by Jeff Kildow
Harry Truman gave a curt nod, his sharp eyes shining behind his glasses, “That’s fine, General Eisenhower.”
Ike just plain looks tired, Truman thought; have to see if I can get him some rest.
Ike turned to the maps, his flat Midwest accent clear and careful, “In the thirteen months since D-Day, our initial progress has slowed to the point of stagnation. The Allies currently hold some 30,000 square miles of territory in north western France. Let me put that in perspective: that is less than 15 percent of French territory. Our moves to the south and especially to the east have slowed to the point of stalemate. As we all feared, the Germans moved large numbers of reinforcements to the West following the Russian capitulation, and continue to do so. Paulus has moved a significant number of his 4th Panzer Army under Hoth to block our progress here and here.” The long wooden pointer tapped the screen.
“General von Bock has similarly sent at least five – I think closer to ten – divisions of his former Army Group Center to reinforce the large Panzer army Rommel aggregated. Movement of these so-called ‘mobile forces’ when they get to the front has been minimal on both sides; in many cases, it has become little more than a huge artillery duel. It is reminiscent of what happened in the last war.
“A major disappointment has been our inability to maintain air superiority for any protracted period. General Spaatz will address that later. Our British, Canadian and French Allies continue to fight bravely by our sides, but for them as well, true progress is an infrequent thing.
“General Patton will brief the armor situation later. Overall, I can report that Allied troops are well supplied, and morale is good. We’ve begun a rotation process for troops who have been under fire for long periods, relieving them with rested, seasoned troops. Casualty rates are always too high, but remain somewhat below projections.
“What you will hear from the men following me will be variations on the same theme. To anticipate your questions, our prospects of altering this situation are slim unless we can make some major changes in our situation or the enemy’s.”
Truman interjected, “I don’t need to hear the same thing six ways from Sunday, Ike. If time permits, we’ll listen to General Patton and Field Marshall Montgomery. I want to know from General Spaatz – why do we have such a devil of a time gaining air superiority?”
General Spaatz stood, taken off guard at being called upon so soon. His aide scrambled to bring maps and photographs to the easels at the front of the room.
“Mr. President, the Germans have been throwing some remarkable new aircraft at us in the last year. Simultaneously, they are withdrawing several types; our pilots seldom report ME-109s or short-nose FW-190s. The long-nose FW-190D-9, or more properly, TA-152, is everywhere; it’s a match for our Spitfires and Mustangs. They have a follow-on to the Messerschmitt ME-262, the Me-610, shown here, in production. Initially, poor engines hampered them operationally, but this aircraft is virtually invincible in combat. We believe they have produced 150-200 of them.
“Dornier’s two-engine push-pull DO-335 fighter, shown here, is an effective night fighter. Now, it has a jet engine in the rear. The performance improvement is stunning and it’s been deadly to those who have encountered it. It is in volume production.
“Gotha is producing improved versions of the six-engine flying wing bombers at high rates. A little-known German manufacturer, Blohm & Voss, mostly known for flying boats, is building the powerful, destructive three engine ground attack aircraft you see here; sorry for the poor quality. It is designated BV-271. It’s been encountered in small numbers so far, but it is very effective.
“Our British cousins rushed their jet powered Gloster Meteors into production, but they are having problems, mainly short range and random flame-outs – that means the flame in the engine goes out, and it’s hard to restart. By late November, we hope to have some Lockheed P-80 jets available. They also have problems, including similar engine problems as the Meteors, and compressor stalls, at high angles of attack. Now, Republic Aircraft’s XP-84 looks very promising; it has a different jet engine which is not so sensitive to high angles of attack, but it is still several months off.”
Truman’s confusion at the last statement showed on his face. Spaatz quickly added, “Sir, compressor stalls happen when the engine can’t get enough air when the nose is too high. Until those airplanes are sorted out and available in numbers, we’re going to have a hard time countering the German jets, sir.”
Truman thought, I appreciate the information, but I still didn’t understand the why.
“General, remember that I was an artillery officer, not an aviator. Explain to me why our Mustangs and Spitfires can’t stop the German jets.”
Spaatz spread his hands, “Simply put, sir, the German jets are 100 to 150 miles per hour faster; some are nearly 200 miles per hour faster. They attack our fastest fighters, then zoom away and we can’t catch ‘em. Gunners on Allied bombers can’t traverse their guns fast enough to shoot them. They have large numbers of them, and are fighting over their own territory. Nearly all are equipped with the rocket guns, too.”
Truman nodded. These Krauts are tough nuts to crack, he thought, how do they keep coming up with new weapons?
“When it comes to piston powered aircraft, even their big batwing Gothas are difficult to knock down. And I must say with grudging admiration, they’ve been using their bombers brilliantly. That attack on Plymouth and Portsmouth in May was amazing – they used their long range to fly out over the Atlantic to the northwest, then turned and came in from a direction no one was expecting. Caught us by surprise, and did a lot of damage.
“That attack is just one example of new tactics they’re using: they also do multiple attacks simultaneously. Must take incredible coordination. Last week, they hit Bristol, Coventry, Liverpool, several airfields in East Anglia, and Birmingham within thirty minutes of each other, all different raids. They used hundreds of Gothas, escorted by swarms of fighters which they brought into the fight in relays.
“As General Eaker will tell you, even though we have thousands of fighters at our disposal, these multiple attacks are very difficult to defend against, since the first attack draws off the majority of our fighters. They’ve become adept at hitting us just as our planes land, too. I’m told the Gothas have some sort of anti-RADAR device which makes a hash of our RADAR screens, and they’re hard enough to see on RADAR as it is.
“Lest I give you only bad news, Mr. President, there are several bright spots. B-29s are moving to Europe in numbers now; the 513th heavy bomb group has set up shop on Iceland. There will be nearly 300 B-29s available by next week, double that in six weeks. While we were in the air this morning, the 513th hit the German airfield at Stavanger Norway with about 200 airplanes – what was the result, Colonel Gregory?”
A slight, bespectacled man stood, “Sir, the raid was a success. Every building was damaged or destroyed, and the aircraft destroyed. They also clobbered the runways, sir. Best of all, Norwegian resistance moved in afterward and destroyed what was left, and took a lot of prisoners. You can scratch that base, sir.”
A slight smile crossed Truman’s face; Small potatoes, he thought, but I’ll take good news where I can get it.
“OK, that’s all for now, General Spaatz. What I’d like to hear next is G-2. Can we do that?” Army G-2 was the division that collected and analyzed intelligence.
The President always set the agenda, and always had the prerogative to change it. A rustling of papers and men began before General George C. Marshall could respond.
“Yes sir, Mr. President, it’ll be one moment while we gather the materials.” He addressed the crowded room, “Gentlemen, the following material is classified ‘Top Secret’; all of you with lower levels of clearance will leave the room now.”
A sallow-faced, pot-bellied Brigadier General waddled self-importantly to the front of the room. “Good morning, Mr. President. I am Brigadier General Angel McGuire, G-2 Division First Deputy Chief of Staff
.” He raised his nose imperiously, “If the security chief will inform us when the room is secure—.”
“Ah, very well; may I begin, sir?” His voice was high and scratchy, and the smirk on his face was smarmy and insincere as he rubbed his hands together like a used car salesman closing a deal.
This pompous little man is already getting under my skin, Truman thought, then reined himself in. Don’t shoot the messenger, Harry, at least not yet. Chuckling at his own little joke, he waved the man to begin.
“As you are no doubt aware, Mr. President, we have had multiple peace negotiation contacts from the Germans recently, mostly through the Swiss. The most recent from SS Führer Heinrich Himmler himself. It’s all nonsense, of course—”
“What did he say?” Truman asked, irritation creeping into his voice.
“Oh,” the man said dismissively, “he proposes a cease fire, a return to pre-war German borders and all is forgiven, with himself in charge, of course. It’s just self-aggrandizement on a grand scale. He’s not sincere.”
Truman’s famous temper got the best of him, “General, you will kindly leave such assessments to your superiors. Has there been any thing we can take seriously?”
Shaken at the reprimand, the general continued. “Sir, we have been piecing together what appears to be a serious attempt by the German ‘troika,’ probably without Himmler, to remake their government into a form we might like better. For example, we obtained a draft memo directing all government agencies to remove the swastika from buildings, letterheads, uniforms, battle standards, and the like. To use the Russian term, there seems be the beginnings of a ‘purge’ of Nazis from senior government positions.”
Truman looked sharply at the man’s superior, Major General Clayton Bissell; “Is this true, Bissell? Why haven’t I been informed?”
“General McGuire, why wasn’t the President informed? I directed that he be given everything on this as quickly as possible.” The voice was cold and menacing.
McGuire’s pig-like eyes sweep to and fro, “Uh, sir, I felt we needed a more complete story, and confirmation before—”
“You are dismissed, McGuire; I will see you in my office later.” The man reddened, then paled as the implications sank in. He left the room to silence.
“Mr. President, I apologize. You should have been informed days ago. I was lead to believe you had been. Here’s the situation as we know it. Himmler has been arrested, and possibly executed. Many high ranking Nazi Party officials are under arrest and in custody. Our sources tell us that ‘Gestapo’ Müller has taken Himmler’s place; he’s well known to be apolitical – he’s no Nazi – but he’s still a tough customer. He is quite skilled at intelligence as well.
“Now, Albert Speer is a long time party member, but because he’s a pragmatist more than a true believer. And frankly, they can’t run the country without ‘im. So, looks as if he’s staying. Most of the senior Abwehr are not party members; that’s true of Field Marshall Fedor von Bock, the third member of the troika, or ‘dreifach,’ as they call it. Some communiqué’s have proposed a truce in place, to negotiate a peace.”
“Never! We shall only accept an unconditional surrender!” burst out General Patton.
“I’ll keep negotiations as an option, George, if you don’t mind,” Truman said, raising his voice only slightly. “How many of you knew about this arrest of Nazis? What about the truce request?”
Only a small handful of the men in the room raised their hands; all were G-2.
General Bissell cleared his throat, and said with a concerned look on his face, “Mr. President, there’s another issue: are you aware of the contact we’ve had with the Russians?”
“If it’s been in the last six weeks, no. What have they to say?”
“Quite a lot, sir. Again, my apologies. You recall that Marshall Stalin was badly wounded during his escape from Moscow. Whether due to his injuries or just the Russian penchant for conspiracy and intrigue, he was removed from office three days ago.”
“What! My God, man, why wasn’t I told? If McGuire is responsible for this, I’ll fire his a—!” the President roared, slamming his fist on the table. “Not only that, I’ll throw him in jail!”
“I’ll find who is responsible and take the appropriate action, sir,” Bissell replied through clenched teeth, very angry that his orders had been ignored a second time.
Composing himself, Bissell went on, “Do you recall the name Lavrenti Beria, sir? He was head of the Russian secret police, the NKVD. He’s a ruthless, vindictive man, a Georgian like Stalin. He’s responsible for the deaths of thousands of Russians. He has taken power in what amounts to a coup, and is marshalling his forces.
“According to a Russian diplomat, he has General Zukov heading up a ‘Central Soviet General Army’ that supposedly numbers in the hundreds of thousands, perhaps nearly a million men. He claims he’ll have 10,000 heavy tanks, 20,000 aircraft, and 100,000 artillery tubes available to move westward in two months or so. We view these numbers as highly suspect; however, if they should prove to be even partially true, it would reopen the
Eastern front for the Germans, and leave them very vulnerable to us. We are attempting to confirm his claims.”
“What about Marshall Stalin, then?”
“If Beria is true to form, sir, I would not be surprised if Joseph Stalin is already dead.”
Truman sat back in his chair, stunned at the duplicity of a high ranking general, and the momentous news he’d just heard. He struggled to organize his thoughts while the room was silent.
“What about the German position, General Bissell? Could they withstand a Russian attack? Are we in position to take advantage of it, should it happen?”
“As to the German position, sir, they are vulnerable even without the Russians attacking. Their forces are thin almost everywhere, notwithstanding the reinforcements recently moved in. We have made the front very, very wide, and hope to make it wider yet. We believe that even without full-time air superiority, we have hurt them badly. We think they are near the end of their rope when it comes to production, especially submarines and aircraft.
“We are relentlessly pursuing the locations of munitions plants, and following up with heavy bombing when we find them. They can only do so much in caves. They are especially vulnerable when it comes to transportation: highways and railroads can’t be hidden, and Allied flyers hit ‘em frequently. I must defer to my combat brothers-in-arms as to our ability to take advantage of their situation.”
General Ira Eaker, head of U.S. air forces in England and Iceland addressed the President, “Mr. President, in short, we are ready to hit them very hard. We and the RAF are preparing for a massive multi-city raid using more than 1500 heavy bombers and twice that many mediums. For the first time, we will include large numbers of B-29s, which carry enormous bomb loads, as you know. Weather permitting, we’ll be ready within a week.”
“How soon can you hit them again after that?” the President asked.
Eaker smiled, a snake’s smile, the sort of smile that would have made the enemy’s blood run cold, had he seen it. “Sir, it’s our plan to smack them with nearly continuous raids for about a week, day and night. The idea is to spread out their fighter forces, exhaust them, and kill them, while at the same time —,” He glanced at Eisenhower and Bradley sitting stoically. Patton had the look of a hungry wolf. “—At the same time, my colleagues in Infantry, Artillery and Armor are about to embark on a push of their own. If it works out as planned, the Germans will be pushed much closer to capitulation.”
“And if not?”
“Then, sir, we’ll have to come up with another plan.” The Joint Chiefs exchanged glances; no, now was not the time.
Chapter 98
3 August 1945
The Outskirts of Berlin, Underground Operation Center
0800 Hours
Operation Intrepid, Day Two
Generalmajor von Schroeder stood stoically, arms crossed, as he watched General der Luftwaff
e Galland direct fighter forces against another Allied raid. This one was headed directly at Berlin. Galland was as cool and calculating as if he were playing chess. Von Schroder had to admit that the man knew how to use his fighters; the Allies had taken heavy losses the day before.
“Ah, von Schroeder, we have a new situation here! My pilots report that this raid is made up of the new B-29 Boeings. You have had some experience with these, yes?”
“Yes, sir, and they proved to be tough nuts to crack, much harder to shoot down than the older bombers.”
“We shall see; for now, prepare your Gothas; I want to hit the English Midlands again, as soon as possible.”
Von Schroeder left the room immediately, and immersed himself in the planning for the raid. Two hours later, as he and his team were finishing up, a weary looking Major entered the room.
“General von Schroeder, you are requested to attend a briefing in General der Luftwaffe Galland’s office immediately.” A cold surge of fear coursed through von Schroeder’s body.
Galland stood at the front of the room, rubbing his eyes, his usual upbeat demeanor not evident.
“Ah, von Schroeder, you are the last. Sit. Sit. Gentlemen, we have taken heavy losses this day, in the air and on the ground. You were right, von Schroeder, those B-29 Boeings are very difficult. They got through our defenses, and did significant damage to Central Berlin, including Luftwaffe Headquarters. We brought fresh forces against them as they retreated, and dropped a number of them, but too late, they had already done their jobs.”
He had a deeply weary, grim look, “They hit Luftwaffe Headquarters; the building complex was destroyed, and the wreckage fell into the basements. Many, many lives were lost, including senior staff.”
Von Schroeder felt his blood run cold – Dear God, General Wever was on duty today – is he—