American Under Attack

by Jeff Kildow

  She stopped, then asked, “Joel, do you know the German term ‘Gotterdammerung’?”

  Joel was taken by surprise, “It’s an opera – one of Wagner’s, I think.

  “No, not exactly.” Where is she going with this?

  “It doesn’t translate exactly into English, but conveys the idea that ‘if I can’t win, I’ll die and destroy everything around me in the process’.”

  “Sort of like Samson in the Bible, when he destroyed the temple of Dagon?”

  “Um, yes, sort of, but without the nobility or the forgiveness. This is willful, spiteful destruction of all things good, for no justifiable reason; it’s a dark view into the black depths of the German soul. Von Schroeder seems to have adopted it since Wever died.”

  Joel looked at her, thinking hard. His conclusion left his stomach in a knot, “Do’ya think he’ll try to destroy us then, even if he dies in the attempt? Like bomb the White House, or Pentagon, something like that?”

  Susan stood, crossed her arms and said firmly, “I think it certainly is possible, even probable, that he is suicidal, considering his situation. I think we’d better call General White right away, and have him warn everybody. Maybe they should persuade the President to leave town for a while.”

  Chapter 102

  3 September 1945

  Generalmajor von Schroeder’s Office

  0700 Hours

  More plans

  “Sir, that Order of Battle is out of date. I have corrections, if you wish.”

  “Yes, Colonel, please correct these figures; I must know exactly where we stand before we go any farther,” said von Schroeder. “I must know about heavy bombers, yes? We shall discuss medium bombers later. Continue.” He sat back with a placid look on his face, even though his mind was leaping from idea to idea.

  “Certainly, sir,” the man said, shuffling his papers. “Ah, here we are. Now, of the four-engine GO-447 aircraft, we have 397 aircraft, of which probably 75 percent could be used. By the way, of those 397, thirty-five are veterans of your first raid on New York City.”

  Von Schroeder smiled; it is good to know that those sturdy airplanes are soldiering on; they served me well.

  “Of the newer, and more capable six engine GO-460s, we have 390, of which nearly all could be available. And production is robust – we are taking delivery of ten new aircraft weekly.”

  Von Schroeder frowned, “I’ll need all the GO-460s for my America raid, but 300 GO-447s are too few to satisfy what Generaloberst Galland desires.”

  “Sir, if I may submit?” a Hauptman [captain] interjected. “We have not included the HE-177Greifs [Griffons].”

  “No, they are far too dangerous to the crews and too few,” von Schroeder growled dismissively.

  “Forgive me, sir, I misspoke: I meant to say Über Greif [Super Griffon], the HE-277. I don’t have the most current figures, sir, but, about 250 of the old He-177s have been modified with four engines. They could be a formidable force, I believe.”

  Von Schroeder sat forward, “Yes, if I could send 500 heavy bombers to England, even if some are Greifs, that would satisfy General Galland, at least as to numbers. How have these HE-277s been working out, do you know Hauptman?”

  “I can speak to that, Herr General,” said a major, “the modified aircraft are performing well. With two good, reliable BMW engines on each wing, it gives more than adequate service. They carry an impressive load, as well.”

  Von Schroeder made some notes.

  “Sir, not to leap ahead, but an important component of the America raid is the number of JU-290s available to fuel them; have we enough aircraft and crews?”

  “What do you think, Albert? Can we fuel 400 or so GO-460s?”

  The graying Oberstleutnant bit his lip, “This would require at least 225 JU-290s, but I suspect that crews might be the bottleneck.”

  “So, then, we are able to refuel two GO-460s with each JU-290?” von Schroeder asked.

  “Yes, sir, but not simultaneously. The addition of jet engines to the JU-290s lets them take off with such a load. They always had the capacity to hold enough fuel, just the inability to take off with it.”

  Just like the New York raid, von Schroeder thought, once again, the equipment is ahead of the crews. Well, I know how to resolve that: hard work!

  Chapter 103

  5 September 1945

  Generalmajor von Schroeder’s office

  0700 Hours

  Diversion

  Generalmajor von Schroeder listened carefully to General der Luftwaffe Galland on the telephone.

  “Von Schroeder, the government has informed me that a cease fire will go into effect for twenty-four hours beginning noon day after tomorrow, Berlin time. Can you execute the raid on the English Midlands before then? I want to make a power statement before we stop shooting.”

  “Jawohl, Herr General, that is possible. I have only just completed coordination with Fighter Command for escort and defense aircraft. We can launch in approximately twelve hours.”

  “Excellent!” Galland said, “how large a force can you field?”

  “I don’t have precise numbers, Herr General, but it will be in excess of 500 heavy bombers, and at least 700 medium bombers. Fighter Command has promised every available fighter, perhaps as many as 1500, about half of which will be the jets. We’ll strike a heavy blow, sir!”

  “Well, Mr. President, any thoughts that we face a beaten foe have been rudely dashed. The Bosch put up a huge force of bombers, the most ever seen. Birmingham and Coventry have been struck staggering blows; war production in both has ceased. The human losses are simply appalling. Dear God, how do they do it? Our forces are great, but they somehow always find a way to rally. I did not conceive that such a strike was still possible for them.”

  “My deepest condolences, Mr. Prime Minister,” Truman said with conviction. “Your people have suffered greatly through this whole war. My information is that they used every bomber they had. I have no reports of bombing anywhere else in Europe the day before. Seems like they wanted a show of strength before the cease fire. Did we at least inflict heavy losses on them?”

  “Bah!” Churchill said with disgust deep in his voice, “We threw every fighter we had at them, American and British alike, but they had swarms of escorts, many of them jets. We may have taken down fifty or seventy of their bombers, perhaps a few more, but the majority were older, two-motor planes that are more vulnerable. We lost hundreds of fighters to those damnable rocket guns. And worse, they caught several hundred of our heavy bombers on the ground. It was a bad day. A bad day.”

  “We shall see how the cease fires and the unofficial peace talks go, Mr. Churchill; they may have their own ‘bad day’ if things don’t go well.”

  Chapter 104

  6 September 1945

  Luftwaffe Headquarters

  1730 Hours

  Insubordination

  General der Luftwaffe Galland walked wearily into his office, and removed his uniform blouse. He sat heavily and thought about the meeting he’d just come from. His fatigue was profound, from emotional and mental stress; he’d been fatigued as a fighter pilot, flying four or more missions a day, but this was worse.

  Minister Speer said it forthrightly, for which Galland was glad; the Nazis always twisted reality into something it wasn’t, or worse, denied it.

  “We must be honest with ourselves, gentlemen,” Speer had somberly told the gathering of the most senior Germans, “This war is lost. Our soldiers are brave, and will attempt anything they are ordered, but there comes a time, yes? A time when hard facts must be faced.

  “Logistically, our production peaked months ago. Our future is to slowly starve our forces of everything they need, and no remedy. Already, it takes more effort to manufacture spare parts for artillery pieces, tanks and airplanes than it used to take to build them.”

  He sighed, “The Allies control of the air, as sporadic as it is, is destroying nearly 80 percent of what we manage to manufacture while i
t’s in transit, on the railroads and highways. This I cannot overcome. We must seek out what terms the Allies will give us.”

  Field Marshall Fedor von Bock somberly followed the high ranking civilian, “Speaking for the uniformed services, I must tell you that our situation is, at best, precarious. All forces redeployed from Russia have been dispersed throughout the Western front, and still we are being slowly, steadily pushed back. There is a feeling of inevitable defeat seeping into every man, a hopelessness that, unfortunately, is all too real. Given what Minister Speer has told us, I estimate that we can realistically continue to resist no more than three or four months.

  “And I would remind you of what Galland’s photo-planes revealed: the Russians are quickly gathering great forces, and will fall on us in two months, three on the outside. I strongly urge we negotiate as good a peace with the Americans and British as we can before we have Bolshevik hoards breathing down our necks. We must take advantage of this cease fire, and do all we can to extend it into a permanent peace.”

  Everyone turned to look at the third member of the Dreifach [triple], Minister of Internal Security Heinrich Müller. The youngest of the three men wielding power in post-Nazi Germany, as they liked to term it, was equally bleak.

  “Gentlemen, we are barely holding down the Nazi diehards who desperately want to regain their lost power. The country, I needn’t tell you, is this far from civil war.” He held his fingers a scant ¼ inch apart.

  “As for the general population, they are profoundly weary of this war, and desperate for it to end. If we do not soon end the war ourselves, we shall have as much to fear from an internal revolt as from the Russians.”

  He took a swallow from a glass in front of him, “The country is rife with spies, many of which are Russian or Russian sympathizers. My policemen cannot follow up on every suspect, so many are there. My power is being eroded rapidly, and soon, I will be unable to guarantee the safety of this government. These are harsh words, but they are true. I agree; we must move immediately to negotiate peace with the Allies. Far better that than ‘negotiating’ with a Russian bayonet at our necks.”

  Albert Speer nodded, “So, we are agreed. We will contact the Allies immediately, through the Swiss, asking for terms. I will send our best negotiators, with full authority from this group to begin discussions. The first order of business will be to extend the cease fire indefinitely, yes?”

  And so the first serious German attempt at ending the war was put into motion before Galland had even left Speer’s luxurious office.

  An irritating thought crossed Galland’s mind; all his senior staff had been there, except for the Chief of Bomber Command, von Schroeder. Galland had intended to congratulate Schroeder publically, in front of the assembled Dreifach, but the man had never arrived.

  He pushed the intercom switch, “Have von Schroeder come to my office immediately.”

  Galland sat mulling over what his fate might be when peace came.

  I never joined the Nazi party, that might be in my favor. I always went out of my way to make sure captured Allied pilots and crew members were properly treated. I have severely punished anyone in my command who violated the rules of civility in war: I courtmartialed and shot those two fools who killed that British pilot and stole his watch. I’ve always fought hard, but fairly; that has to work in my favor.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock.

  “Sir, I am Leutnant Johan Bachman, on Generalmajor von Schroeder’s staff. How may I be of help, sir?”

  Galland returned the young man’s salute, “Why are you here, Leutnant? I wish to speak with Generalmajor von Schroeder.”

  “Sir, I beg your pardon, I am senior man on duty. Major Schultz went off duty about two hours ago, after a twelve hour shift. I can have him wakened if you wish, sir.”

  “Where is von Schroeder?”

  The young man looked puzzled, “Sir, with respect, Generalmajor von Schroeder and his crews are about fourteen hours into their mission. We expect them back late tomorrow.”

  Galland’s heart leapt as he leaned forward.

  “What mission? What are you talking about?” Mein Gott, what has Schroeder done now?

  The young man looked startled, and a little afraid, “Why, sir, the Final Revenge mission, to attack the American capital.”

  “What?” Galland roared, leaping to his feet, “The American capital? This is impossible; I gave no permission for an attack! Quickly, when will they arrive? I must stop him!”

  Bachman shrank back in fear, nervously looking at his watch, “Sir, they should attack the Americans in less than three hours.”

  “Oh, Mein Gott! This is disaster! How many aircraft did he take? Are they all bound for Washington?”

  “General, sir, there were 410 bombers. Yes, sir, that is the only target.”

  “That large a force – how will we turn it around? You! Get out of here! Get that major – what’s his name? – Schultz, in here immediately, and round up any other officers of von Schroeder’s over the rank of major and bring them too. Go! Hurry!”

  Galland’s head was spinning; that fool! That egotistical fool! His bombs will be dropping just as our envoy sits to negotiate! How? How we can contact them?

  His heart pounded in his chest as he called Field Marshall von Bock.

  “Jawohl, Herr Field Marshall, I knew nothing of it. He has taken every available GO-460. Yes, the target is the American capital; we have two hours or less to stop them.” He listened to the older man’s excited rant, then heard him bring himself under control.

  “Listen to me, Galland: contact him somehow and order him to turn around, immediately, do you hear?”

  Galland swallowed hard, “Sir, Luftwaffe transmitters don’t have the power or range; I must have permission from Müller to use the propaganda radios.”

  “Yes, of course; contact him immediately, with my authority. Call me if he is reluctant.”

  Chapter 105

  6 September 1945

  Office of the Minister, State Security

  1748 Hours

  Recall

  Minister of State Security Heinrich Müller prided himself on the quickness of his decision making, when the chips were down.

  This is such a time, if ever there was one, he decided. This is total disaster; the whole house of cards could come down around our necks.

  “Yes, of course, General Galland. I will preempt all programming. Come to the studio at once – you know where, yes? I will meet you there.”

  He hung up, then immediately redialed, calling the main Berlin studio for the powerful State Radio.

  What did they tell me? It has 200,000 watts of power? I hope this is enough to reach them. Along with the Gestapo, he had inherited the Bundepost, the post office, and all of its far reaching radio transmitters.

  He left immediately for the studio.

  Müller felt the sweat in his armpits; this was going to be close. He shut off the propaganda program in mid-sentence, and handed Galland the microphone as the technician reset the frequency.

  Now to see if Galland is up to the challenge.

  Without hesitation, Galland spoke, “Final Revenge flight, this is General der Luftwaffe Adolf Galland, my authentication code is —” He read one of the most secret codes in Germany, over an open microphone.

  That will curl some Allied hair, I wager, Müller thought ruefully.

  “Final Revenge flight, this attack is unauthorized! You are ordered to immediately turn and fly to the nearest German airfield. You will begin the turn now. You are ordered to drop your ordnance over the ocean, away from ships. Every aircraft commander will radio his obedience to these commands every hour on the hour until he has received acknowledgement. Your government is negotiating a peace for us all; do not continue this attack, for the sake of the Fatherland, for the sake of your families, return home. Galland out.”

  The sweating man handed Müller the mic, “There, that will do it, I hope. It must.”

  “Thi
s is what we shall do, Herr General: your message was recorded and we shall rebroadcast it every twenty minutes until we receive acknowledgement from the aircraft, yes?”

  Galland looked thoughtful; what is he thinking, Müller worried.

  Galland said earnestly, “Minister Müller, our aircraft radios have a range of perhaps 300 miles maximum, even at high altitude. This means we won’t hear from them for another six to eight hours, unless – do you not have some sensitive receivers in Western Spain that could listen for their replies? We must know immediately that they have turned around.”

  Müller regarded him suspiciously for an instant; those receivers were among his most secret. Ah, well, it matters little now, he thought, mentally shrugging.

  “Jawohl, Herr General; I will order them to begin listening at once, at this frequency. When we hear from them, I should contact – whom?”

  Galland looked a little relieved; “Me first, Herr Minister, then Field Marshall von Bock, and then Minister Speer. I only hope we can recall them in time. It would be a disaster if—” his voice trailed off.

  “Yes, it would,” Müller agreed softly.

  Minister of Production and de facto head of the German government Albert Speer allowed himself the smallest hope, the tiniest glimmer of encouragement. Talks with the Allies through the Swiss government had gone well; Speer’s secret fear was that the American and British envoys would refuse negotiations. He knew there was strong opposition within both governments and their militaries to anything less than “unconditional surrender.”

  At least some of them are facing reality, Speer thought; they can’t beat us before the Russians get involved, and the last thing they want is to have to treat them as equals.

  That fool, that bomber man – what did von Bock call him? Ah, yes, von Schroeder. How stupid can a man be? Can he not see we are beaten? And how does a military man do this, attacking without permission? He will be shot if a single bomb falls on Washington. What a bleak future we shall have if he succeeds. Müller, at least, understands; God help us if his transmitters don’t reach them.