Would you prefer I go directly to the threat, or provide background first?”

  “Background first, but make it snappy.” The man scowled at the interruption of the flow of the meeting.

  “Yes, sir! The Luftwaffe requested design submitals for a new, heavy, long range bomber eighteen months ago; there were six industry res
ponders, of which three were chosen to build prototype aircraft. They were Heinkel, with a modified HE-177, Messerschmitt with a version of their ME-264, and Gotha with their GO-447.”

  “Never heard of Gotha. Who are they?”

  “Sir, Gotha Waggonfabrik [GFW] built huge, multi-engine biplane bombers during the Great War. They bombed London on several occasions. During the ’30s, they researched all-wing aircraft, and proposed a so-called flying wing for the competition. The Horten brothers, who work for Gotha, are among the foremost designers of flying wing type aircraft in the world.”

  He nodded to the projectionist; “Here is a photograph of one of Heinkle’s HE-177s; it’s a very complex ship, four-motored despite the appearance – two engines in each nacelle. They have had a number of in-flight fires and crashes due to the engine arrangement. Following the latest crash, a British source reported that the project had been cancelled. We have no independent confirmation of that.

  “Next, here is the Messerschmitt ME-264. It’s a more conventional four-engine ship, but also extremely complex, difficult and expensive to manufacture. Its performance—”

  “Didn’t the Air Corps hit that plant recently?”

  “Yes, sir, they sure did, ten days ago. Not only did they knock out the production facilities, but with a follow-up raid, they destroyed the tooling and more importantly, the tooling drawings.”

  “Tooling? What’s that?”

  “Sir, it is the forms, made of wood, plaster or concrete, on which the aluminum skin panels or internal supports for the aircraft are made. Some are used with hammers, but most require large presses. The point is that tooling requires very skilled workers; without tooling, no aircraft parts can be made. Work will be halted until the drawings are replaced and new tooling is made; our estimate is at least six to nine months, minimum. “

  “Hmm. Very good! So two of the three are out of business; what about the third?”