American Under Attack

by Jeff Kildow

  He forced his mouth to say, “What of General Wever and his staff?”

  Galland’s normally smiling face was somber, “The General would not evacuate to the shelters; he and his staff are dead.”

  Von Schroeder’s ears rang with shock; he felt intense sorrow at the loss of his mentor and friend, to the point of physical pain in his chest. He stifled a great sob only with great effort. Then, the anger, fierce, bitter, inconsolable anger burned like an unquenchable fire. He raced from the room, and violently threw up in the men’s room. The bile burned his throat. His face, when he washed, was hard, as if carved from flint.

  The Americans, again! Always, the Americans! Once again, they have destroyed everything I value! I will kill them! I will kill them! And that miserable upstart, Joel Knight, if it’s the last thing I do!

  Chapter 99

  7 August 1945

  The White House Briefing Room

  1730 Hours

  Mixed Report

  All of the Joint Chiefs looked fatigued, weary, as men bearing heavy news.

  “Mr. President,” began General George Marshall his voice strained, “Things haven’t exactly gone our way the last two weeks, to understate it. The air raids, code named Intrepid, did not accomplish our goals. We bombed targets around the clock all over Germany, often simultaneously. Yet, the Luftwaffe is more resilient than we expected, and even hit us back.

  “We believe that German losses have been high, but so have ours. We and the British lost more than 300 bombers between us, and close to 400 fighters. In terms of men, that’s over 2800 men. Many, of course, bailed out and were captured. Probably a third or more of that number are dead.

  “As to German losses – well, it’s likely they are at least as large as our own, but actual numbers are hard to establish. Our best guess is 200-300 of their fighters were shot down.

  “Our ground forces met with terrific resistance, and made only scattered breakthroughs; overall, we advanced only a few dozen miles. In the final analysis, despite tremendous efforts by everyone, on the ground and in the air, we failed to make the progress we hoped for.”

  Truman sat with his elbows on the tabletop, his chin propped on his clenched fists, saying nothing. He was steeling himself for what he was sure was coming.

  “Well, boys, where do we go from here?” he said finally.

  Marshall glanced at Admiral William Leahy, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  “Sir,” Leahy said heavily, “we have decided to ask your permission to use the bomb.”

  Truman’s jaw set, and Leahy was sure he’d decide to turn them down.

  Truman sat back in his chair, suddenly looking smaller, somehow; “Boys, this is hard for me to tell you. Looks like you’ve been feed some bum dope on the bomb. The test was a fizzle, didn’t work worth a damn. Oppenheimer says they can fix it, but it could take awhile. I don’t know whether we can believe them, or not.”

  Leahy felt like he’d been hit in the gut; he’d counted on being able to pull the atomic bunny out of his hat. His stomach hurt.

  How can we get out of this mess, he asked himself. We can’t depend on the Russians.

  “How long until we’ll have a useable bomb?” he asked, grasping at straws.

  Truman answered, “They say about six weeks. ‘Course, they’ll have to test again. How do you propose to use it?”

  Leahy licked his dry lips; “We’re divided on that, sir.” He glanced at Hap Arnold; he knew Hap was against using the powerful weapon on European cities –“on fellow Christians,” as he put it.

  “Two of us want to hit Berlin first; the others want to do a demonstration, maybe against an uninhabited Baltic island.” He’d promised Hap not to reveal his feelings to the President.

  I hate that we’re not united on this.

  The President screwed up his face in thought, “Hmmm. Can’t see the sense in wasting an expensive bomb on a demonstration.

  Let’s just kill ‘em. We’ll go for Berlin soon’s they have a reliable one to offer us. Is the Atomic Squadron in Iceland ready?”

  “Yes, sir, they’re well trained and practiced. All they need is a bomb.”

  “OK,” Truman said, “we’ll keep up the pressure, and use the bomb when it’s ready. What else?”

  Again, Leahy felt his gut tighten. I’m getting too old for this, he thought, not for the first time.

  “Well, Mr. President, a strange situation. Our troops – some of the few actually moving forward – were closing in on a small Belgian town on the German border, with every expectation of crossing over and actually being on German soil.” Admiral Leahy said. “As we began our artillery barrage, a German officer suddenly appeared, waving a white flag, asking for a brief truce and a parley.”

  “A parley? They wanted to surrender? Why are you telling me?”

  Leahy continued, looking grim, “No, sir, not a surrender. The German, a young Lieutenant, said it was vitally important to both sides that the most senior American officer present come at once under flag of truce to speak with his colonel. The senior man was an infantry captain, but just as he was leaving with the German, a halftrack drove up with a colonel in it. His name is Tobias Bromley—”

  “I know ‘Cough’ Bromley, sir,” said George Marshall, “he served on my staff back in ’38 or ’39. Good man, very good man. He’ll have a star before this is all over.”

  “Cough?” asked Truman.

  Marshall smiled, “Army humor, Mr. President – Tobias Bromley – TB – cough?”

  The President shook his head and smiled slightly, “Go on, please!”

  “Yes, sir. Well, Colonel Bromley immediately ordered a cease fire, and went with the German. They took him to a building destroyed in the Great War, and then rebuilt on the same foundation. The Germans were using it as a local headquarters, and moved to a basement as our forces moved in. That’s when they discovered about thirty tons of phosgene gas shells.”

  Truman’s head jerked, and he gasped, turning pale; he’d never been gassed, but he’d seen plenty who had been. “Phosgene – that’s a slow, horrible way to die, and no honor in the bargain,” he said slowly. The men with him nodded silently.

  “What do the Germans want?” he asked, his voice shaken. “Those shells were supposed to have been destroyed after 1918.”

  “Apparently, they were overlooked because the building had been destroyed. Bromley says the German colonel was very upset. He was afraid that we’d think they were going to use the shells. The fact that he had no artillery tubes backs up his story. That and the fact that the shells are dated around 1917. He proposes a local cease fire while his troops aid Allied troops in moving the gas out.

  “Sir, here’s the thing: they’re not far from the Demer River. The Demer connects to the Rupel, then the Schelde, and finally comes out to sea at Antwerp. We could truck the shells to the river, load them on barges, and haul them out to sea. We need your OK. The Department of State told us just before this meeting that they received notice from the German government through the Swiss Embassy confirming this story. This could be a breakthrough, Mr. President; they’re trying to show us that they can be reasonable and are willing to cooperate.”

  Truman said intensely, “Do you know how dangerous those old shells are? And getting them to the river and out to sea – all it would take is one hot shot fighter pilot, one rifleman on either side with a lucky shot, and we’d have a first class disaster on our hands. Do we have any atropine on hand as antidote? Do the Germans?”

  “There is no antidote, sir. None. If it’s liquid, it can be neutralized somewhat with sodium bicarbonate. If it’s gas, ammonia can be used, but that’s dangerous by itself.”

  “My God, what a mess,” Truman said.

  As Truman contemplated, a messenger knocked discreetly, and entered. Truman sat back as he read. He blew out his breath.

  “Boys, the German government has officially proposed a twenty-four hour truce all across Europe while we work together to move those gas shells ou
t. Guess they realize how touchy those shells are, too. Department of State is clamoring to see me; I suppose they’ll want me to surrender first!” Truman had little respect for what he termed the “striped pants boys.”

  George Marshall said urgently, “Sir, if we handle this right, we might be able to extend the truce indefinitely. Sir, this could be the first step to peace, and we wouldn’t have to use the bomb.”

  “Yes, George, it could be; it could indeed. Let’s see how to cover ourselves and our troops and still get those shells removed. And make sure this isn’t some elaborate hoax. Have the Brits and French been informed? Where do they stand on a truce? Get some answers pronto.”

  Generalmajor Freiherr Gerhard von und zu Schroeder flew to his headquarters immediately after hearing that Wever died. His staff had never seen him so distraught; he paced back and forth in his office, muttering and swearing under his breath, then slamming his fist on his desk. Through the office windows, they could see him waving his arms wildly, his muffled shouts a mixture of curses and prayers. He sat quietly and wept. Then he got up abruptly, and went to the cabinet where the Order of Battle tables were kept.

  He was rifling through the documents when his worried adjutant knocked on the door and entered the room discretely, “Sir, may I bring you anything?”

  “What?” von Schroeder roared, spinning around, then softening when he saw who it was. “I am in need of nothing, thank you Anton. You and the staff may leave for the day.”

  “Of course, sir. Until morning, then.” He backed out the door.

  Leutnant Anton Kriebs entered Bomber Command headquarters the following morning at 0600 hours; his boss was an early riser. He brought the first cup of coffee and gasped slightly when he saw Generalmajor von Schroeder still pacing, in need of a shave, talking out loud, his uniform disheveled. His bloodshot eyes looked out over heavy, dark bags. He had obviously worked through the night.

  “Yes, Anton? Ah, my morning coffee, on time as always!” Schroeder took the steaming cup with a sudden, grateful smile. He glanced at his watch.

  “Assemble the senior staff at 0800 hours, for mission planning. Thank you.” He lifted the cup in salute, sipped the strong brew, and sat it on the cluttered table.

  As he left, Anton Kriebs thought, last night he was wild eyed, a crazy man; I thought he would hurt himself. Today, his old intensity is back; what does he have in mind?

  In his office, von Schroeder told himself, I always do best when I have firmly decided upon a course of action. Now I know what to do.

  Before his men assembled, von Schroeder shaved, put on a clean shirt and tidied up his office.

  “Have you heard, Herr General? The government announced a twenty-four hour truce while the Whermacht and the Allies clear out some old gas shells from the Great War?”

  Von Schroeder’s eyes were still bloodshot; he never could sleep when he was upset. He waved away the man’s question.

  “Yes, yes, that won’t affect us. Now,” he said fiercely, slamming the table with his fist, his voice rising with every word, “we shall strike back as never before. So far, the American capitol, Washington D.C., has been struck glancing blows only. We will hit them so hard they will be 100 years rebuilding! We shall use every available Gotha, overwhelm their defenses, and drive them down as Germany has been driven down!” He slammed his fist on the table again and looked sharply at his men. There was surprise on several faces, but to his satisfaction, more than a few were nodding in agreement with him.

  Unbidden, a sinister look came on his face, “There will be also a mission within a mission; I require six crews and aircraft – volunteers.”

  He looked at each man harshly. “This will be a one way mission, for the Glory of Germany; there will not be fuel enough to return. I do not ask for suicide, but I require a willingness to surrender afterward. This is not to be spoken of, except to the crews you recruit. You must allow them to decline, yes? It must be truly voluntary.”

  To his gratification, the men looked eager to learn more. I knew these men were not cowards, he thought proudly.

  “What is the target, sir?” an eager major asked.

  “You must all swear to secrecy, yes?” Again, he looked at each man, and each looked steadily back.

  “I have learned the Americans are developing a new type of super bomb, that somehow uses the energy within the atoms of the mineral uranium.” He shrugged to show that he had no understanding of how that could be.

  “They have a massive facility near the town of Oak Ridge, in their state of Tennessee, to purify this mineral, to build this bomb. If we don’t try to return, we can reach this easily. We must, we must destroy it before they can use it at against the Fatherland. Who will volunteer?” To his immense relief, every man quickly raised his hand. It filled him with pride that such fine warriors would be so willing to follow him.

  Chapter 100

  10 August 1945

  Oval Office

  1330 Hours

  Teleconference

  Harry Truman said loudly, “Mr. Prime Minister, we heard that the Luftwaffe Chief, Generalleutnant Wever, was killed in Berlin. Has there been any confirmation? If so, who will replace him? My Air Corps men are very anxious to know who they’re up against.”

  Through the noise and static, Churchill said firmly, “Mr. President, his death has been confirmed within the hour. We believe Generaloberst Adolf Galland, the former head of the German Fighters, will take Wever’s place. We are not quite sure who will take over for Galland. In the meantime, a familiar name, Generalmajor von und zu Schroeder, is taking over Bomber Command. You surely recall him, Mr. President; he’s the chap who led the first raid on New York City.”

  “Only too well, Mr. Prime Minister. He and his dammed flying wings have become a major distraction.”

  “A distraction, Mr. President? One would have thought they were pummeling your cities to rubble.” Churchill’s dry tone held little pity; he believed the American raids were only nuisance level compared to those against Britain.

  “How capable is this new man?” Truman ignored the jibe, even as it galled him.

  “He is capable enough, but prone to mercurial mood changes, and precipitate action from time to time. He is Wever’s chosen successor, however.”

  “Very well. Now, what about this twenty-four hour truce? Are you and Parliament ready to go for it? We believe it could be a door to possible peace talks, but we’re wary as to their ulterior motives.”

  “Yes, yes, quite so,” Churchill replied. “We, too, are chary as to possible skullduggery on the part of the Bosch. Parliament have given me discretion to make the decision. It is quite the conundrum. However, one of my chaps did a keen bit of research, and discovered in the records of the Armistice Commission a notation regarding a gas shell depository in the town where the shells were discovered. There is no disposal record, so the German story holds water. As the saying goes, ‘the devil’s in the details’; how do we notify every Tommy and GI to hold fire? For that matter, how will the Jerrys tell their troops? The whole thing could dissolve into disaster in a heartbeat.”

  “I agree, Mr. Prime Minister, yet this could be a momentous opportunity; we mustn’t let it pass us by.”

  “What I have to propose to you. Mr. President, is—”

  Chapter 101

  29 August 1945

  At Home

  1930 Hours

  Warnings

  “Joel, we need to talk.”

  Joel was still very much an “apprentice” husband, but he’d learned what those words meant; something was really bothering her and he needed to help her work it out, now.

  I wonder what’s worrying her?

  Susan went into the living room and turned on the second hand Zenith floor console radio. It hummed for a moment as the tubes warmed up, then an announcer was reading the news. Susan tuned to music, and turned it up louder than it had been. She sat across from him, a worried look drawing her face.

  “Are you afraid someo
ne will hear us?” Joel teased.

  “Yes,” she said flatly, and motioned him to sit on the couch.

  No, she’s not just worried, she’s afraid.

  She sat in the overstuffed chair and leaned toward him. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she said softly, “And you must say nothing about it, but von Schroeder’s planning more raids. Big raids.”

  Joel tried again to lighten the mood, “Aren’t you obsessing about him, just a little?”

  “Not when he’s obsessed with killing my husband,” she said seriously.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “I can’t tell you, Joel; don’t even ask.”

  She stood and paced back and forth across the room, then said softly, “Joel, we know that von Schroeder’s mentor and father figure, General Wever, was killed by the B-29 raid on Berlin. This has me very worried; General Wever was the only ‘family’ von Schroeder had. He exerted an awful lot of influence over him.

  “In the past, von Schroeder has struck out viciously whenever he’s been hurt emotionally. Remember how he wanted you to duel? Wever’s death has hurt him greatly. He will again feel alone and helpless, as he did years ago when he lost his mother and siblings. Now, I think he’ll strike out at something, someone. We know he sees you as the cause of his troubles. You – we – could be in a lot of danger here at Millville.”

  As Joel mentally sorted it out, she continued, “And here’s another thing: remember how you told me that he feints one way before striking another? Well, have you noticed that Washington, D.C. hasn’t been struck, yet cities on both sides have been? Von Schroeder could strike Millville to get you, and Washington as the root of all American power.”

  She looked at him with those clear, ice blue eyes, “If he does, it won’t be patty-cake, either; their bomber forces are bigger than ever. I think he would go all out. He’s taken over for Wever, you know.”