CHAPTER ONE
 
 
March 2, 1944; 6 AM
Tempelhof Airport
Berlin, Germany
 
Why did Heinrich Schloss feel like a criminal fleeing the scene of a
crime? Intellectually he knew it was very late to be leaving Berlin. But
Russian soldiers were marching into the city, and he felt like he had done
nothing to stop it. And now his motorcade had turned around to flee
Tempelhof Airport and the flaming wreckage of Schloss’s personal Focke-
Wulf Condor.
Why had life become impossible? When Schloss, the Accidental
Nazi, was bounced from 1982 Berlin into 1941 Germany, he initially
swallowed his terror and began a long struggle simply to survive. His first
moments in this world confirmed that this was a very different Germany
than he had studied as a historian. His shock at seeing Hitler’s JU 52
cartwheeling across the airfield in a ball of flame were coupled with the
surprise when he looked down to see himself arrayed in a Nazi uniform.
Why was he suddenly in the middle of everything he detested?
More shocking was when the man standing next to him turned and
addressed him as Herr Parteileider. Somehow in the change, Schloss had
replaced Martin Borman, who was in Schloss’s original world known as
Reichsleiter.
Following six months of intrigue and strife, Heinrich Schloss, the
historian from a future Berlin that would not exist in this world, succeeded
in vanquishing Heinrich Himmler and had become the unquestioned master
of the German Reich. Using his knowledge of the events of World War II in
his world, Schloss was able to avoid war with the United States, conclude a
war with Great Britain, and begin to build a Germany that would be
unchallenged on the European continent.
Along the way, Schloss met the great love of his life, acquired a
family, and achieved satisfaction in beginning to build a great nation. But
now, he saw his work turning to ash. To forestall a revolution in the Soviet
Union as a result of his repeated purges, Stalin elected to invade Germany
to distract the people of his land from his failures.
Despite inspired tactics, the Wehrmacht had only succeeded in
slowing down the invasion. And now, the Red Army had kicked down the
door to Berlin and was marching into the city. Although he had sent his
family ahead to Frankfurt, Schloss tarried in Berlin to maintain continuity
for the government. And now, he was fleeing the onslaught.
Karl Rainer twisted around in the front seat of the Mercedes 770, so
he could see Schloss.
“This is very bad, Herr Reich Chancellor. No other planes  remain
at the airport. And it is under fire. We will have to fight our way through the
roads, and it will be dangerous.”
“What do you suggest, Karl?”
“If we can get to Potsdam, perhaps we can find an aircraft there.”
Schloss shook his head. “We cannot stay out of touch for long. We
need to look for a place that has a telephone.”
The roar of an incoming shell interrupted the conversation. It
landed several hundred yards away, and pieces of shrapnel rattled against
the windows of the armored limousine.
“Herr Reich Chancellor, we need to first get you out of here,”
Rainer insisted. “You are in great danger.”
“I am aware of that, Karl. I am not suggesting we find a phone right
now. Let’s get 10 or 15 kilometers down the road, first.”
The earth heaved, and the Mercedes tipped up onto its side. Schloss
slammed against the side of the car, and he saw the driver tossed over
against Rainer. Schloss struggled to right himself and peered through the
windshield to see what was happening. The car ahead of his in the
motorcade was burning. He looked out the back window, and the car
following them was now a crumpled mess.
“Are you all right, Karl?” Schloss called to the front seat.
 “I think he is injured,” the driver said as he struggled to pull himself
up. “He is bleeding from the head.”
Schloss swore. “Gott im Himmel, we are in trouble now. We are
going to have to get out of here on foot.”
“I think I can get my door open,” the driver stated. “I will help you
out, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“We can’t leave Karl.”
“The Russians have the range on the airfield, judging from the way
they are pasting it. We need to get out of here while we can.”
“What is your name, Corporal?”
“Jan Binns, mein Herr.”
“Very well, Corporal Binns. You get the door open and climb out. I
will push the Reichsprotektor up, and you can pull him out.”
The driver looked unsure but then grasped the steering wheel and
the seat and pulled himself up to where he could unlatch the door. He then
pushed it up and over against the fender. He braced his arms against the
doorframe and levered himself out of the car. He worked himself around to
brace his feet against the back door and the fender and looked down at
Schloss.
“I think I am ready, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss nodded and gritted his teeth. When the car was tossed on its
side, he had landed against the door handle, and his arm really hurt. It didn’t
appear to be broken, and Schloss was obviously in better shape than Rainer.
He rolled onto his knees and worked his way forward so that he could get
his arms around Rainer.
“Okay, Karl, let’s get you out of here.”
Schloss grunted as he tried to shift Rainer. The Reichsprotektor was
not a big man but was surprisingly solid. Schloss levered him up to a sitting
position, crouched on the door glass, and slid his arms under Rainer’s.
Assuming they survived the adventure, he was going to be sore tomorrow.
But probably not as bad as Rainer.
It looked like Rainer had banged his head against the windshield
post and split the skin. Schloss hoped that the Reichsprotektor was merely
knocked out. He would have a headache upon awakening, though. There
was a lot of blood, which is also common in head wounds. There was a first
aid kit somewhere in the car, but Schloss thought it was more important to
get Rainer out first.
“Are you ready, Corporal Binns?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss decided he would only have the strength to do this once. He
slid his hands into Rainer’s armpits, took a couple of deep breaths, and
pushed upward as hard as he could. His arms shook from the strain, but he
boosted Rainer high enough for Binns to grab his coat. Between the two of
them, Schloss and Binns somehow managed to haul Rainer out of the car
and lay him on the side facing the sky.
Binns jumped down and held his arms up. “Now, ease his legs over
the side, Herr Reich Chancellor. I can get him to the ground.”
Schloss struggled to pull himself out of the car. He then swung
around and dropped to the ground. He decided getting down was easier than
getting up. Gravity had its uses. Once Rainer was laid out on the ground,
Schloss looked at Binns. “Do you know the location of the first-aid kit in
the car?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“Do you think you can climb back in and find it?”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor. Give me just a moment.”
Schloss decided that an 18-year-old Corporal was much more
limber than a 40-year-old Reich Chancellor. The young man eeled up onto
the car and dropped through the door again. A few moments later, he
popped out and was on the ground again. Schloss opened the cardboard box
and studied the contents, trying to decide what to do.
“Why don’t you let me do that, Herr Reich Chancellor?” Binns
asked. “I have had some training in first aid.”
Schloss chuckled. “Why not, indeed?”
As the driver carefully bandaged Rainer’s head. Several more shells
dropped into the airfield. Schloss looked around wildly, trying to decide
what to do next.
“Please remain here for the moment, Herr Reich Chancellor. I will
check the other cars to see if there are survivors. Following that, we will
need to make some decisions about how to travel.”
“Are you one of Carl’s trainees?”
“No, mein Herr. One of the Reichsprotektor’s trainees trained me.”
 Schloss chuckled again. “That’s good enough for me.” He
wondered why he was laughing. There was nothing funny about the
situation.
Rainer looked like he now had a turban on his head. The Corporal
jumped up and trotted to the car ahead, which was burning merrily. He
circled the car, looking to see if any of the passengers were thrown out.
Shaking his head, he trotted to the following vehicle, which looked
demolished. He suddenly put both hands on the doorframe and yanked the
back door open. A disheveled-looking SS Captain clambered out of the car
and stood beside it brushing himself off. The Corporal crawled into the car,
apparently to check the other passengers. When he pulled himself out again,
he was holding three pistols and a rifle.
The two men walked quickly back to where Schloss sat on the
ground next to Rainer.
“Herr Reich Chancellor,” the captain barked. “It is good that you
are alive. Is the Reichsprotektor badly injured?”
“I would say that he has been knocked out,” Schloss replied, “but I
am not a doctor, so what do I know?”
“We have got to get you out of here.”
“People keep telling me that. I suppose we must decide how we are
going to do it.”
The SS Captain looked around and continued brushing off his
uniform. Schloss concluded that the finely tailored clothing was important
to the man and struggled not to smile. Beside him, Rainer groaned.
“Karl, can you hear me?”
Rainer groaned again. “Mein Gott, my head hurts!”
“That means you’re alive, Karl.”
Schloss looked up at the other two men. “Let’s give it another
couple of minutes. Maybe he will be able to walk.”
“Perhaps the captain and I can support him,” Corporal Binns said.
“Perhaps the Corporal can wait for senior officers to make a
decision,” the captain sneered.
“The Corporal has shown more initiative than anyone else around
here in the last 10 minutes,” Schloss barked. “I believe you would do well
to listen to his suggestions.”
 The captain jumped to attention. “Of course, Herr Reich
Chancellor.”
“What is your name, Captain?”
“Erich Strang, mein Herr. I am on the Reichsprotektor’s staff.”
“Very well, Captain Strang. Give us a couple of minutes to see if
the Reichsprotektor comes to his senses. And, Corporal, hand me one of
those pistols. In the rush to leave, I forgot mine in the office.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns immediately replied,
handing Schloss a 9 mm Luger.
“Are you with us, Karl?” Schloss asked.
“What happened?”
“We took a close hit.”
“We have got to get out of here,” Rainer said, pushing himself to a
sitting position. He quickly reached up and put his hands to his head.
“Something sure rang my bell.”
“Just be thankful you have a hard head, Karl,” Schloss said. He was
tempted to laugh but thought that his companions would start to question
his sanity. And, indeed, Schloss questioned his sanity for waiting so long to
flee the city.
Rainer glared at Schloss through lidded eyes. “I’m glad to see you
are in the prime of health, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
 “Come on, Karl. Let’s get you to your feet. Enough of this laying
around. There is work to be done.”
Schloss stood up and looked at Strang. “Okay, Captain. You and the
Corporal get to guide the Reichsprotektor out of this place. I will, of course,
provide cover.”
Rainer managed to roll his eyes as the two men levered him to his
feet. More shells rocketed into the airfield, throwing up gouts of debris.
“We are going to die out here,” Strang yelled.
“That may be true,” Schloss called, “but if we stay put, we will
certainly die.”
Fifteen minutes later, they had struggled to the airfield gates. A
solid mass of automobile, truck and foot traffic crowded the highway away
from Berlin.
“Wait here a moment,” Strang said.
 The SS Captain walked over to a 1939 Opel Capitan sitting in the
traffic. Reversing his pistol, he tapped on the window with the handle. The
driver rolled down the window.
“We are requisitioning your car. Everyone needs to get out.”
The back window rolled down, and a Luftwaffe colonel leaned out,
aiming a pistol at Strang.
“I think not, Captain.”
The captain pointed back to where Schloss stood with Rainer and
Binns. “Do you know who that is?”
The colonel leaned further out and squinted through the drifting
smoke. “Mein Gott, is that the Reich Chancellor?”
“Out of the car, Colonel.”
The Colonel looked at Strang and then at Schloss. He then opened
the door and climbed out.
“Very wise, Colonel,” Strang said coldly. “You get to live for the
moment.”
Strang swung his head to motion for Schloss and Rainer to move
over to the car. “Herr Reichsprotektor, Herr Reich Chancellor, you will ride
in the backseat, of course. I will ride up front with our driver.”
“Would you allow us to get our things out of the trunk?” The
Luftwaffe colonel asked.
“Be quick about it. There is little time.”
Once everyone was in the car and the doors shut, Strang looked
over at Binns. “Very well, Corporal, let’s go.”
The Corporal looked ahead at the mass of traffic in front of them
and back at Strang. Even though the road was completely blocked, it
reflected the sense of German orderliness.
“Do you know how to drive in the ditch, Corporal?”
Without another word, Binns shifted into first gear and pulled the
car over to the shoulder, and began moving forward. Strang twisted around
in the seat to look at the senior members of the German government who
were the passengers.
“Where to, meine Herren?”
“Let’s try to get to Potsdam,” Schloss replied. “That should get us
out of the range of the verdammt artillery. And then I badly need to find a
telephone.”
 “Do you think you can find your way to Potsdam, Corporal?”
Strang asked.
“I believe so, Herr Captain.”
 
 

CHAPTER TWO
 
 
March 3, 1944; 11 AM
Fort Shafter
Honolulu, Hawaii Territory, USA
 
Colonel Max Jorgensen looked up as the duty Sergeant knocked on
his door.
“There is a Lieutenant Mathers from CIC to see you, Sir.”
Jorgensen threw his pencil down on the desk. It had not been a good
week, and he hoped things would begin to change by Friday. But the
presence of an Army counterintelligence agent in his office was a bad
omen.
“What now? Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, Sir. He just asked for a few moments of your time.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Send him in.”
“Do you want coffee, Sir?”
“Most definitely not. Then he will feel obligated to stay and chat,
and I don’t have time for that this morning.”
Jorgensen glared at the lieutenant, who marched to his desk and
saluted.
“You don’t look like a CIC agent.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Mathers responded.
Jorgensen glared at him a moment longer and then returned the
salute. “Go ahead and sit down, Lieutenant. What’s on your mind?”
“You have a Captain Gregory Conn in your unit,” Mathers stated.
“Yes, yes. Fine officer.” Jorgensen glanced at his watch. “He should
be boarding a plane to the mainland in the next hour or so. Fort Belvoir
wants him back. They’re giving him his majority.”
 “Sir, this doesn’t leave the room, but I observed him servicing a
message that was dropped by a Soviet national. Colonel Helms suggested
we have a conversation with him.”
Jorgensen grew very still. “Greg Conn? Are you kidding me? He is
one of the finest young officers I’ve had the opportunity to mentor.”
“Needless to say, this looks suspicious. Is he flying out of
Hickam?”
“Yes, and good luck detaining him. The Army badly wants him
back in Virginia. I tried really hard to keep him here and got a rude message
from General Taylor for my troubles.”
“If he is talking to the Russians, that may be the least of our
problems,” Mathers commented.
“He even volunteered to manage the unload on an ammo ship on his
way to Hickam. I have never seen anything to indicate he is anything other
than a red-blooded American soldier.”
“Ammo ship, Sir? Who was the NCOIC?” He was referring to the
non-commissioned officer in charge.
“That’s why I was so glad he volunteered, Lieutenant. I’m
dreadfully short of NCOs around here. Corporal Plimpton had the crew.”
“Two things then, Colonel. And I really hate taking up your time.
I’d like to speak to Corporal Plimpton. And I need to use a telephone. I
think we need to hold that airplane before Conn gets out of our hands.”
Jorgensen frowned. “Very well, Lieutenant. You are calling the
shots. You can use my telephone. Let me go rustle up Corporal Plimpton.”
Jorgensen got out of his chair and walked to the door as Mathers
reached for the telephone.
“Sergeant, find Corporal Plimpton and get him in here, quick as you
can.”
The Sergeant picked up his telephone and started things flowing
downhill. He wondered why CIC would have any interest in the Corporal.
He was sure the Corporal would as well.
Mathers set the phone down and turned to the Colonel. “Conn’s
airplane has already left.”
“And you will louse up a lot of schedules if you call the airplane
back.”
 Mathers shook his head. “And I probably don’t want to do that just
on suspicion. We can have him detained when he gets off the plane in San
Francisco.”
“I suppose that means you are finished here,” Jorgensen said
hopefully.
“Not quite, Sir. We are wondering why the Russians would be
interested in someone here on the islands. Enough so that they would take
the risk of contacting him.”
“I suppose they knew he was being recalled to the states,”
Jorgensen mused.
“That may be possible, Sir. What were his responsibilities here in
Hawaii?”
“Primarily explosive ordnance disposal. But, as you know, we have
been shorthanded. When you have someone with Conn’s capabilities, you
will naturally assign him to many tasks.”
“Including unloading an ammunition ship?”
“Precisely.”
The two men stared at each other for a few moments, and then
Jorgensen visibly jumped. “You don’t suppose….”
Mathers grimaced. “I need to talk to your Corporal.”
At that moment, the Sergeant knocked on the door before opening
it.
“Corporal Clay, Sirs.”
A frightened-looking Army Corporal marched into the office and
jumped to attention before saluting.
“Corporal Clay reporting as ordered, Sir.”
“Corporal,” Jorgensen began,” this is Lieutenant Mathers. We have
a few questions about your activities this morning.”
“Yes, Sir. I took a fifteen-man detail to the pier where we unloaded
the Mount Hood.”
“Captain Conn didn’t escort you to the pier?” Mathers asked.
“No, Sir. He showed up about 10 minutes after we got there. He
guided us on which trucks to load with what materials. It didn’t take very
long, Sir. We had almost finished the unloading yesterday.”
“And what happened, then, Corporal?” Mathers asked.
“We loaded up and came back to the base, Sir.”
 “And Captain Conn was with you?”
“No, Sir. He was riding with Private Parks. The captain told us he
was being transferred stateside. I think he asked Parks to drive him to
Hickam.”
Mathers looked at Jorgensen. “Sir, is it normal to allow truckloads
of ordinance to travel around the island without an escort?”
“No, Lieutenant, it is not.”
Clay turned pale. “Colonel, Sir, the captain said that you had given
clearance for someone to drive him to Hickam Field.”
Mathers rubbed his hand over his mouth. Even this early in the day,
the sound of his hand grasping over whiskers was audible in the room.
“Colonel Jorgensen, I suppose our next order of business is to
locate Private Parks and that truck.”
Jorgensen looked at the hapless Corporal. “Corporal Clay, do you
have the ID number of the truck?”
“Sir, it would be on the manifest as well as the trip ticket.”
Jorgensen shouted, “Sergeant!”
“Yes, Sir?” The Duty Sergeant said, opening the door.
“It appears we have a truck and a driver missing. Please find out
what truck private parks drove today and start calling the MPs on the island.
I think we had better find it pretty damned quick!”
“Yes, Sir,” the Sergeant barked and then immediately backed out of
the office.
“Do you need the Corporal any longer, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I would like him held at readiness. I need to have an extended
conversation with him. But I believe we have other matters to attend to
first.”
“Very well, Lieutenant. You are dismissed to your tasks. Corporal
Clay, you will wait in the outer office until we decide what to do next.”
Jorgensen hoped that his actions would kick over the proverbial
anthill because he had a bad feeling about this. Across the island, phones
began ringing in MP offices and guard houses. If any of the remaining
Japanese on the island got hold of a truckload of ordinance, they could
make life difficult for the Americans.
Lieutenant Jack Casteel of the Navy Shore Patrol saw the bulletin
regarding the missing truck and wondered how the Army had managed to
lose track of something like that. It was an article of faith among the naval
officers that the doggie officers were adept at finding new ways of tying
their shoelaces together. But losing a truckload of ammo seemed like a
stretch even for them. Casteel had been in the Navy for fifteen years and
could recall any number of times the Navy had to sweep up after the
Army’s mishaps.
The Shore Patrol Lieutenant thought about his current responsibility
to provide security around the Royal Hawaiian Hotel for the peace
conference. After what the Japanese had done to the people of Hawaii,
Casteel had mixed feelings about negotiating with them. Nevertheless, he
took his duties seriously. Leaving his desk, he put on his hat and walked to
the outer office.
“Chief, I’m going to take a walk around the hotel. Keep an eye on
things.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Is there anything I need to pay attention to?”
“You saw that bulletin. The Army managed to lose an ammo truck.”
“I understand, Sir. God help us if any of the Japanese stay-behinds
get their hands on that.”
“Exactly.”
As Casteel left the office, he heard Chief Corwin muttering under
his breath about the doggies, including several expletives. Casteel began his
walk around the hotel property, enjoying the lovely Hawaiian morning. It
looked like the war was over, and he wondered if he would be allowed to
stay in the Navy. Despite the horrors of the Japanese had inflicted upon the
islands, Casteel considered this the best duty station in his naval career. He
was even giving serious thought to living in Hawaii when he mustered out.
Considering the situation, he thought it was a good idea to walk the
property and get some idea of how the MPs were doing. After having been
here two weeks, he felt his people seemed a bit slack. He was no martinet,
but any job worth doing in the Navy should be done well.
He walked around a corner and parked next to the building was a
GMC Six by Six painted in Army olive drab. He pulled the message memo
about the missing truck from his pocket and compared the number he was
given with the number on the truck's back bumper. He felt the strength
begin to train out of his legs, and he wanted to throw up. He turned and
sprinted back to his office.
 “Chief,” he shouted, “get the building evacuated! That missing
truck is here.”
Casteel sprinted out of the office and ran to the front desk of the
hotel. The desk clerks looked at him in surprise as he tried to catch his
breath.
“There may be a truck bomb on the east side of the building! Get
the place evacuated.”
Someone on the hotel staff had recent memories of the war and was
also mindful of the VIPs staying in the house. The management had
prepared procedures in the case of an air raid or other attack. The desk clerk
pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer, looked at it, and immediately pointed
to one of the other clerks.
“Pull the fire alarm.” He pointed to the other clerk. “Tell the house
staff to go door to door and make sure everyone is out. Use the master keys
in case someone doesn’t want to answer the door.”
The desk clerk ran from behind the counter and over to the hotel
restaurant, which was serving the Friday brunch. He pulled out a chair from
a table near the entrance and stood on it.
“Listen to me, everybody. We need to evacuate the building right
now. Please move out to the right from the front doors and get at least a
block away. There may be a bomb.”
There were shouts and a few shrieks, and people began streaming
from the hotel restaurant. The desk clerk ran back across the lobby and
slipped behind the counter into the small room where the switchboard
operator worked. He picked up a handset next to the operator.
Put me through to the American suite.”
When he heard the answer, he began speaking immediately.
“Gentlemen, this is the day manager. You must evacuate immediately.
There may be a bomb. Go to the Northwest and avoid the east side of the
building, understood?”
Upon hearing the assent, he disconnected and turned to the operator.
“Now connect me to the Japanese suite.”
He worked his way through the rooms used by the guests who were
here for the conference. He turned to the operator. “Now, you need to get
out of here.”
 Without another word, the operator laid down her headset and
walked quickly from the room. The day manager then trotted through the
hotel to the kitchens and ordered everyone out. He then began making his
way to housekeeping. He wondered how he could get everyone out of the
hotel in time. Maybe this was a false alarm.
Ambassador Cordell Hull breathed heavily, unaccustomed to the
exertion as he walked among the people streaming away from the Royal
Hawaiian hotel. Keeping pace with him, the Japanese Ambassador Mamoru
seemed to be in better shape.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Ambassador,” Hull puffed.
“We simply do not want to take chances right now.”
He was interrupted when the ground quaked, and a cloud of flying
debris enveloped the hotel building. Several people screamed, and others
threw themselves to the ground. The shockwave blew dust and debris past
them.
The Army Douglas C-54 climbed out of Hickam Field and swung
slightly to the right to fly parallel to the Honolulu beaches. Captain Gregory
Conn was seated on the left side and had a nice view of the beautiful
Hawaiian morning. He had other reasons for watching carefully and was
rewarded with a large explosion that quickly enveloped the large, pink hotel
building.
There were cries of shock among the passengers, so Conn schooled
a sober mien into his face. He grinned internally, though. It was a wonderful
day.
 

 
CHAPTER THREE
 
 
March 5, 1944; 2 AM
Potsdam, Germany
Heinrich Schloss looked at his watch and grimaced. It had taken 30
hours to drive to Potsdam. Long as that was, it still seemed like an eternity
to him. They had fought their way through roads clogged with refugees
from Berlin. They had kept moving only by siphoning gas from other
government vehicles, sometimes at gunpoint. They had stopped at several
small hamlets, only to find out the telephones were not working.
Rainer was functioning again, and he had commandeered a couple
of hotel rooms in a small hostel in Potsdam. Schloss was finally able to get
through to Guderian and von Rundstedt. The loss of Berlin, while
catastrophic, was not as bad as it could have been. The Russians had halted
to consolidate their gains which afforded the Wehrmacht time to stabilize
Germany’s defenses. The Luftwaffe Fortresses were engaged in round-the-
clock bombing raids on Russian supply lines and other installations.
Guderian thought this was beginning to affect Russian efficiency. And their
level of efficiency was not great in the best of times.
Train loads of 250 kg bombs were beginning to arrive from German
ports. Von Rundstedt told Schloss that Germany would have lost the war
without the ordinance contributed by the British. As it was, no one was
confident about the ultimate outcome.
Along the way, Rainer and Strang had drafted a small collection of
SS personnel to function as Schloss’s travel staff. Rainer did not consider
the group secure; however, Schloss was far safer than he had been. Schloss
had forced Rainer to call a halt. They were all exhausted, and Rainer was
showing the effects of his head wound.
Von Rundstedt had arranged for an aircraft to fly into the small
airfield near Potsdam at first light. Schloss ordered Rainer to bed and
designated Strang as second-in-command of security for the group. Then,
Schloss laid down to grab two or three hours of sleep himself. He didn’t
bother to remove his shoes and clothes.
Once in the bed, which was not very comfortable anyway, Schloss’s
mind kept reviewing his decisions leading up to the invasion. Surely, he
could have done something different to prevent all this. He was the Reich
Chancellor, and he was responsible. The people of Germany would surely
blame him for this disaster, and rightfully so.
Guderian was surprisingly optimistic, though. He was convinced
the Russians had launched their spring offensive too early. True, they had
achieved massive surprise. But they had burned through most of their
ammunition in their sprint to Berlin. After the weather had finally cleared,
the Luftwaffe Fortresses had effectively pulverized the Russian logistics
train. The Russians would soon run out of ammunition, and then they would
begin to get hungry.
General Walter Model had managed to preserve the bulk of the
German forces in the retreat. Although it had been a mistake to suspend
operations for the winter, the troops and gear were in far better shape than
anyone had believed. Rommel and Guderian were convinced the Russians
had now presented them with a magnificent opportunity. They planned to
continue harassing the Russians along the front and watch for the
ammunition shortages to become apparent.
They would then encircle the Russian salient and lop off the bulk of
the Russian forces. It would be a lightning-quick thrust – a Rommel
specialty and Guderian had a second phase up his sleeve. Once the Russian
forces west of the Oder River were fully engaged, he would push four
divisions out of Prague and block the Russian reserves from getting to the
river.
Schloss was convinced the second part of the plan was very risky
and was tempted to order Guderian to cancel it. However, Russian troops
were in German territory, and Russian boots marched through the streets of
Berlin. Guderian explained that it would be dangerous to commit these
forces against the Russians in a stand-up fight because the Russian forces
were still superior. But he counted on the lack of food and ammunition to
stampede the Russians and cause them to lose confidence.
Schloss was turning these things over in his mind when Jan Binns
tapped on the door and opened it slightly.
“Herr Reich Chancellor, it is time to leave.”
Schloss swung to his feet and stood. “Thank you, Corporal. Let’s
go.”
Schloss concluded he had gone to sleep after all. The heavy, relaxed
feeling made it difficult for him to put one foot in front of the other, not to
mention ordering his thoughts. And whatever sleep he had gotten, it was not
enough. But he was still alive, which amazed him.
After living in 1982 Berlin, Schloss never thought light bulbs in this
milieu were bright enough. But, in the wan light of the lamps of the sitting
room of the hotel suite, Rainer looked terrible. Strang looked exhausted.
Only the driver, Corporal Binns, looked rested and alert. Schloss wondered
how the man did it.
 “Herr Captain, are we ready to depart?” Schloss asked Strang.
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. The vehicles are waiting in front of
the hotel under guard. I heard an airplane flying low, so I assume our
transport has arrived. We should not keep it waiting.”
“Just so,” Schloss replied. “If everyone is ready, we can leave.”
They made their way down the steps to the lobby where the hotelier
waited. Several paper sacks rested on the check-in desk.
“Herr Reich Chancellor,” the hotel owner said in a quavering voice.
“Major Strang said that you would not have time for breakfast. I have
prepared sausage and egg sandwiches for you to take with you as you
travel.”
“That is very kind and most generous of you,” Schloss replied. “I
apologize for not being able to pay you for the food and lodging. Once we
get things settled in Frankfurt, I will see that you are paid.”
“That is completely unnecessary, mein Herr. I am delighted to be of
service.”
“We must leave,” Strang said sharply.
Schloss smiled and laid his hand on Strang’s arm. “Patience,
Captain. This man has sacrificed to serve the Reich, and I want to make
sure he knows that we properly appreciate him.”
The hotelier looked flustered. “Don’t let me keep you, Herr Reich
Chancellor. I imagine people are waiting on you.”
Schloss smiled and nodded. “They are more important than I, and I
don’t want to keep them waiting. Thank you again for your service.”
He then turned and walked to the door. In front of the hotel was the
assorted collection of vehicles they had grabbed in their frantic escape from
Berlin. He and Rainer climbed in the back seat of the Opel Capitan, which
had assumed the role of the executive limousine. The improvised motorcade
moved out of Potsdam and drove down a side road to the small airstrip.
A JU 52 transport sat at the end of the runway, barely visible in the
dim morning light. Torches burned along the length of the grassy airfield,
outlining the path the Junkers would follow for takeoff. Four soldiers
guarded the airplane, and they turned as the vehicles rolled up to the plane.
Captain Strang had carefully planned the flight and had selected who would
travel with Schloss. The captain, however, would remain behind with the
collection of troops they had acquired and place himself into service at the
front.
Schloss turned and prepared to walk to the airplane when he heard a
peculiar whistling sound in the air. Rainer suddenly knocked him off his
feet and shouted, “get down!”
There came the solid bang of an explosion, and Schloss felt dirt
pattering down around him.
“What’s going on, Karl?”
“That’s mortar fire. There’s a Russian team out there somewhere.”
There was another whistle, followed by a gout of orange flame as
the Junkers exploded.
“We have got to get out of here,” Rainer shouted. “Binns, get the
car turned around. Leave the lights off.”
Schloss suddenly felt very tired. He didn’t want to die, but he
wasn’t sure he wanted to live through this. The German soldiers were firing
into the surrounding woods, although Schloss was unsure of what benefit
that would be.
Suddenly the car had backed up alongside where they lay in the
dirt. Rainer raised up and grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go, Herr
Schloss.”
Schloss and Rainer tumbled into the back seat of the car. Binns
crammed the gear lever into first and took off with the accelerator wide
open. Strang jumped onto the running board as the car rolled past and then
pulled open the door and slid into the front seat.
“Driver, take us back the way we came,” he shouted.
Schloss looked over at Rainer. “That did not go quite as I expected
it would.”
The engine roared as Binns kept the gas pedal to the floor. Behind
them, other members of the caravan struggled to extricate themselves from
the falling shells and the confusion. Schloss wondered if the pilots were in
the airplane when it exploded and if others had been killed.
Rainer leaned forward. “Corporal, if anyone tries to block the road,
do whatever is necessary to drive through. If we are forced to stop, we will
likely die.”
“I understand Herr Reichsprotektor. Should I return to the hotel?”
 “No. Let’s get on the road towards Wittenberg. We will have to pick
up reinforcements again along the way. We apparently have Russian
infiltrators in the area.”
“And we are going to have to find another telephone,” Schloss
commented. “Von Rundstedt is going to wonder what happened to us.”
“And we need to get further away from Berlin,” Rainer commented.
“We cannot allow you to be caught or killed, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“And I do not want to be caught or killed,” Schloss replied. “That
would likely ruin my day.”
Rainer suddenly grabbed his sleeve. “And if you had left Berlin
when I told you to, we would not be having these problems,” he hissed.
Schloss looked over at Rainer in surprise. There was no question
the Reichsprotektor was upset at the delay in leaving Berlin, but he rarely
lost his composure like that. Rainer then bent over and held both hands to
his head with a groan.
“Karl, are you all right?”
“No, I am not all right. My head is killing me. The most important
person in the country is in an impossible situation, and I am at a loss as to
what to do.”
Strang twisted around in the front seat. “Try to relax, Herr
Reichsprotektor. I will do my best to get us to safety.”
Rainer leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Schloss stared at him and then looked back at Strang, who watched them
from the front seat. He shrugged and twisted back around. It looked as
though some of the traffic had cleared off during the night. While it was
still heavy on this road, at least it was moving. Binns was able to maintain a
steady kilometers per hour.
At Strang’s direction, the driver pulled off in Beelitz, and Schloss
contacted the OKW by telephone. They agreed to dispatch another aircraft
to Wittenberg, and Binns promised to do his best to get them there by
midday.
Back on the road, Schloss considered their situation. Rainer was not
tracking well and probably needed to be in bed. Strang had initiative and
seemed to be the picture of the efficient German; however, Schloss
suspected he was a bit brittle under stress. Jan Binns, however, had the
personality of a phlegmatic German farmer. He seemed able to figure out
what he needed to do and get on with the job. Schloss decided that once
they got to Frankfurt, he was going to keep the Corporal around. He had
made himself useful. And probably he should continue to use Strang. The
man was arrogant and condescending, but he was also efficient.
Schloss’s only concern was whether the current adventure was over
yet.
 

 
CHAPTER FOUR
 
 
March 5, 1944; 9 AM
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Collin Marty sat in his small office outside the Queen’s suite of
offices and wondered how he would find the fortitude to get through the
day. After returning home from Judaea, he immediately went to his office
the following day. He hoped the work would be anodyne, and besides, he
couldn’t bear to sit in the house he had purchased for Clarice and where she
had just started to make it hers. She had such plans for the place.
He had been joyous when rescued by the Judaean operatives, but
that delight had turned to ash when his rescuers told him that his wife had
not survived the ordeal. He had shrugged off the ministrations of both
Halifax and Harriman when they arrived in Tel Aviv, insisting that he would
be fine. His years in the public school had taught him to keep the British
stiff upper lip regardless of what he felt inside. And so, that is what he did.
Margaret had welcomed him back effusively and was sincere in her
condolences over Clarice’s death. Colin thanked her for her concern. He
was glad to get that out of the way, so he didn’t have to think about it. The
more difficult part of the day remained before him as he planned to visit
Clarice’s parents. After work that day, he would take the train to Royston,
where the Stanfields lived. He had thought briefly about driving, but it was
too soon to drive the Alvis. Clarice had loved that car.
 His musings were interrupted when the Prime Minister and the
Foreign Minister entered the office. He quickly jumped to his feet.
“Good morning, Prime Minister, my Lord. You are exactly on time.
Let me check to see if Her Majesty is ready.”
He stepped from behind the desk and moved over to the door to the
Queen's study. He knocked once and opened the door slightly, and she
looked up to see him peeking around the door.
“I am ready, Colin. Please announce the guests.”
“Of course, Ma’am.” He pushed the door wide open and stepped in.
“Your Majesty, the Prime Minister, and Lord Halifax.”
Clement Attlee and Leonard Wood marched into the study and
bowed.
“Please have a seat, Prime Minister, my Lord.”
Colin quietly closed the door and then slipped into his chair across
from Margaret’s writing table along the wall.
Attlee cleared his throat before speaking. “I thought by having
Leonard here; we could clear off most of the items on the agenda this
morning.”
Margaret nodded. “A very good idea, Clement. Where do you want
to begin?”
“First of all, I want to express my condolences to Mr. Marty over
his loss. We are all in shock about this. It was a terrible thing to happen. I
can’t begin to understand how you must feel, but our thoughts and prayers
are with you.”
Unable to speak, Colin nodded brusquely. Attlee turned back
towards the queen.
“Then, we would like your guidance on a response to the actions in
Kabul.”
“There is no longer any doubt in my mind that the Soviets were
behind that,” Margaret responded. “It goes back to the old detective’s saw.
Means, motive, and opportunity. It all points to Stalin. We are dealing with
a madman, and as far as I’m concerned, there is a way to deal with mad
dogs.”
“You are not suggesting military action, Your Majesty,” Attlee
stated nervously.
 “No, we cannot afford another war,” Margaret replied. “And I doubt
Stalin would care, anyway. But we must do something. Stalin’s actions are
going beyond the bounds of reason.”
“We have some further information that may confirm Soviet
involvement,” Wood stated.
“And this is something you have not shared with me?”
“The news only came in as we were leaving to come to this
meeting.” Wood handed the teletype communique to her.
She quickly scanned the message and looked up at Wood. “They
planted a bomb in Honolulu?”
The Foreign Minister nodded. “Fortunately, a member of the
security force was paying attention, and they were mostly able to evacuate
the hotel.”
“They still had five deaths,” the queen commented. “I just don’t
understand people who set bombs.”
“I called Ambassador Winant just before we left. The American
military attaché had received a message from Washington. They are
suspicious of an army officer who had contact with the Soviet national. The
officer had helped unload an ammunition ship just before the bombing.”
The queen rubbed her hands together. “Colin, could you put some
more coal on the fire. I can’t seem to get warm today.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
She looked at Attlee. “I have managed to bring myself under
control, Prime Minister. I am no longer throwing things about the room. I
am not ready to join Schloss in the war against the Soviets. Not quite. But I
very much want to arrange something very, very painful for Stalin.”
“Ambassador Winant suggested that we coordinate with the
Americans in a response,” Wood interjected.
“Right. The Yanks seem to be on top of this thing.”
“Winant told me unofficially that Truman is out for blood. But the
Americans are absolutely not in a position to start another war.”
“Very well.” The Queen continued rubbing her hands together. “Are
the Germans talking to us about the purchase of any other military
equipment?”
“Reichsmarshall Milch was negotiating with de Havilland for a
license to build our Mosquito light bomber. It was just before Schloss
sacked him. Albert Speer, who is working for Field Marshal Von Rundstedt,
the new Reichsmarshall, indicated they wish to purchase some of the
aircraft and no longer want to build them.”
Margaret nodded. “Probably wise of them. Here is what I would
like to do. Let’s immediately fly, say, 300 of the aircraft to Germany. We
can structure it as a lend-lease similar to the way the Yanks did it with us.”
Colin cleared his throat.
“Yes, Colin?”
“Two things, Your Majesty. We need to send a group of RAF pilots
to train the Germans on flying the Mosquito. Secondly, we probably should
send some mechanics and spare parts so they can keep the airplanes flying.”
She nodded. “Very good. Clement, can you make that happen?”
“Yes, your Majesty. I will see that we began moving on this today.”
“Good. Now tell me what is happening in Germany.”
“The Soviets have Berlin. They have not continued to advance. We
thank it is either because of the need to consolidate or that they are having
supply issues. Or both. The German government is reconstituting itself in
Frankfurt, and Schloss has not made any announcements yet.”
“Is there anything else we might do?”
Attlee shook his head. “We are not sure. We have quite a few
surplus Spitfires and Hurricanes. But I don’t think the Luftwaffe has enough
pilots to operate them.”
“I am not ready to have British pilots flying for the Luftwaffe.” She
tapped her finger on the desk. “If it looks, however, like it would make a
difference, I would start seriously considering letting British pilots fly for
the Luftwaffe unofficially.”
Attlee and Wood stared at her.
“What, gentleman? You have nothing to say?”
Attlee quickly responded. “Pardon me, your Majesty. This came at
me cold. I would need some time to consider the ramifications.”
“Do not take too long, Prime Minister. We don’t want to be
overtaken by events.”
“I understand, your Majesty.”
“Now, tell me about Hawaii.”
“The Americans moved the venue to Hickam Field in Honolulu.
After the bombing, they are very concerned about security.”
 “I could understand that,” Margaret chuckled sourly.
“Everyone agreed to delay the start of the conference a couple of
days so that things would settle down.”
“I am glad the Japanese didn’t simply pick up and sail for home. If I
were in their shoes, I would have given serious thought to that.”
“Your Majesty,” the Foreign Minister said, “of the parties involved
in the conference, the Japanese are the most motivated to settle the war.
They are not going anywhere.”
“We were fortunate there,” Margaret said. “If the Yanks hadn’t
spotted that bomb, it would likely have wiped out all of the participants. I
don’t even want to think about having to restart that from scratch.”
“The good news, your Majesty,” Wood said, “is that the Japanese
have made considerable progress in their withdrawal. They would have a
hard time reversing that, even if they wanted to.”
She scratched a few notes on the page in front of her and looked up
at her guests again. “Tell me how well the relief efforts to Australia are
progressing.”
“Surprisingly well,” Attlee responded. “It seems we have some
people in Cape Town and in the Navy who are gifted at this sort of thing.
We aren’t out of the woods yet in terms of getting everyone fed, but I see
nothing insurmountable. The Japanese were smart enough not to bother the
Australian farmers. So we think no one will starve.”
“Good. Anything else in the Indian Ocean?”
“Since the war ended, Gandhi has begun agitating again to free
India.”
“I assume we are working on a plan to shift them into the
Commonwealth,” the queen commented.
“Yes. One of our challenges is that the Colonial Office are dragging
their feet. After India leaves the Empire, the justification for a lot of jobs
goes away.”
Margaret laughed. “I can understand that. Is this something you
want to manage, or should I call a meeting of the mandarins and give them
a little taste of what I think?”
“Let me continue to work on this, Ma’am,” Attlee replied. “I can
intimate that you are getting impatient. If that doesn’t seem to work, then
perhaps we can talk about a meeting.”
 “I understand we need an orderly transition, Clement. But if we
wait too long, there will be bloodshed in Calcutta.”
“You are correct in that assumption, Ma’am. I will also
communicate to the Indians that this is something we are working on.”
“How often have they heard that?” she asked.
“You do have a point there.”
“Just get things moving. We cannot afford to allow this to get out of
hand.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The conversation continued for another half hour as the queen
reviewed the British interests around the world. After concluding the
meeting, she turned to Colin.
“You are planning to visit the Stanfields today, correct?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Then you should go ahead and leave. I have no further
appointments today, and Clement has left me a stack of briefing books. I am
convinced he thinks that I will get so frustrated with the minutia of this
government that I will throw in the towel and tell him to call elections.
“When will you call elections, Ma’am?”
She shook her finger at him in mock severity. “Beware, Colin. You
don’t want to get on my bad side. And the answer is, it needs to be soon.”
She was rewarded by a flicker of a smile from him as he stood and
retreated from her office.
The door closed with a snick of the latch. Margaret rested her head
in her hands with a sigh. Coming to the office was probably the best thing
for Colin. But seeing the pain in his eyes was like twisting a knife in her
gut. She knew Colin blamed himself for allowing Clarice’s capture. To be
honest, the queen was convinced it was her fault. If she hadn’t sent Clarice
along on the trip, the sparkling lady would still be alive. She hoped Colin
would survive the experience.
 

 
CHAPTER FIVE
 
  
March 6, 1944; 9 AM
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Heinrich Schloss, the Reich Chancellor of Germany and the greater
Reich, walked into his new office and glanced around. Speer had suggested
they appropriate the Nazi party offices in Frankfurt. The building came with
the requisite communications lines and ample space. Willem had arranged
for Schloss to occupy the largest office on the top floor and designated
other areas for meeting rooms and offices for the central government
bureaucracy. Schloss had expected an internecine struggle as the
government officials from Berlin fought over the prime real estate while the
party officials in Frankfurt defended their turf. The lack of infighting
surprised him.
When Schloss and Rainer had finally limped into the city in another
JU 52 the night before, he expected a confrontation with Gisela and
probably Frau Marsden as well. But Gisela’s fear for him and Rainer
resulted in an equally joyous reunion, and her relief overrode everything.
Somehow during the panic, Willem had rented a house for him and
his family. And Frau Marsden had insisted, with Gisela’s complete
agreement, that Peter and Gratia move in with them. Schloss thought it was
a wonderful idea, and the children had quickly settled down, now that they
were once again under the same roof as Frau Marsden. Schloss was
reminded yet again how much he relaxed in Gisela’s presence. And such
was the level of his exhaustion that he slept through till nearly eight
o’clock.
He was a bit grumpy from the residual fatigue and for not having
arrived at the office before sunrise. But Willem had the coffee ready, and he
was able to dive into the pending business. And it seemed that none of the
paperwork had remained behind in Berlin. The stack of items requiring his
attention almost defied reason. Schloss had also lost touch with what was
going on in the government and the war.
His first order of business was to place a call to the Reichsmarshall.
At least the phone network in Frankfurt seemed to be working correctly. He
was able to connect with von Rundstedt quickly.
 “I am delighted you made it safely to Frankfurt, her Reich
Chancellor.”
“Thank you, and how are you, Gerd?”
“Considering the circumstances, I cannot complain.”
“Please give me a summary of the state of the war.”
“Once the Russians had completely invested Berlin, they advanced
no further. Rommel was able to slip in behind them and has seized the
bridgeheads on the Oder. General Schörner is pushing four divisions from
Prague towards Breslau and is threatening the flank of the Russian
reinforcements.”
“I must ask you this, here Reichsmarshall, are we risking the loss of
our armies by doing this?”
Von Rundstedt hesitated. “There is risk involved in anything we do
right now, mein Herr. But the Russians have put themselves into a difficult
situation. Smirnov expended most of his supplies getting to Berlin, and he
would have difficulty turning around to get back to Frankfurt am Oder. In
addition, Gehlen received information that Stalin had ordered Smirnov to
hold Berlin at all costs. And it looks like supplies and reinforcements are
not moving quickly.”
Schloss nodded as he scribbled notes on the pad in front of him. “So
you think we have an opportunity here?”
“We have an opportunity that does not come along often.”
“And what do we do about Berlin?”
Von Rundstedt hesitated again. “Fighting our way through the city
would be very difficult.”
“I don’t want any fighting in the city, Gerd. I want them to run out
of food and ammunition. They will eventually be forced to surrender.”
“That will be difficult for the Germans who remained in the city.”
“This hurts, Gerd. But I think this represents the opportunity for the
lowest loss of life, both for civilians and military.”
“I agree,” the Reichsmarshall said. “But it is a cold-blooded
decision to make.”             
“It goes against everything I believe in to leave our people in Berlin
to starve with the Russians.”
“But we would lose far more trying to dig the Russians out. And
those civilians will probably die anyway. May I suggest, her Reich
Chancellor, that the best chance of rescuing the Germans in Berlin is to
encourage Smirnov to surrender.”
“I know you are right, Gerd. It is just very hard.”
“I share your feelings. But we will have to make many difficult
decisions if we are to stop the red Army from overrunning Western
Europe.”
Schloss nodded. “I just needed to hear it from somebody else.”
“Further, since the weather cleared, the Fortresses have nearly
destroyed the Russian supply lines. The British are talking to Speer about
manufacturing more 250 kg bombs to sell us. In addition, they are also
sending 300 mosquito light bombers to us. Their prime minister said that
we could call it a lend-lease, whatever that means.”
Despite himself, Schloss laughed. “That is what the Americans
were doing for the British in 1940 and 41. Essentially they are providing
those bombers gratis. At the end of the war, or whenever we don’t need
them anymore, we will send them back.”
“I… Understand,” von Rundstedt said. “The English Queen must
hate Stalin.”
“After the Russians planted a bomb in the hotel here in Frankfurt
and killed her foreign minister,” Schloss commented, “the Queen was
outraged. After they kidnapped the people attending the conference in
Kabul, she was incandescent. I don’t think the English want to get into this
war with the Russians, but it looks like they’re going to do everything short
of that to help us. Count your blessings, Herr Reichsmarshall.”
“Oh, they already have my profuse thanks.”
As they continued, Schloss stared at the mound of paper on his desk
and grew anxious. “Is there anything else we need to discuss this morning,
Herr Reichsmarshall?”
“I know you are very busy, her Reich Chancellor. I appreciate your
time.”
“Very well. Until you or Heinz can get an office set up here in
Frankfurt, I believe we should talk every morning.”
“I shall plan on it,” von Rundstedt promised.
Having already finished two cups of coffee, Schloss left his office
in search of the toilet. Posted outside the office door were two SS guards,
and major Strang occupied one of the desks in the outer office.
 “Are you covering security, then, Captain?” Schloss asked.
Strang jumped to his feet and stood at attention and barked, “Yes,
Herr Reich Chancellor. “The Reichsprotektor is occupied with getting SS
offices up and running here in the city and asked me to manage security.”
“That’s fine. Are you also providing security for my house?”
“Yes, mein Herr. The security battalion got spread out during the
move from Berlin, and they are just now starting to arrive. But I think we
are in good shape.”
“Very well. Thank you, Captain,” Schloss said. He turned to the
secretary. “Willem, where is the toilet in this place?”
Willem jumped to his feet and walked around the desk. “I will show
you, her Reich Chancellor; they have hidden it well.”
The two men went into the hallway and walked a short distance,
where Willem showed Schloss an inconspicuous door. “Here you go, her
Reich Chancellor.”
Captain Strang had pointed to two other guards who followed them
down the hall and stationed themselves by the door to the toilet. Willem
returned to his desk. Schloss opened the door and came out of the water
closet rubbing his hands together. He looked at the two guards and smiled.
“I suppose I was safe enough in there. Thank you for being alert.”
Both the guards jumped to attention, and one of them nodded. They
turned and followed as Schloss walked back to his office. After he slid into
his chair, Willem bustled in with a fresh decanter of coffee.
“Willem, please prepare a memo to the Reichsprotektor. I want to
suggest he promote Captain Strang to Major. He performed well over the
past several days, and I would like to keep him here to oversee security.
Also, request that Corporal Binns be detailed to this office to be my
permanent driver.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss turned to face his desk. Groaning internally, he lifted the
first report from the top of the stack and began reading. Ribbentrop had
written a lengthy and wordy document describing his efforts to realign
German industry after the loss of Berlin. Schloss wondered how the man
had found the time to put this report together in the previous frantic days.
As he read, he penciled questions in the margins. Willem would
then send the document back to the commerce minister to provide updates.
Schloss still wondered what to think of Ribbentrop. The man was servile
and not entirely honest. But he had given excellent service to Schloss and
certainly managed his portfolio well. Considering his experiences with
Goering and then Milch, Schloss decided he was ahead of the game with
Ribbentrop.
 
§§§
 
March 6, 1944; Noon
Chartwell
Westerham, Kent, UK
 
Winston Spencer Churchill sat behind the desk in his study at
Chartwell and sipped on his morning drink, a squat tumbler of water that
included a small amount of Scotch whiskey. He awaited the upcoming
meeting with mixed emotions. His son Randolph had called from the train
station, requesting an appointment. The two had not spoken for a year after
Randolph had berated his father during a drunken tirade.
On the other hand, the older man thought this might be a chance to
patch up the relationship. Randolph had been the despair of him and his
wife, Clementine. Churchill freely admitted that he had seriously spoiled
his son, but the damage was done. The younger Churchill had never curbed
his rogue impulses or his fiery temper. This was the primary contributor to
his single term in Parliament, and he continued to spend money without a
care and without an income.
Old Dick Hansen shuffled to the front door in response to the
jangling bell. Churchill remained at his desk and wondered if his son would
come prepared as a supplicant or for a confrontation. Surprising Winston, it
was neither case.
“I brought with me someone whom you should hear, Dad,”
Randolph began as two men walked through the door to the study. “This is
Clyde Hilborn, and he works for MI Five.”
Winston stood to shake the hand of his guest, and he then nodded to
his son.
“Won’t you sit down, gentlemen?”
 “As I said,” Randolph continued, “when I talked to Clyde, I knew
that you would be interested in speaking with him as well.”
“Very well,” Winston said. “What do you have to say, Mr.
Hilborn?”
“The investigation into the wall’s assassination in Lisbon has
concluded, Sir. The team is writing the report. They have determined that
absent evidence to the contrary, there was no involvement of anyone in the
government beyond the team itself that engineered the shooting. It was a
rogue group and made an independent decision to assassinate Heinrich
Schloss at the conference. The death of President Wallace was clearly a
mistake.”
“This is very interesting,” Winston commented. “So this team
decided to take matters into their own hands and while in Lisbon
accomplished a ghastly error. It seems surprising that this team was
encouraged to operate with such a low level of oversight, and it sounds as
though they were already headed for trouble.”
“That is exactly the conclusions the investigatory team reached,”
Hilborn stated. “It was hard to believe that an operations team in MI six
could become so detached from accountability, not to mention reality.”
Winston snorted. “An interesting turn of phrase, Mr. Hilborn. Did
the investigatory team have any recommendations?”
“They came down pretty hard on the management of Six. But, the
Queen and the Prime Minister have already made changes to the structure
of the organization, so it appears everyone can close the book on this.”
“And the question is whether the Americans will accept this,”
Winston murmured. “Fortunately enough time has passed that public
opinion on both sides of the Atlantic is nowhere as inflamed as it once
was.”
“The Queen promised the Americans a thorough investigation, and
that is exactly what we did. The investigators got to the end of the lane, and
there was nothing further.”
“That’s good news, Dad,” Randolph interjected. “This will end up
as an official crown finding, and it removes any taint from you.”
“I don’t know if it will do that, exactly,” Winston mused. “These
events happened on my watch, so I bear a certain responsibility. But it
would be nice to no longer have people accusing me of arranging  the
murder of a friendly head of state.”
“But, Wallace was not a friendly head of state,” Randolph argued.
“He pulled the rug out from under us when we were fighting alone against
the Germans.”
“Yes, yes, that is true. But, that is not how the Americans viewed it.
And I question whether the Americans will accept this report on the face of
it.”
“That is all true, Prime Minister,” Hilborn stated. “This will not
return you to status quo ante,” Hilborn said, “but it will keep you far, far
away from being accused of murder.”
Winston took a sip of his weak Scotch and thought carefully. He
would need a few days to ponder the report as well as the possible reactions
by the government and also the Americans. On balance, though, he
considered the news to be good.
This news would free Winston up to conduct more of his speeches
around the country. He was beginning to understand the value of these. It
not only raised revenue for him, which he needed badly, but it kept his
name in front of the people. Many of the newspapers in the country printed
his lectures verbatim.
The older man was now determined to spend more time on world
affairs, including Schloss’s losing war against the Russians. Britain needed
to begin laying plans for operating in a world where the Soviets dominated
Western Europe. It was clear that Schloss had no hope of winning.
 

 
CHAPTER SIX
 
 
March 7, 1944; 8 PM
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
 It was quiet in Stalin’s meeting room. Ominously quiet. Stalin
puffed on his pipe and gazed first at one guest and then the other. Sergei
Kruglov had seen Stalin behave in this manner before. Things had gone
badly wrong at the front, and the general secretary was looking for ways to
deal with it.
Kruglov was not particularly concerned about his position. He had
done well as the head of the NKVD and had suffered only minor setbacks.
The other guest of the room, Demyan Korotchenko, was enduring his first
visit to Stalin’s lair. He was clearly terrified. Korotchenko was one of
Khrushchev’s protégés and had been selected to travel to Moscow to brief
Stalin on the situation. This was because Khrushchev was trapped in Berlin
along with Smirnov and a good portion of the Soviet forces.
“So, Demyan, suppose you explain to me this enormous pile of
animal dung that you have left for the Politburo to step in.”
“Comrade General Secretary,” Korotchenko stammered, “General
Smirnov successfully broke through the German lines and was able to
march into Berlin. The Red Army holds the city.”
Stalin laid his pipe down and stared at the hapless, shaking
apparatchik. Kruglov was disgusted. Korotchenko was a climber.
Khrushchev had mentored him, and he had had a promising career so far.
The man had aspirations to climb higher in the party. Kruglov was
reminded of the American adage about going out to play with the big dogs.
Korotchenko needed to learn to control himself or be torn apart by the
biggest dog in the country.
“I have no complaints about our glorious armies taking the German
capital. But what kind of a fool would put himself in a position to allow the
enemy to circle behind him and close off any opportunity for retreat?”
“Some things are not predictable in war, Comrade General
Secretary.”
Stalin looked over at Kruglov. “Do you suppose Demyan
understands the penalty for failing the people, Sergei?”
Kruglov decided that if it were possible to turn even paler,
Korotchenko had done so.
“Truly, comrade, the failure lies with those who are leading our
forces in Berlin right now. There would, of course, be some satisfaction in
shooting the messenger. But, young Demyan has been reliable.”
 “Reliable, if not exactly competent.”
Stalin glared at Korotchenko for two sweeps of the second hand
around the clock on the wall. It reminded Kruglov of nothing so much as
the cat toying with the mouse he had caught.
Finally, Stalin looked down and picked up his pipe again. He began
his odd tuneless humming as he opened his tobacco pouch and dug the bowl
into it. The scratch of the match and the sound of him sucking on the pipe
as he brought it alight was loud in the room. Clouds of toxic smoke joined
the already poisonous atmosphere of the room, and Kruglov felt his eyes
beginning to water. He also knew he dared show no weakness.
“Sergei,” he said, again looking at Kruglov, “please send the order
to arrest General Smirnoff and Party Secretary Khrushchev.”
“I will do so, Comrade General Secretary.”
The unquestioned leader of the USSR continued filling the room
with smoke. After a while, he waved the other two men out of the room.
They walked down the hall where Kruglov stopped and turned to face the
other. Korotchenko sighed and leaned back against the wall. He then
released a long stream of flatulence, which Kruglov decided made the
atmosphere even viler than in the general secretary’s meeting room. It was
undoubtedly more fetid.
“You did not acquit yourself well today, Demyan.”
“The Comrade General Secretary surely knew this disaster was not
my fault, did he not?”
“Demyan,” Kruglov remonstrated, “you do not need to be at fault
when you are sitting across from Comrade Stalin. He knows he cannot
reach Khrushchev and Smirnov, and we probably will not be able to arrest
them. But you are within reach.”
“What should I do then, comrade director?”
Kruglov was again disgusted with the other man’s quavering voice.
“You really are a poor specimen of a human being, are you not? I would
suggest you get yourself back to Kiev and do your utmost to draw no
further attention to yourself. You will recall I reminded him about shooting
the messenger. Well, that saved your life today. Let’s just say you owe me
one, and you don’t want me to collect.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
 “Demyan,” Kruglov said sharply, “get on the train to go home. And
quit groveling, or else I may well shoot you myself.”
Kruglov watched as Korotchenko scampered through the doors and
out to his waiting car. He shook his head in disgust. He wondered about
Khrushchev’s judgment in selecting men like this for further training.
Korotchenko was particularly unimpressive.
Back at Dzerzhinsky Square, Kruglov summoned his assistant and
glanced over the incoming mail. His secretary had not flagged anything as
urgent, so the mass of work could wait for a bit. At least reading a report
and making a decision took less time than questioning someone face to
face.
Dmitri Sagatev knocked and entered the office.
“Ah, Dmitri, so good of you to come for a visit this morning.”
“When the master calls, I immediately respond.”
Kruglov gazed up at his assistant long enough to melt through the
frost. “Please send the order to arrest Smirnoff and Khrushchev. Comrade
Stalin wants this to happen immediately.”
“Do we have someone selected that we can lay blame upon when
we fail in this task?”
Kruglov snorted. “That would be nice since Smirnoff and
Khrushchev are out of reach, as you well know. However, I won’t be able to
duck this one.”
“Does the General Secretary have his knives out for you, Comrade
Kruglov?” Sagatev asked.
“Who knows? Just make sure to work to identify the people in our
shop that he talks to.”
“There are three that I am aware of: Nikitin, Solovyov, and Ilyin.
And I’m pretty sure of Ilyin. Of course, Comrade Stalin also talks to me.”
“Of course.” Kruglov grimaced. “And everything I see comes
across Ilyin’s desk.”
“I could arrange for an accident,” Sagatev suggested.
“No, don’t do that. It would be too obvious. Just try to find a way to
get upstream of the paper flow. Perhaps you can divert things that he
shouldn’t see.”
“I can try.”
 “Just do the best you can. If something pops up that will give Stalin
heartburn, try to let me know ahead of time.”
“That I can do, Comrade Kruglov.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Kruglov nodded. “You’d better get the arrest
orders out. Otherwise, Stalin will ask why I’m dithering.”
“We can’t have that. I will have them out within the hour. What
charges would you like to bring?”
“Let’s start with treason first. They are surrendering to the Nazis,
after all. Then look for opportunities.”
“I will get right on it, Comrade.”
“Thank you, Dmitri.”
 
§§§
 
March 8, 1944; 9 AM
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
“Tell me about the situation in Honolulu.”
William Donovan, the director of the OSS, looked up from his
coffee cup at the president. “Mr. President, are you looking for a summary,
or do you need detail?”
“I want something I can make sense of. By the time the deputy
undersecretary from the State Department gets done with his briefings, I
don’t know which way is up,” the president said acidly.
Donovan chuckled. “I know there are some competent people over
at state. But they are sometimes hard to sort out from among the drones.”
Truman shook his head. “Isn’t that the truth? I need your
unvarnished view of what’s going on with the peace talks.”
“When Hull got there, the other parties were in place and ready to
go, so he went ahead and started the talks. My observer indicated that things
are much more cordial than we would have any right to expect.”
“That’s good news, then. I was afraid the bombing would send
everybody scurrying home.”
“No, sir. Everyone is motivated to put together a treaty. Particularly
the Japs, especially now that everyone recognizes Stalin is doing his best to
keep the Pacific war going.”
“Is that confirmed, then?” Truman asked quickly.
“Mr. President, it is almost open and shut. Army CID had been
wondering what a Soviet national was doing wandering around the island.
They observed him passing directives to an Army captain, who was the one
who set up the bomb. Both are in custody. The Army Captain’s parents are
long-standing Soviet agents, so I guess he imbibed it in his mother’s milk.”
“So, we can assume the parents are under arrest, as well?”
“Oh, yes. Somebody in the Army is talking to Edgar. The FBI was
quick off the mark and got the parents in custody.”
“Is the Army Counterintelligence Division talking to you?”
Donovan smiled. “I have somebody in the CID who talks to me.”
“Isn’t it your job to be the coordinator of information?” Truman
asked sharply.
“Yes, Mr. President, it is. President Roosevelt arranged things so
that all of the military intelligence organs hate me. And, let’s not talk about
the FBI.”
“Tell me about Europe.”
Truman’s changes to the subject tended to throw Donovan off
balance.
“After the Soviets took Berlin, Rommel swung the force around
behind the red Army and cut off their supply lines. He may very well have
them trapped.”
“Some good news for Herr Schloss, then.”
“And, he needed some. The Brits are reopening their production
lines for the 500-pound bombs so that they can supply the Luftwaffe. The
word from London is that they do not want to get into a war with Stalin. But
the Queen is so angry with him that she is going to do everything short of
war to support the Germans.”
“I have instructed both State and the Pentagon not to make
promises to Schloss. With the mess we have out West, there is no way we
can back that up. I wish we hadn’t committed to buying 50 new build U-
boats from them.”
“I understand Ribbentrop is talking to the Brazilians and the
Argentines about buying the U-boats. And I think he’s had people in Cape
Town sounding out the water, there.”
 Truman squeezed his hands together as he sat across from the OSS
director. “I don’t want to cut the ground from under Schloss. Despite the
history of the Nazis, he has been an honorable business partner. And, the
way Stalin has been fishing in troubled waters, we will probably need those
U-boats in the Pacific.”
Donovan nodded. “And since Schloss encouraged the Judaeans to
pull our chestnuts out of the fire in Kabul, I think we need to do everything
reasonable to encourage him. The British largely feel the same way, sir.”
“Is Harriman back in town?”
“I think he got in last night.”
“I need to get him in here to tell me about the Kabul meeting.”
Truman scribbled a note on the pad next to him.
“Admiral Leahy insists that your people constantly meddle in his
sandbox,” Truman said suddenly.
Another change of subject, Donovan thought. Now is the time to
pay attention.
“It is my job to bring a non-parochial analysis of gathered
intelligence to you, Mr. President. As you may know, every branch of the
military is very good at dragging its feet to avoid reporting things it doesn’t
want you to know, no matter who orders it. I think we are doing an
excellent job of delivering this information to you. I am not necessarily
proud of the extent to which I have to burglarize military intelligence to get
it for you.”
Truman stared at him for a while. “And then there’s the FBI.”
Donovan laughed. Fortunately, there is little I need from the FBI.
Edgar views the OSS as an existential threat to his organization.”
“Is it?”
“No, Sir, it is not,” Donovan snorted. “Edgar has turned a group of
bumbling, corrupt amateurs into a professional, honest law enforcement
organization. He is also the most adept power player in Washington. I am
not afraid of him; however, I always assess the costs before crossing swords
with him. I assume you’re going somewhere with this, Mr. President?”
Truman pondered the question for a while as he rolled his tongue
around in his cheek. He looked up again at Donovan. “Since the war is
winding down, the joint Chiefs are strongly urging me to disband the OSS.
They say it is unnecessary.”
 “And what do you think, Mr. President?”
“I would say the jury is still out.”
Donovan thought for a few moments and then shrugged. “How
many of the government departments are truly necessary?”
Truman laughed and stood up. “That’s giving up back in spades,
Mr. Director. I was being candid when I said the jury was still out.”
Donovan stood. “I say this, and I mean it as a compliment, Mr.
President. You don’t play people off against one another as Roosevelt did.
To quote our Lord, you are a man in whom there is no guile.”
Truman laughed again. “And you are a scoundrel. Now, get out of
here so I can get some work done.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. President.”
“My door is always open to you, Bill.”
William Donovan marched down the hallway of the White House
and wondered what President Harry Truman was really thinking.
 

 
CHAPTER SEVEN
 
 
March 13, 1944
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
At least this meeting room was less oppressive than the one in the
Reich Chancellery in Berlin, Schloss thought. It was not built to heroic
scale, with the floor-to-ceiling windows and heavy draperies. It was a
typical room like that used by businesses around the country. It did not
make Schloss’s job any easier, but it was at least more comfortable.
Along with Schloss, in the room were Willem Kirche, Peter
Schreiber, Karl Rainer, Joachim von Ribbentrop, Colonel Reinhard Galen,
and Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt. It was the first time the government
had met since fleeing Berlin, and there was a lot to cover. Unfortunately,
Schloss thought, everyone in the room had as much or more to do back in
their offices. But they needed to meet.
“It’s good to see you all alive and well,” Schloss opened the
meeting.
“That’s a relative term,” Peter replied. “Some of us are lucky to be
here at all.”
Schloss opted to ignore Peter’s oblique slam and continued with his
opening statement.
“From the limited observations I have been able to make, it appears
each of you has pulled their departments together well. I commend you all
for your hard work. Thank you.
“I was surprised at how smoothly things went,” Ribbentrop
commented. “Once people found their offices, they got to work.”
“And there was not a lot of infighting with the people here who lost
their offices,” Schreiber stated. “I have been able to focus on my work.”
“The SS is somewhat less organized,” Rainer said. “But we are
getting there.”
“Any particular problems?” Schloss asked.
“No. But the people in the Frankfurt SS operation weren’t
expecting to have us descend upon them, out of heaven, so to speak.”
Schloss saw Rainer’s one-sided grin and laughed. “Okay, I assume
you are getting your arms around it.”
“One way or the other.”
“Now, Willem, what is the first agenda item?”
“Herr Reich Chancellor, the Reichsmarshall will present a summary
of the current state of the war.”
“Thank you. Gerd, will you proceed?”
Von Rundstedt cleared his throat. “Herr Reich Chancellor, meine
Herren, I believe we have reason to be encouraged. As you know, General
Rommel was able to punch through to the Oder River and block the Russian
supply lines and their avenue for retreat. General Schörner is advancing
from Prague to Breslau and has met with only limited resistance. Our
reconnaissance flights show the Russians are scrambling to send
reinforcements. The late winter storm that allowed Smirnoff to kick-off the
offensive also greatly impedes Russian traffic from the East.”
 “The situation is still unstable, however. We burned through most of
our reserves when Smirnoff staged his breakout. We desire to force
Smirnoff’s surrender before the Russians can mount a strong enough force
to break through Rommel’s lines along the Oder.”
“I worry that Rommel will get trapped between the two Russian
armies because of his position,” Schloss said.
“That is a genuine risk,” the Reichsmarshall replied. “Keep in mind,
though, that in choosing a static defense, Smirnoff threw away much of the
Russian advantage. Conversely, the mobile warfare that Rommel is
practicing is something the Wehrmacht does best. Forcing Smirnoff to
surrender will even things up between us to a great extent.”
“Only until Stalin builds another Army,” Rainer commented.
Von Rundstedt nodded. “That is correct. We have negated much of
the Russian advantage in men and matériel by being smarter, and this
demands continued shrewdness.”
Peter raised a finger, and von Rundstedt recognized him.
“Do you see a way clear for us to win this war?”
“The spring is approaching, and there will be several weeks when
nothing moves because of the mud. Since the Russians advanced so quickly,
they did little damage to the rail network between Berlin and Frankfurt am
Oder. We have tracks that bypass Berlin, and we propose reinforcing
Rommel as quickly and strongly as possible. The Luftwaffe is prepared to
respond quickly and decisively to any Russian attack out of Berlin or
Slubice.”
“In my opinion,” the Reichsmarshall continued, “if we can ride out
any counterattack and force Smirnoff’s surrender, we will be in a position to
begin advancing across Poland again. Assuming everything goes
accordingly, we would meet Schörner in Poznan.”
“But there is still a lot that could go wrong,” Ribbentrop said.
“Oh, that is correct,” von Rundstedt replied. “But as the Reich
Chancellor has often said, you can’t have tactics without a strategy. So, step
one of the strategy is to recover Berlin. Step two is to enclose a pocket in
Silesia between Dammvorstadt, Poznan, and Breslau. The goal for right
now is to destroy Russian forces. Recovering territory is a secondary
objective.”
 “I still can’t believe you managed to cut off the Russians like that,”
Peter stated.
“Colonel von Stauffenberg was bringing four divisions out of
Leipzig to reinforce Berlin. Obviously, he did not get there in time,” von
Rundstedt said with a slight wink. “Rommel used that to augment his strike
force and swung around to Frankfurt. It was a rare opportunity, and
Rommel moved quickly.”
“Would I be correct in saying that the single action changed the face
of the war?” Rainer asked.
“I would be cautious in overstating such a thing, but that would be
my conclusion.”
Schloss nodded. “Very well. Thank you for that presentation, Herr
Reichsmarshall. Are there any other questions on this item?”
Schloss looked around the table as no one spoke further. “Very well,
Willem; what is the next item on the agenda?”
“The Reichsprotektor is next.”
Schloss nodded to Rainer. “I see you managed to lose the bandage,
Karl. How is your head?”
“The headache has receded somewhat. As the old saying goes, the
shades are up, the lights are on, and I am open for business.”
The other men around the table chuckled, and Schloss smiled.
“I had an informal communication from Colin Marty, who, as you
may know, is the Queen’s private secretary in England. He has suggested
that there may be several dozen pilots who would volunteer to join the
Luftwaffe and fly missions for us.”
Schloss rocked back in his chair. “I didn’t see that coming. Sort of
like the Condor Legion in Spain.”
“That is exactly what it is like. But it will be even less official.
There will be no formal communication between the Luftwaffe and the
Royal Air Force. We will have a group of men get off the boat in Hamburg
and visit the Luftwaffe recruiting station. They will fly some of the
mosquito light bombers the English have loaned us.”
Schloss looked at von Rundstedt. “And what would the Luftwaffe
think of this?”
The Reichsmarshall smiled broadly. “As you know, we have been
faced with a pilot shortage of late. We have not experienced heavy combat
losses, but the growth of the service has strained our ability to train new
pilots. I am personally overjoyed.”
“Do we have a Luftwaffe recruiting office in Hamburg?” Peter
asked.
Von Rundstedt laughed. “If not, I can have one open by tomorrow.”
Schloss nodded. “Karl, let’s consider this approved.”
“A question?” Ribbentrop said.
“Go ahead, Joachim.”
“Does this mean the Queen is getting ready to enter the war on our
side?”
“No,” Schloss shook his head. “What this means is that the English
are going to do everything short of war to support us. The Russians greatly
angered the English and the Americans with their recent activities, and it’s
clear they were behind the kidnapping in Kabul. Considering their actions
here in Frankfurt and Honolulu, they are in love with planting bombs. We
face a dangerous foe, meine Herren, but I am convinced we can beat them.”
 
§§§
 
March 13, 1944
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Occupied Berlin
 
Nikita Khrushchev sat in Heinrich Schloss’s office with his boots
on the desktop. The offices in the Reich Chancellery had been ransacked,
and the floors were littered with paper and other debris. The man uncapped
a steel flask and took a healthy swig of vodka as he looked across the desk
at General Ivan Smirnoff.
“You don’t look happy, Comrade General. We have won a great
victory for the Rhodina, and we will go down in history.”
“Comrade Secretary, unless the red Army can breakthrough at the
Oder River, we will likely have to surrender.”
“I have every confidence our comrades to the east will come
through for us,” Khrushchev proclaimed. “After all, we broke through once.
It can be done again. Certainly, you can plan to support the breakthrough
from here, correct?”
 “Comrade Secretary, we used up most of our ammunition driving
through to Berlin. I believe we can hold the city, but we cannot engage in
any sustained operations.”
The bald party secretary laughed. “You worry too much, Ivan. I
admit I was worried about whether you would succeed in the breakthrough,
but you have amply rewarded my hopes. You have proven time and again
your skill at outmaneuvering the Germans and bringing victory to the
Soviet Union. I am certain you will figure out a way around this current
challenge.”
Smirnoff shook his head. “You do not understand, Comrade Party
Secretary. We are trapped here. We are almost out of ammunition and have
very little in the way of food. We do not have a lot of time, and there is still
heavy snow in the East.”
Khrushchev swung his legs off the desk and sat up straight. He
leaned forward and glared at the general.
“What are you trying to tell me, Comrade General?”
“You have not been listening to me, Comrade Secretary. If we are
not able to reestablish our supply lines in 30 days, there will be no food.”
“There are grocers and warehouses in the city. You should be able
to find enough food to last six months, easy. You are beginning to sound
defeatist, Ivan.”
“The first thing I did upon securing the city was to send the
quartermasters around to collect foodstuffs. Without it, we would have
lasted maybe two weeks at best. I can give you 30 days, Comrade.”
“Are you serious?”
“It is as I have told you. We are in real trouble.”
Khrushchev studied the general for a while. Finally, he spoke. “I
suppose I should get on the radio and instill a sense of urgency into the Red
Army.”
Smirnoff nodded. “That would not hurt, Comrade. We have 250,000
men here in the city, and they will soon grow hungry.”
“Very well,” Khrushchev said softly. “Make preparations to
conserve what little we have. And start planning for a miracle, for I
honestly don’t believe we will see one from the east.”
“I thought you just told me they could break through again since
they had already done it once.”
 “That was us, Comrade,” Khrushchev said, tapping his index finger
on the desk.
“And you accomplished miracles with your management of
logistics.”
“And I am not there to manage it. The people working for me are
incompetent, Comrade General. It worked because I paid attention to every
detail. So, yes, I am now listening to you. But you must listen to me. What
we have right now in food and ammunition is what we will have unless that
miracle occurs.”
The brief glimpse of honesty from Khrushchev shook Smirnoff.
The man was a good leader, but he tended to hide behind his vodka and his
bluster. If the situation was retrievable at all, it would be up to Smirnoff to
find a way out of the sack they were caught in.
“If you will excuse me, then, Comrade Secretary. I need to go look
for that miracle.”
After Smirnoff marched out of the room, Khrushchev stood and
walked over to the window. He looked down at the street and observed the
Soviet soldiers guarding the building. The stocky, bald man had
accomplished the goals of a lifetime by marching into Berlin. And now he
watched it turn to ash. If he somehow managed to make it back to Moscow,
Stalin would likely shoot him. The alternative was to enter captivity under
the Germans. He wondered if that might not be a bad thing.
 

 
CHAPTER EIGHT
 
 
March 15, 1944; 8 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Residence
Nordend-Ost
Frankfurt, Germany
 
The house Willem procured for the Schloss family was old and not
in good repair. Schloss missed his Steibel-Eltron water heater from the
Berlin house. And, of course, he had all the hot water he could use at the
Reich Chancellor’s Apartments in the Reich Chancellery. If he wanted to
shower, he had to grit his teeth and suffer the cold water pouring over him.
Baths involved heating basins of water to carry to the bathroom, and the
tepid result in the bathtub was not very satisfactory.
The Reich Chancellor reminded himself not to complain. He had a
place to live in a very constrained housing market. His wife and children
had successfully evacuated to Frankfurt. And he and Rainer survived a
harrowing escape from under the Soviet artillery barrage. Since they were
sharing a house with Peter and Gratia, Schloss was again living under the
ministrations of Frau Marsden.
“I must say that the government is far more coherent than I thought
it would be after the move,” Peter commented.
He sat in one corner of the parlor holding Gratia and exercising the
rocking chair.
“Far better than I expected,” Schloss replied. “I was pleased with
how quickly things settled down.”
He sat on the sofa, holding Gisela’s hand while using the other to
sip from his omnipresent coffee cup. Erich lay sleeping in a cradle in
another corner of the room. Hans and Annalisa sat at the dining table. Hans
was working through arithmetic problems, and Annalisa was coloring
ferociously.
“If General Rommel can force Smirnoff to surrender in Berlin, will
we move the government back, my darling?” Gisela asked.
“That is a good question. I have pondered that myself.”
“I wonder if it might be better to just keep the government here in
Frankfurt until we get the war concluded,” Peter commented.
Schloss set down his coffee cup. “I was thinking much the same
thing. If we move the government back quickly, we might have to reverse
things if the Russians come storming across the Oder again. Next time we
might not be so lucky.”
“Was Rommel wise to swing behind the Russians like that?” Gisela
asked. “I mean, that’s how General Model got trapped in Poland.”
Schloss laughed softly. “It is hard to argue with success. That being
said, it was a risky move.”
“Will this get him in trouble?” She asked.
 “Not from me. So far, it has paid off for us.”
Peter chuckled. “You have to remember; this is what Rommel does
best. He was in a similar situation with the English in North Africa, and he
tied them in knots. I would say the Desert Fox has struck again.”
“My main concern,” Schloss mused, “is that Stalin will move
heaven and earth to open a path to Berlin.”
“So you think he will try to pull his forces out of Berlin?” Peter
continued.
“No. I think Stalin will order them to hold Berlin at all costs.”
“Does that mean we will eventually have to take back the city?”
“Mein Gott, I hope not. This is where von Rundstedt and Guderian
are clever. If we keep Berlin blockaded and let the Russians wither on the
vine, they will eventually have no choice but to surrender.”
“But is that realistic, Hennie?” Gratia was starting to fuss, and
Peter’s rocking became more pronounced.
“This is where we have to trust our generals, Peter. Now that we
hold Frankfurt am Oder, Guderian is going to put Model back in charge. It’s
a defensive position, and that’s what Model does best.”
“From what I have seen, Model is a genius at that. What’s Rommel
going to be doing?”
“He’s going to visit Schörner’s operation. That’s the one von
Rundstedt is worried about. General Schörner has done well so far, but he
OKW does not consider him to be the best tactician in the Wehrmacht.”
“Will von Rundstedt relieve him?” Gisela asked.
“Not immediately,” Schloss replied. “So far, he has delivered.
However, he’ll be the first one to see the Russians when they come over the
hill.”
“That’s kind of frightening,” Peter said. He now stood and began
walking around the room, bouncing the baby.
“Losing Berlin was bad. If Model can hold the Oder crossings, I
think we have a good chance to turn this thing around. But things could still
go very wrong.”
“But, you still believe we will win this, right?” Peter asked.
“I do. I don’t think it will be easy, but I think we can do it. I believe
our original strategy is valid. If we do not allow the Russian bear to sink its
claws into our forces, we can keep bleeding him. The key is to make it
impossible for Stalin to resupply the red Army. He may not know it, but he
is overextended. I want Berlin to fall back into our hands like a ripe apple.”
Frau Marsden eased into the room and set a fresh cup of coffee next
to Schloss. She then walked over to Peter.
“She is fussy because she needs to be changed, Herr Schreiber.”
She slid Gratia away from Peter and laid the baby across her broad
shoulder. The baby immediately stopped fussing.
Peter raised his eyebrows and looked at Schloss. “I wish I knew
how she does that.”
“I doubt you will get her to tell you,” Schloss smiled.
“I know she won’t. Doesn’t that bother you, Hennie?”
“Of course not. It is what it is. Some of us are more pragmatic than
others.”
Gisela looked at Peter and then turned to study Schloss. Then, she
elbowed him in the ribs.
“Quit tormenting Peter! What if he gets mad at you and leaves?”
Peter chuckled. “Oh, Hennie doesn’t need to worry about that. I
have too much fun at his expense.”
Schloss turned to Gisela. “You see, he really does love me.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Peter retorted.
 
§§§
 
March 16, 1944; 2 AM
Near Lodz
Soviet Occupied Poland
 
“This is going to be tougher than I thought,” Sergeant Hans
Friedmann said softly.
“Is it even going to be possible at all?” Corporal Uwe Baumann
asked.
Once again, the two German soldiers from the Abwehr were
moving on foot across the Polish countryside. While their friends and
acquaintances in the German army were willing to swear that the two men
were ghosts because of their exploits in enemy territory, the Abwehr
operatives were aware of the risks. And those risks increased every time
they slipped behind the enemy lines.
Their control, Major Dagobert Damm, was as fully aware of the
risks as they were. And while Friedmann and Baumann lurked in the Polish
countryside, Major Damm sat in his office, chain-smoking and sipping
scotch whiskey while waiting for any news of his people.
The two German soldiers watched from a slight rise in the ground
as the Russian workers feverishly repaired the railroad track. The city of
Lodz was completely dark, but the Russians had trained banks of spotlights
upon the work crews around the site, bathing them in almost daylight
intensity.
“They will have trains running through there by morning,”
Baumann commented.
“Just so. And the woods are crawling with Russian patrols.”
 
The two men had twice nearly stumbled upon a group of patrolling
soldiers. It seemed the Russians had learned a hard lesson about defending
against sabotage and guerrilla attacks. Increasingly they were willing to
spend the manpower to patrol along their railroad tracks to prevent
interruptions in the traffic.
“I think we’re going to have to withdraw and call it in, Uwe.”
The Corporal chuckled softly. “No argument from me, Sarge.”
The Abwehr had thoughtfully provided the two operatives with a
portable radio. Portable was a relative term, and the radio equipment added
20 pounds to their gear. But it was this eventuality that Major Damm had in
mind. The radio allowed the teams to avoid close contact with the Russians.
He didn’t believe in sacrificing his people unnecessarily, and this was the
best team he had.
Friedmann and Baumann moved away from the area about two
kilometers and halted along a hilltop copse. Baumann held the flashlight
while Friedmann carefully tore a page out of a one-time codebook. He
quickly scribbled a note with a pencil and then converted it into code.
“Okay, turn around, Uwe.”
Friedmann lifted a flap on Baumann’s backpack and slid out a radio
key and headphones. He flipped a switch, and the indicator light began to
glow. About 30 seconds later, he began to hear static on the headphones.
With the radio warmed up, he began tapping on the key to raise the operator
sitting in a JU52 orbiting above Frankfurt am Oder.
Thankfully he quickly made the connection and transmitted the
message. Hopefully, the Russians who remained at the worksite would
welcome the Luftwaffe bombs at daybreak. After receiving the
acknowledgment, Friedmann switched off the radio and replaced the
headset and code key. He buttoned the flat back down and patted Baumann
on the shoulder.
“How does the battery look, Sarge?”
“Still reading nearly six volts. We’ve been careful with it.”
Friedmann flicked his lighter and held it to the paper. The note and
code sheet practically exploded in flame, and very little ash remained.
“That always amazes me,” Baumann commented.
“Another little gift from the Americans.”
“Where to now?”
Friedmann studied their surroundings carefully. “I think we will just
hole up here for the day, Corp. The brush is pretty thick, so it should be
secure. Besides, we need the rest.”
“I think I’m good for a while, Sarge,” Baumann said.
 Friedmann looked at his radium watch dial. “It’s 5 AM now. If
nothing else happens, wake me at ten.”
“Right, Sarge. Nighty night.”
Friedmann rolled out his sleeping bag and climbed in. In the middle
of March, the temperatures were still below freezing at night. He was glad
they didn’t have to hump explosives down to the tracks. Observing and
reporting was safer, although safer was a relative term.
He pulled off his boots and slid into the sleeping bag. Gradually he
could feel his feet again. Usually, he would drop off to sleep within thirty
seconds, but this morning he was reflective. The two of them had quite a
run, and they had numerous successful missions to their credit. He
wondered how long this could continue. Although they were cautious,
sooner or later, their luck would run out. It always did. And the longer he
continued in this job, the greater was his desire to survive the war.
Corporal Baumann was able to sit very still as he scanned the area
and listened carefully. There was no benefit in being surprised by a Russian
patrol. He watched and pondered. These lonely watches gave a man time to
think. He thought about his chances of surviving the war and was not
optimistic. The Sergeant seemed to be slowing down a bit. Baumann didn’t
know if this was age creeping up or if Friedmann was just tired. But, he was
determined to do everything possible that would help him avoid leaving the
Sergeant’s body in the forests of Poland.
Meanwhile, Major Dagobert Damm sat in his tent drinking whiskey
and chain-smoking. The Junkers radio plane had retransmitted the coded
message to him. After decoding it, he picked up his field phone and called
the Luftwaffe liaison. He much preferred expending Boeing Fortresses to
destroy the Russian infrastructure rather than losing irreplaceable field
assets.
 

 
CHAPTER NINE
 
 
March 20, 1944; 9 AM
Grandview, Washington, USA
 
Brigadier General Mark W. Clark looked up as Chief Master
Sergeant Irwin Jacobs knocked on the door frame.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“An Admiral Raymond Spruance is here to see you, sir. He is not
on the calendar for today’s meetings.”
Clark sighed as he stood up. “I guess if there’s an admiral out there,
I suppose I should see him. Send him in, Sergeant.”
“Coffee, sir?”
“No. I need to make this quick.”
General Clark sized up the Admiral as he walked into the office.
The two men knew each other slightly from before the war. Both had been
identified for future leadership, and the number of senior officers in the
prewar military was limited. The two men saluted and then shook hands.
“What brings you to the end of the earth, Admiral?”
Spruance shook his head. “The president asked the CNO to send
someone out here who knew the difference between a porthole and an
asshole, and I guess I drew the short straw.”
“So the president decided I wasn’t doing enough to fix the problem
here.”
“No, General. The president and the CNO both made it clear that
you were in charge. I am to suggest to you that you put me in charge of
some aspect of your operation that you would prefer not to mess with.”
“But you are senior to me, sir.”
“Out of school, General, your second star is coming through in the
next couple of days. For our sins, we have both been selected to clean out
the Augean stables. As far as any blame is concerned, the president
promised that any of that would fall back upon him.”
“You talked to the president?” Clark asked. “And I’m not
remembering my manners. Please, sit down, Admiral.”
“Sergeant,” Clark yelled, “bring in the coffee. And some doughnuts
or something that would be good.”
“Right away, sir.” the Sergeant called.
General Clark slid back into his chair and gazed thoughtfully at
Spruance.
 “You might as well call me Mark, Admiral.”
“And I am Ray. And yes, I was at the White House, and I was
supposed to be reporting to San Diego. When I arrived there, I got put on a
B-25 and flown to Washington. And please pardon my appearance. I
thought fortune had smiled on me when I snagged the seat on a C-54 out of
Pearl. Right after I talked to the president, they shoved me into another B-
25, and here I am.”
“Clark snorted. “I thought you looked a little dog-eared for an
admiral.”
“With your permission, General, I plan to find someplace to get
cleaned up and then come back here to do whatever you need me to do.”
The desk sergeant knocked and then entered the office with a
pitcher of coffee and two mugs in one hand and a plate of donuts in the
other. He set the donuts on the desk and poured a cup for the two flag
officers.
Spruance snagged a donut and downed it in two bites. “Forgive me,
General, but I’m about thirty-six hours since the last meal. The army
usually throws sandwiches on the planes, but we got left out somehow.”
“Will breakfast do, Admiral?”
“I hate to impose, but I think it will.”
“Sarge,” Clarke yelled again. “Rustle up some breakfast for the
Admiral. He can eat in the meeting room.”
“I’m on it, Sir.”
Clark thought for a few moments and then reached a decision. “I
think what I am going to have you do, Admiral, is manage the personnel
side of this goat circus. I have my hands full covering the physical aspects
of the disaster. If you can help arrange the resources, I would greatly
appreciate it.”
Spruance now studied the General. “They have you managing what
should be an Army Corps of Engineers project, and you want me to handle
G1 and G3.”
“I think you’ve figured it out already. For a naval officer, you catch
on quickly.”
“I have my moments. You are not from the Corps of Engineers,
right?”
 Clark laughed out loud. “No, sir. I am not. The Corps of Engineers
has been blamed for this disaster out here, wrongly so, I believe. General
Groves put together a first-class operation, and the fact that things blew up
like this was just sheer bad luck for him.”
“Scuttlebutt that has it that the President sacked General Groves
because of the disaster out here,” Spruance commented.
“As far as everyone is concerned, that is the truth. However, notice
that General Groves now works in the White House as the President’s
science advisor.”
Spruance nodded in understanding. “So Truman got him out of the
line of fire.”
“That is exactly it. Groves flies out here every other week so that I
can pick his brain. But everybody keeps it very low profile.”
“I can assume, then, General, that the personnel situation here is as
screwed up as everything else?”
“Almost. I know you probably won’t be able to do much until your
staff gets here, but I’ve got two captains and a major trying to manage it for
me. They are dedicated, but they don’t really have the experience to make
good decisions.”
“I don’t have a staff, General. The CNO told me he would send me
whatever odds and sods he could scrape up. If I can identify people to help,
he would do his best to get him released to me. What I can’t do, however, is
take staff from Admiral Nimitz. Things are quieting down a lot in the
Pacific, but the war is not technically over.”
“And we have a Corps of Engineers Captain who likes to get his
jollies by blowing up hotels.”
“God, General, what a mess that was! We were lucky no one on the
negotiating teams got killed. It was bad enough to nail five civilians.”
Clark looked down at his desk and the stack of paper that he needed
to read. He looked back up at Spruance.
“I’d like to chat for a while, Ray, but I have several urgent items to
cover this morning, and you need to get settled in. May I suggest we meet
for dinner so we can start hashing things out.”
Spruance stood. “That would be very good, General.”
“Sergeant!” Clark yelled.
“Yes, sir?”
 “Please see to it that Admiral Spruance is given quarters and then
introduce him to the G1 and G3 people. And reserve a table for the two of
us for dinner tonight.”
“Yes, sir. Right away. I have breakfast coming for the Admiral, Sir.”
Clark turned back to the Admiral. “Thank you for coming, Admiral.
I do need the help. But, you’re going to be on your own in terms of finding
staff and just about everything else.”
“I understand. Thank you, General.”
The two men saluted, and Admiral Spruance walked quickly from
the office. Clark sat down with a bemused expression on his face. Just
having a new subordinate drop in on him like this was not how the
American military operated. Right now, though, everyone was making it up
as they went along. Clark hoped that Raymond Spruance was as good as his
reputation indicated.
The sergeant guided Spruance into a side room where a plate with
bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns waited.
“God, that looks good, Sergeant. Thank you.”
“If it is okay with the Admiral, I will have your bags placed in your
quarters. When you are ready, I will take you to your office.”
“You have quarters already? That was quick.”
The sergeant looked apologetic. “Actually, I’m still working on it,
Sir. And I’m very sorry, but it will probably be a single room in the BOQ.
Living space is tight right now.”
“That’s fine, Sergeant. All I expect to do in my quarters is sleep.
When I get the chance.”
And Ray Spruance sat down to his days delayed breakfast.
§§§
March 21, 1944; 4 PM
Prime Minister’s Office
Tokyo, Japan
 
Prime Minister Isoroku Yamamoto sat in his office and scanned the
reports from the negotiating team in Honolulu with a growing sense of
satisfaction. An inveterate poker player, Yamamoto had gambled for the
biggest prize of his life when he had arranged for peace talks with the
Americans and the British.
 The initial meetings in Kabul, Afghanistan, had resulted in the
broad outlines of a truce and eventual peace between the warring parties.
This happened despite an attack by the mujaheddin that killed several
members of the various parties to the talk, including Admiral Shimada, a
lifelong friend of Yamamoto’s.
The time of uncertainty following the attack had terrified
Yamamoto. However, the American president, Harry Truman, had driven
the thing through to a conclusion. So now, representatives of the American
and British governments were meeting with the Japanese delegation in
Honolulu to iron out the details and get a treaty signed. Even then, the
bombing of the Royal Hawaiian hotel by someone who was once again
under the Soviets' influence had convinced Yamamoto that the talks would
be scuttled. Yet, they proceeded.
Now, it appeared that the participants in the talks in Honolulu were
hammering together a treaty. The Americans were firmly committed to
achieving that goal, even though Japan  started the war with the sneak
attack on Hawaii. And this was despite the actions of the Japanese soldiers
in the murder of American and Australian civilians on occupied Hawaii and
Australia. This had driven the allies into a blind rage.
Yamamoto had concluded that the industrial accident in the
American Northwest was far more grave than generally known in Tokyo. A
group of Japanese scientists had been working to tease the secrets from the
uranium and plutonium atoms. They had assured Yamamoto that it was
technically possible to build a powerful weapon that would explode due to
the fission of the radioactive elements. They also informed him that the
byproducts of the manufacturing process produced poisons that would
remain deadly for hundreds of thousands of years.
If that was indeed what the Americans had been working on when
they had their accident, they were dealing with a disaster of the first order.
The results of the accident drove the Americans to the peace table.
Yamamoto was tempted to use this as a way to wring more concessions
from the Americans. But, his gambler’s instincts told him it was time to call
the game. Being meek and reasonable would pay dividends in the long run,
and it was clear nobody wanted to return to the unlimited warfare that they
had waged until recently.
 Yamamoto looked up as Hiroshi Ōshima walked into his office. The
two men bowed and moved to their respective seats.
“Thank you for seeing me today, Hiroshi-san,” Yamamoto said,
opening the conversation.
“I am honored that you would invite me, Prime Minister. How may
I be of service?”
“As you know, our diplomatic team is in Hawaii negotiating with
the Americans and the British. It looks like we shall soon have that war
wrapped up.”
“And that is a good thing, too,” Ōshima said. “I know that our
losses of late were beginning to be serious.”
“That is perhaps an understatement. What I wanted to speak with
you about is the situation in China.”
“I am willing to serve.”
“I thought you would be the best person in the government to
undertake our next initiative in China since you are now friendly with
Mao.”
“Friendly would be an exaggeration, I believe. The man has no
friends, only tools.”
Yamamoto chuckled. “Well said, Hiroshi-san. Let me explain. To
summarize, I believe we will need to withdraw entirely from China, except
possibly for Manchukuo.”
Ōshima’s eyebrows raised. “You wish to bring everybody home?”
“I wish to do it in such a way so that I don’t suddenly have a half-
million demobilized Army personnel on the streets without jobs. Otherwise,
we would all be in trouble.”
“And you want me to negotiate this with Mao?”
Yamamoto nodded. “This will not be the easiest thing to do. But,
we must find a way to extricate ourselves from China.”
Ōshima leaned back and thought quickly. “What kind of incentives
are we willing to give to Mao to facilitate our exit?”
“Nothing,” Yamamoto said. “I want him to be so delighted we are
leaving his land that he will not demand any kind of compensation.”
“You know he is going to ask.”
Yamamoto nodded in agreement. “Of course. If I were him, I would
do the same thing. I would like him to be so anxious for us to leave,
however, that all he can think about is how to help us board the ships more
quickly.”
“You know that he is likely to demand aid against the Kuomintang,
don’t you?” Ōshima asked.
“Yes, I am sure that is what he will ask. Frankly, I would be just as
happy to see the Kuomintang and the Communists bleed each other dry.
But, we must establish commercial relationships with whoever ultimately
wins in China.”
“It might be better if we quietly gave aid to both sides,” Ōshima
suggested. “That way, the eventual victor will be indebted to us, whoever it
might be.”
“That is an inspired idea. I will leave the details to you. I would like
a report once per week of your progress.”
“I’m going to need a small team and other resources, as well as a
budget,” Ōshima requested.
“Very well. First of all, you should develop a document outlining
your needs. Send it to me to look at, and we will talk again. And Hiroshi,
this needs to be kept quiet. This operation is black as midnight.”
“I understand, Prime Minister.”
Yamamoto watched as Ōshima walked from the office. He was
confident the man would marshal the necessary resources to extricate Japan
from the quicksand of China. And he was delighted it was something he
would not have to manage directly.
The Japanese Prime Minister had a surfeit of problems to solve,
things that could not remain unsolved. And he had yet to spend time
contemplating the list of long-term issues that required long-term thinking.
But, at the end of each day, he was happy if he could cross one item off his
list.
 

 
CHAPTER TEN
 
 
March 25, 1944; 4 PM
Reich Chancellery
Occupied Berlin
 
“No wonder the Nazis are insane,” General Ivan Smirnoff
commented. “If I had to work out of this office for any length of time, I
would go insane too.”
“It’s no worse than the Kremlin,” Party Secretary Nikita
Khrushchev replied.
“I rest my case.”
Khrushchev burst into raucous laughter. “You should be careful
where you say things like that,” the stocky bald man shook his finger.
“What are they going to do? Call me back to Moscow and shoot
me? In our current position, we have the freedom to be completely honest
with one another.”
“Have you given up then?”
“I won’t give up until the point where we are handing our weapons
over to the Germans.”
“But you are not optimistic about the outcome,” Khrushchev stated.
“Our people have been radically strict about conserving fuel and
ammunition. We have enough to carry us through about three days of
intense operations. I think we could break through back to the Oder River,
but if the rest of the Army isn’t there to meet us, we will be done. We have
enough food to feed the troops for maybe another two weeks. There is not a
lot of time, comrade.”
“But, we hold the other side of the river. That should surely count
for something.”
Smirnoff shrugged. “That is all well and good, but I don’t think
they have the forces to manage a crossing over the Oder. And I know we
don’t. And let’s be honest: our orders don’t give us a lot of latitude.”
Khrushchev shook his head. “Comrade Stalin’s orders don’t give us
any latitude. We are to hold Berlin at all costs.”
“And that is what it will be, comrade. We kicked off the offensive
before we were ready, and I will accept responsibility for that. But we failed
to plan for success. We should have had enough men and supplies in the
pipeline to support us once we got across the river.”
“I appreciate you not reminding me that this was my task.”
 “No one can criticize your efforts to keep the Red Army supplied
on the Western front, comrade. Your accomplishments amount to a
miracle.”
“Oh, I can assure you, my enemies in Moscow will freely criticize
me,” Khrushchev said. “And let’s be honest; whatever the extent of my
accomplishments, they were not enough. And we are dancing all around
this.”
“What do you mean?”
“The solution in front of us is not military; it’s political. We have a
choice in front of us, Comrade General. We can break out and try to get
back across the Oder. If we do not destroy ourselves in the process, the
general secretary will finish the job. Or we can negotiate a surrender to the
Germans. That will save the lives of our men. But if we ever get back to
Moscow, we are dead men. Very likely, the lives of all the men under us
would be forfeit as well.”
Smirnoff folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the
chair. “Following your reasoning, I would ask the question: what is best for
the Soviet Union?”
Khrushchev chuckled. “A wise question. I have been pondering that
very question. But let me turn it around. What would you suggest we do?”
“I did not expect that question,” Smirnoff said with a look of
surprise.
“Come, now. You are a general in the Red Army. You are expected
to think for yourself.”
Now, Smirnoff laughed. “Right. I will think for myself all the way
to the front of the firing squad.”
“No, no, no, no.” Khrushchev waved his hands as he shook his
head. “You are expected to have opinions and express them as long as they
do not contradict party doctrine or comrade Stalin’s expressed wishes.
Within those constraints, you can think whatever you wish.”
Smirnoff rolled his eyes and looked out the window. He thought he
knew where Khrushchev was going with the conversation but was
frightened at the implications.
“Come now, Comrade General, I need some help here. I am not
able to figure out this dilemma on my own.”
“And I don’t have a solution, either.”
 “I believe we agreed to that ten or fifteen minutes ago,” Khrushchev
said icily. “Given a multitude of possible bad decisions, what would you
do?”
Smirnoff leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk. He idly
wondered how Schloss managed to get any work done here. The general
was angry with the party secretary and was not bothering to conceal his
emotion. He risked a lot in taking liberties with a senior Communist Party
official, but this was not a normal situation.
As he thought about it, Smirnoff concluded he really was in the
driver’s seat. He was effectively out of Moscow’s reach. Khrushchev and
the battalion commissars represented the party, but the party no longer had
an enforcement mechanism that could affect him. The party secretary had
inadvertently driven the general to the point where he now understood he
had an enormous amount of liberty to make decisions.
“Very well, Comrade Party Secretary, here is what I would do. First,
I would make sure I had plans for a breakout back to the Oder River. It
would be a last-ditch effort, and I think we could call it our go to hell
option. I would also look for a way to establish communications with the
German high command, or failing that, Schloss. If we reach the point where
we must surrender, it would be helpful if we understood the Germans
better.”
Smirnoff stopped speaking and leaned back in his chair again,
challenging Khrushchev with his glare. The stocky bald man glared back in
return but then began to talk.
“You see, Comrade General, that was not so difficult. You should
continue to work on plans for the breakout, and I will work on opening
negotiations.”
“No, Comrade Party Secretary, I will make plans for the breakout. I
will also lead the negotiations.”
“Now that is where you are going too far, Comrade General. I will
handle the political side. It is my job, after all.”
“And it was the political side that got us into this mess. No, I will
accept whatever help and guidance you can give me. But I will make the
final decisions. Do we have an understanding?”
Nikita Khrushchev was a survivor. Throughout the dark days of the
1930s, he organized the purges in Ukraine and kept his scheming away
from the ears of the NKVD. He was an adroit politician and played the
game with a subliminal awareness of the balance of power in any given
situation. And there was no mistaking the fact that the balance of power has
shifted decisively here in occupied Berlin.
“Very well, Comrade General. I will give you every assistance, and
I will do so enthusiastically. I only hope for both our sakes that you can
retrieve us from the fire.”
“Thank you, Comrade Party Secretary. We will need to count on
each other to keep ourselves out of the line of fire. Now here is what I
would like to do.”
 
§§§
 
March 25, 1944; 4 PM
SS Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Karl Rainer struggled with the mounds of paper that had followed
him across Germany to his office in Frankfurt. The Russian occupation of
Berlin had shifted the priorities of the SS. First of all, it was his task to
protect the citizens of the Reich. This also involved sending teams behind
the Russian lines to render aid to those citizens who had remained behind.
Fortunately, as the Russian army pulled itself tightly into Berlin, Eastern
Germany became relatively peaceful.
With a large percentage of the red Army trapped in Berlin, the
Russian saboteurs had dramatically increased their activities in Germany.
The Russians were in a panic over the situation and throwing resources
everywhere to open up an opportunity to reinforce Smirnoff.
The saboteurs had caused considerable damage to the German
infrastructure, but the price was steep. Increasingly the SS was catching the
teams either during ingress or egress from their targets. The attacks began
to taper off, and Rainer assumed that the Russians were running out of
experienced teams to send across the Oder River.
Rainer’s success in managing the flow of paper through his office
was in part from his ability to concentrate. So after reading a particularly
turgid report, he tried to think about what he had read because it made no
sense at all to him. He looked up from the paper to renew his focus, and he
saw Misty Simpson seated in the chair across from his desk.
It seemed, without thinking, he was out of his chair and around the
desk to her. When she stood up, he pulled her into a tight embrace. He was
embarrassed at his profuse weeping but could not stop.
“Oh Misty, Misty, Misty,” he wept.
“It’s okay, darling. I am here.”
“I was so afraid that I had lost you. I could not bear the thought of
that.”
She chuckled deep in her throat. “Your friend Otto Skorzeny is very
effective. His people saved my life.”
He wondered why she was speaking through clenched teeth and
studied her closely. “Your mouth…”
“Those Afghan pigs broke my jaw. The Judaean doctors had to wire
it shut so that it could heal. The missing tooth actually comes in quite
handy. I can get a straw through it.”
“But, really, how are you?”
“I won’t lie to you, Karl. Without a doubt, this was the worst
experience of my life. But I survived. They didn’t.” She shook her head.
“But the price was so high. But, if it gets that insane war with Japan
stopped, it will have been worth it, though.”
She pulled a handkerchief out of her purse and began dabbing his
eyes. “We need to get you cleaned up, mein Herr. We can’t have people in
your office worried about you.”
“There are no secrets from the people in my office, I’m afraid. How
did you get in here, anyway?”
She chuckled again. “I don’t believe anyone in your office would
try to keep me out of here. They seemed glad to see me.”
“Yes, I suppose they were glad to see you. I am glad to see you.
When did you get in?”
“Just this afternoon. There is no room for me to stay in the
consulate, and Gordon Smoke has promised to find me a place to stay for
tonight. Bless his heart, he seemed glad to see me.”
“I suspect he is going to have left a lot of loose ends for you to pick
up for him.”
“That is what frightens me. My God.”
 “If you would like, I can have someone find permanent housing for
you. It’s hard to come by at the moment.”
“That might be a good idea, Karl. I don’t have a lot of faith in
Smoke’s skills.”
“I would be delighted to take you to dinner, Misty, but what would
you eat?”
“As long as I can get it through a straw, I should be fine, Karl.”
“There is so much we need to discuss.” He walked over to the door
and opened it. “Have my car brought around, please.”
“You can just leave in the middle of the afternoon like that?” she
asked.
“For you, I am willing to do anything.”
“After what has happened, do you still even want me?”
“It may be in poor taste to suggest this, but we could get married
this afternoon.”
“That may be a bit soon.”
“I understand. Shall we find an early dinner?”
“That is very acceptable, Karl.”
The workers in the office smiled broadly as Karl Rainer swept out
of the room with Misty Simpson holding his arm.
 

 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN
 
 
March 28, 1944; 11 AM
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
It had been a reasonably productive morning, Colin Marty decided.
Because Queen Margaret was the head of state and also the head of the
government, there was no shortage of work for her private secretary. Marty
was adept at shuffling paper off to subordinates in the Queen’s
administrative office so he could focus on managing the day itself for her
Majesty.
Marty had discovered that he was self-disciplined enough to not
think of the tragic events that had enveloped his life. By dint of practice, he
had stretched out the periods where he didn’t think about Clarice. Perhaps
every half hour, the image of his wife came stealing into his thoughts, and
he once again felt the loss like a knife twisting in his gut. Intellectually he
knew the pain would subside, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.
One of the personal assistants to the Queen’s private secretary
helped manage the paper flow through his office. He picked up the
envelope that had risen to the top of the stack and studied it. The assistant
had scribbled a note on the envelope indicating that the German Embassy
had personally delivered it. It was addressed to him personally, and the
address was typed with the Fractur font commonly used in Germany. Since
it was stamped personal and confidential, his assistant had not opened it. He
pulled his letter opener out of the desk drawer and slit the top of the
envelope.
The envelope indicated that the letter had come from the Reich
Foreign Ministry. He looked at the signature and wondered why he would
get a letter from the German Foreign Minister. He began reading.
 
My dear Mr. Marty:
 
I was overtaken by great sorrow when I learned of the recent
loss of your dear wife in Afghanistan. As you know, I suffered a
similar loss last fall in Frankfurt in the hotel bombing. The ensuing
five months enabled me to gain a perspective on my grief. Losing
Renate was horrible, and I thought I would die myself. But I
understand that life goes on, and the subsequent months have proven
that.
I felt compelled to offer my condolences but also to share my
feelings on the matter. If I can be the friend that encourages you,
please accept my heartfelt communication. Nothing will return to us
our beloved wives, but I believe we have the opportunity to grow
stronger in the face of tragedy.
 If I may be of any service at all, please feel free to call on
me. If we can support each other as friends, it will be all for the
better.
 
With my very best regards,
 
Peter Schreiber
Reich Foreign Minister
 
Marty was highly honored that the German Foreign Minister would
take the time to send a note like that. But it cracked open the wall that he
had been carefully building around his grief. Colin gulped, trying
unsuccessfully to contain his emotions, and then dissolved into weeping.
His rational side had taken refuge in one corner of his mind, and it
suggested to him that it was a good thing he had a private office.
As he wept, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up through
tear blurred vision at the Queen who stood next to him.
“Colin, may I help you with something?”
Wordlessly he handed her the letter. She quickly read it and then
shuddered. Then she burst into tears.
“Oh, Colin, I don’t know what to say.”
He stood up and turned to her. She threw her arms around him and
pulled him close. And he returned the embrace. He had a sudden vivid
memory of a childhood disappointment and his mother holding him close as
he cried. But the little voice in that corner of his mind insisted that the
Queen of England was hugging him, and there was no protocol for the
situation.
After a few minutes that seemed like an hour, she patted his back
and released him. Saying nothing further, she retreated to her office. Marty
gradually roped in his emotions and returned to his desk. He stared at Peter
Schreiber’s letter for a long time. Finally, he succeeded in regaining his
composure. He had a lunch appointment with a friend and did not want to
show up with a sopping face.
Lunchtime found him at the Golden Bear, one of the watering holes
favored by the Whitehall crowd. The waitress had just delivered his pint of
bitter when Donald Graeme slid into the seat across from him in the booth.
 “What’ll ya have, Donnie?” the thin, dishwater blonde waitress
asked in her loud, cockney accent.
Graeme pointed at Colin’s pint. “The same, thank you.”
“Right’cha  are, love.”
He looked over at Colin. “Rough morning?”
“Not a bad morning. But it had its moments.”
“If I could help you, I would. But honestly, Colin, I have no idea
what to say.”
Colin dipped his finger into the condensation that collected under
his mug and stirred it around on the table. “I appreciate the thought. In
situations like this, there is little anyone can say. I understand that I will get
over this, but it’s just not very fun right now.”
The other man stared at him for a few moments and then visibly
decided to change the subject.
“A bit of news, Colin, and this came from the grapevine. I thought
you should know this. A member of MI Five visited Winston Churchill and
informed him that the government were closing the investigation into the
Wallace assassination. The representative informed Churchill that he was
not a subject of the investigation.”
“But that would violate the Official Secrets Act,” Marty
commented.
“Not necessarily,” Graeme replied. “Our beloved former prime
minister still has his security clearance.”
“Yes, but the word has gone out that no one is to speak with him
about these things. Besides, someone informing the subject of a formal
investigation could well put himself into legal jeopardy. Who was it?”
“I do not have that information.”
“And whoever heard this could not be bothered to inform the
Foreign Minister, I assume.”
Graeme gave Marty an old-fashioned look. “By cross decking this
to you, we can keep things unofficial. Lord Halifax would likely raise
uncomfortable questions that everyone would prefer to remain unasked.
Once something like this starts unraveling, it is devilishly hard to stop.”
“You’re putting me into a difficult position with her Majesty, don’t
you know?”
 “Understand, Colin, that to report this to Lord Halifax, it would
have to go through several levels where people are not necessarily as
friendly to the Queen as you or I.”
The waitress slid Graeme’s mug under the table and then waited
expectantly.
“I’ll have the corned beef on rye,” Marty said.
“Fish and chips for me, Lissa.”
The waitress moved off again to place the order and service her
other tables. Marty considered what his friend in the foreign office had told
him. It did make sense to handle this obliquely, even though he knew the
Queen hated it when people operated that way. She needed to know this,
and he would simply have to figure out a way to put the best face on it.
“Do you see the other problem here?” Graeme asked.
Marty thought for a few moments and then nodded. “So we can
conclude that Six isn’t the only organization with loyalty problems.”
“That is precisely our concern.”
“And it seems there are loyalty problems at Whitehall?” Colin
asked.
Graeme shrugged. “It’s the country where we live. Your school
comes first, then the party, then maybe your family. At some point, they
might think of the country.”
“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it, Donald?”
“What do you think?”
Colin pondered the situation for a moment as he sipped his drink.
“Was there any indication of Churchill’s reaction?”
“He thanked the rep from Five for the information. He made no
further comment.”
“So the question of the day goes back to what is the old boy up to?”
“And the Queen has received no indication from MI Five as to
when they will wrap up the report. If they had, I would know.”
“We have too many people in the government that believe they are
untouchable,” Donald said. “They have this towering sense of the rightness
of their actions.”
“And they live by the aphorism that Kings and Prime Ministers
come and go.”
 “And the bureaucracy is forever,” Graeme finished. “Do you
understand why I am being so careful with this, Colin?”
“Yes, although you are careful about everything you do.” Marty
rolled his tongue around in his cheek as he grinned at his lunch partner.
“Yes, well, I have reached the level in the FO where I am no longer
politically invisible. One walks with a greater degree of perspective once
the realization sinks in.”
Marty chuckled. “How long have we known each other, Donald? It
has to be nearly 20 years. I would  never have pegged you as a political
animal.”
“You have no idea how much I would like to tell my boss that he is
a ravening fool and then tell him to bugger off when he tried to do anything
about it. I no longer have that liberty.”
“I would simply suggest that you are finally growing up.”
Graeme laid a finger on the side of his nose and smiled. “You may
have a point there. But for God’s sake, don’t tell anybody. It would ruin my
reputation.”
“What reputation?”
And they were still chuckling when Lissa slid their platters onto the
table.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE
 
 
March 29, 1944; 9 AM
The Reich Chancellor’s Meeting Room
Frankfurt, Germany
 
The meeting room on the top floor of the party headquarters in
Frankfurt was far less grandiose than the chamber in the Reich chancellery
in Berlin. Schloss once again thought it was certainly more functional. For
one thing, the members of the government could talk in a normal tone of
voice, and no one had problems hearing. He hadn’t realized how loudly
everyone had to speak in that other room.
Light flowed in through standard office windows, giving a view of
the Frankfurt city skyline. The trees were starting to bud, and the early
flowers were blooming. It was nice to see things come to life after the
disastrous winter Germany had experienced.
The pall of defeat still hung over the room, however. It was despite
the reverse that Rommel had engineered against the Russians. Schloss
wondered if it was because everyone had become accustomed to losing. It
was time to inject a brighter spirit into the room.
“Very well, meine Herren, let’s come to order.”
He decided he had just made a pointless statement as the members
of the government sat silently around the table, waiting for him to begin.
“We have some interesting news today, and I think it might be a
very good thing,” Schloss continued. “The Reichsmarshall and I asked
General Guderian to fly to Frankfurt to present it to us.”
General von Rundstedt had set up his office in Frankfurt since he
was a member of the government. Guderian had remained in the East to be
close to the fighting and his generals. The others in the room had looked
curiously at him when he walked in. He anticipated a lively meeting.
“Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor and Herr Reichsmarshall. I do
not propose to draw out the suspense. A Russian Colonel came across the
lines from Berlin under a flag of truce. He delivered a message from
General Smirnoff that essentially changes everything.”
“General Smirnoff recognizes he is in a tough situation,” Guderian
continued. “He is proposing to surrender unconditionally; however, he did
add a request to the offer. He suggested that when we eventually push the
red Army back across Poland that he be allowed to take his army and march
into Ukraine to separate it from the Soviet Union.”
There were several audible gasps in the room. Schloss sat with his
elbow on the table and his hand up to cover his smirk. It was not often that
one could take this group by surprise, but Guderian had done so.
“That does not sound like an unconditional surrender to me,”
Rainer commented. “Does he expect us to agree to something like this?”
 “There is more,” Guderian stated. “Once Smirnoff moves his forces
into Ukraine, he wants us to equip him. Obviously, Stalin would send him
no more matériel.”
“He has got to be insane to ask for something like that,” Colonel
Gehlen said. “Does he think we will allow him to march his army into
Ukraine after we had re-equipped him? That is unmoglich. Why not hand
him a knife so he can personally stab us in the back?”
Rather than immediately responding, Schloss decided to sit back
and see what the others would say.
“Peter gave him a curious look. “Are you putting us on, Hennie?”
“You know better than that, Peter. We received a legitimate
communication from the Russians in Berlin.”
“Then I would have two questions in return,” Ribbentrop said.
“First of all, is Smirnoff trying to push us off balance with a diversion?
Secondly, if he is telling the truth, does he have any way on earth to follow
through?”
“I think it is interesting that he sent this message before things got
really desperate for the Russians in Berlin,” Rainer commented.
“While he still has some maneuvering room, you mean?” Von
Rundstedt spoke for the first time in the meeting.
“There is that,” Rainer conceded.
“There is much here that is not clear,” Schreiber said. “How is it
that he thinks he can march into Ukraine and immediately have the support
he needs to build a government as well as fighting the Russians?”
Guderian nodded. “There is much that we don’t know. Under the
present circumstances, Moscow is unable to resupply him. But he is making
proposals that are political in nature rather than military. I think we should
be very cautious, meine Herren.”
Schloss let the conversation continue for a while before he dropped
his hand to the table and leaned forward to speak. Everyone turned in
anticipation of what he had to say.
“I believe we should quickly open negotiations before things get too
bad for our countrymen still trapped in the city. Smirnoff has agreed to
surrender unconditionally, and we should hold him to that. As to the other, I
agree we simply don’t have enough information. The considerations that
both Peter and Heinz advanced are the very things that bothered me when I
saw the note.”
Von Rundstedt cleared his throat. “Do we have a directive from you
to negotiate a surrender, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
“Yes, I think you do. As for the other, let them know that we will
consider it but can make no commitments until we hear more. Promise them
that I will personally speak with their leadership as soon as we have control
of the city and his army. Meine Herren, if this hasn’t allowed us to end the
war, it may enable us to shift the burden onto someone else.”
“Very well, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt said formally.
“We will proceed based on your instructions.”
“Thank you, Herr General. One other thing, I believe we need to
come up with a medal to pin on Rommel. He made a gutsy move, and it
paid off big time. We need to recognize that.”
Guderian and von Rundstedt looked at each other and nodded. The
Reichsmarshall turned back to Schloss.
“We shall make it happen.”
 
§§§
 
 
March 30, 1944; 7 AM
U.S.S. Hamburg
Pearl Harbor
Hawaii, USA
 
“Signal done with engines.”
“Aye, aye Sir. Done with engines.”
Commander Alan Carper looked around as the muted thunder of the
diesels halted. The past several years had not been kind to the naval base at
Pearl Harbor. The rusting hulks from the Japanese attack in 1941 remained
along the shoreline. Following the invasion, the Japanese Navy had settled
in to use the base but had not invested much effort in the upkeep. The
buildings looked shabby and the grounds unkempt.
The American invasion to retake the islands had not helped either.
From the berth where the Hamburg was now tied to the pier, Carper could
see small red flags dotting the grounds where the Corps of Engineers
specialists had identified mines and unexploded ordnance. Beyond that, the
military had little time to do much with the property.
Tom Ferrier, the Executive Officer, climbed to the bridge and
handed Carper a heavy envelope. “Here’s the log and the sailing report,
skipper.”
“Good heavens, Tom. Did you stay up all night working on this?”
“We made it to port, skipper. I can sleep tonight. And there’s the
admiral’s car,” he said, pointing to the 1941 Chevrolet staff car rolling
down the pier.
Carper looked back at his executive officer. “Thanks, Tom. See to
the boat, please. I don’t want to keep the admiral waiting.”
He carefully climbed down the ladder to the deck, watching to
make sure he did not get grease or any other filth on his clean set of
utilities. He returned the salute to the rating who guarded the gangplank and
walked across to the pier. The driver hopped out and quickly ran around to
open the door for Carper. Nodding his thanks, he climbed into the back seat.
Being absorbed in reviewing his sortie, Carper said nothing to the
driver as they rolled across the base to the headquarters for COMSUBPAC.
When they arrived, he stepped out of the car before the driver could get
around to him. He saluted the guards as he trotted up the steps into the
building. The guards were more than just a formality. There were still
Japanese soldiers who had remained behind and looked for opportunities to
kill Americans.
Admiral English’s offices seemed much more chaotic than usual.
The chief petty officer managing the desk was on the phone when Carper
walked up. He wordlessly pointed Carper to a chair. The chief continued the
conversation over the telephone, and Carper could not hear enough about it
to understand what was going on. Finally, the man behind the desk hung up
the phone and looked at Carper.
“Just get in, Commander?”
“Yes, Chief. The admiral’s car was waiting when we docked. I came
right over.”
“Hamburg, right, Sir?”
“Yes, Chief. That’s correct.”
“Thank you, Sir. Things are a little confused this morning.”
 The chief leaned over to the squawk box on his desk and pushed a
button. “Sir, Commander Carper of the Hamburg is here.”
There was a reason they called the intercom a squawk box. Carper
was unable to decipher the noises coming out of the speaker. The chief
looked up at him.
“Captain Brown will see you now, sir.”
Carper stood up and looked around in confusion. He did not see a
door with the captain’s name on it.
The chief pointed to the admiral’s door. “In there, sir.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
Carper thought it strange that Chief Mayfield was the only person
in the office he recognized. He walked over to the admiral’s door and
knocked twice before opening it. He walked in to face Captain John Brown,
USN.
“Well, bless my soul if it isn’t Full-Auto Al. I am so glad to see you
I could kiss you if I wouldn’t get keel-hauled for it.”
“I would settle for a handshake, Sir,” Carper said dryly. “What’s
going on, anyway, Sir? Things seem a little weird. Where is Admiral
English?”
Brown winced and shook his head. “The admiral and his staff were
returning from Diego on a C-54 two days ago. They ran into a storm, and
we lost contact with them. We’ve had Catalinas out searching for wreckage
and found nothing. At this point, we presume the aircraft was lost with all
hands.”
“May I sit down, Captain?” That is not something I expected to
hear.”
“I’m sorry, Commander. I’m still a little rattled myself. Please, sit
down. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, Sir. I came directly from the boat when we docked.”
“Chief!” Brown shouted. “Rustle up some breakfast for the
commander and me. We can eat in the meeting room next door.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Chief Mayfield responded.
“I’ve been here all night, commander, and I’m starting to run out of
steam. If God is gracious, I may be able to put my head down tonight.”
“How did you get tapped to hold the fort, Captain?” Carper asked.
 “For my sins, I am acting COMSUBPAC until Charlie Lockwood
gets here to take over.”
“Good heavens,” Carper exclaimed. “So with the admiral and his
staff gone, that means you are it?”
“You got it, Al.”
“If it needs to be said, Captain, I am at your complete disposal.”
“Thanks, Al. Knowing you, I would expect nothing less, but it’s
greatly appreciated. Let me ask you this, how good is your exec?”
“As I’ve had time to work with him, I have discovered Tom Ferrier
is a great exec. He seems to read my mind. I have no worries about him
taking care of the boat while I’m gone.”
“What I was asking is whether he is capable of commanding the
Hamburg?”
Carper stopped for a minute and thought. “He doesn’t have any
combat experience, but he knows the drill. Shadowing that Jap convoy, he
performed well. Is it time for me to move on?”
Brown chuckled. “I have never thought you were sucker bait, Al,
but you walked into that one. And I see the suspicious look on your face.
Charlie Lockwood specifically asked for you to join his staff. And I need
you here right now.”
“As I said, Captain, whatever you need.”
“Good! The chief has already cut orders for Ferrier to take
command of the Hamburg. And the paperwork transferring you to
COMSUBPAC staff should be ready as well. And, oh, by the way, you are
now frocked as a captain as of this moment. It’ll take a couple of weeks for
the paperwork out of Washington to catch up with you. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir. It’ll take me a couple of hours to clear out of the
Hamburg and get a room in the BOQ.”
“When I said I needed you, Al, I meant right now. The chief will
send somebody over to the boat with the orders, and he’ll make sure
everything gets packed up for you and delivered to a room. You probably
won’t see much of it for a while, anyway.”
“Very well, Captain. What do you want me to do?”
“Your job is going to be developing new submarine doctrine. You
are the best sub driver we’ve got. But, we can talk about that later.
Meanwhile, I need you to help me to get this office straightened out. Bob
English took his whole staff with him to Diego and left no one minding the
store. It is the most incredible goat screw you ever did see.”
“That seems a little out of character for the admiral,” Carper
commented.
“Out of school, Al, the admiral was shaky in his management of the
place. Nimitz was getting ready to drop a brick on his head anyway. He told
me, and now I’m telling you, we need to start cleaning up the mess so that
Admiral Lockwood has some semblance of a functioning organization.
Thank God the war is over.”
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“How about Aye, aye, sir?”
Carper grinned. “Aye, aye, sir.”
 
 

 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
 
 
April 5, 1944; 4 PM
Reich Chancellery
Occupied Berlin, Germany
 
Once again, Smirnoff and Khrushchev sat in the Reich Chancellor’s
office staring at one another. The Germans had responded to his request to
open negotiations to surrender. The General’s Chief of Staff and
intelligence officer had met with the Germans and had developed a plan for
a smooth transfer of the city back to the Germans. All that remained was to
make the final decision to surrender.
“So, are you going to do this, Comrade General?” Khrushchev
asked.
Smirnoff glared at the stocky, bald party secretary and then
responded, “I believe the decision consists of what we are going to do,
Comrade Party Secretary.”
“Excuse me. I was not intentionally trying to push all the
responsibility on you, Comrade General.”
 “Of course not.” The sarcasm in his voice was subtle but
unmistakable. “Very well, here is what we are going to do. First of all, we
are going to arrest all of the political officers and lock them up. The
Germans have agreed to hold them separately from the rest of the
prisoners.”
“But that is not in the surrender agreement.”
Smirnoff smiled grimly. “Since you have consistently implied in
your own political way that the responsibility of the surrender is mine, I
accept that responsibility. There are several things in the surrender
agreement that you have not seen.”
Khrushchev was now visibly nervous. “What do you plan to do
with me?”
“Ahhh, It’s good to come to the point directly. For you to survive;
for all of us to survive, you will do as I instruct you. Otherwise, I will have
you shot for attempting to scuttle the surrender order. Do we have an
understanding, Comrade Khrushchev?”
“Da. I will do whatever you tell me to do.”
“I am concerned that you answered so quickly,” Smirnoff
commented.
“I have seen this coming for a long time, Comrade General. I won’t
deny that there is an element of self-preservation in my response. All of our
choices are strictly limited at this point, and I recognize that.”
“Very well. I will accept that. Here’s what we’re going to do. Once
we have the political officers out of the picture, you and I will begin
planning our activities post surrender. I’m sure you noticed, and if you
hadn’t arranged it for your purposes, we have a large percentage of
Ukrainians in this field army. We will negotiate with the Germans to allow
us to set up a Ukrainian government in exile with you as the leader. When
the opportunity presents itself, we will move into Ukraine and set up an
independent state.”
“Your thinking is similar to mine,” Khrushchev said.
“I have recognized that for a while. The methodology will be
different, however. I suspect you were planning to work through the
Ukrainian Communist Party to make this happen. I don’t believe that would
be successful. My plan uses the Army to enforce it. That will give you a
free hand to purge the party in Ukraine.”
 Khrushchev looked thoughtful. “That could work. I think we should
keep the party organization in place, though.”
“I understand and agree. But, as the saying goes, we need to
separate the sheep from the goats.”
“This is going to take some work, Comrade General.”
“The key here is not to fall in love with our plans. We need to be
able to adapt to the changing situation on the fly.”
“We cannot go into Ukraine right now. Our supply situation has not
changed. Stalin would roll right over us.”
Smirnoff gave the other man an evil smile. “That’s where we use
the Germans. They will fight their way through Ukraine for us, and also
equip our army. We should then be in a position to set up a government.”
“Do you honestly think the Germans will do that?”
Smirnoff took a deep breath. “Schloss and the German high
command have got to be thinking about how they will defeat Stalin and
what will follow. We know that Schloss is no fool. Splitting off some of the
Soviet states is an obvious option. If Ukraine goes, then Belarussia and the
Baltics will very likely follow. There would not be a thing Stalin could do
about it.”
“You understand, of course,” Khrushchev said, crossing his arms
across his chest, “Stalin would never stop trying to get revenge. He is
nothing if not vindictive.”
“That is something to consider, Comrade Party Secretary.”
“I have concluded that something would have to be done about
Stalin.”
Smirnoff sat very still and studied Khrushchev as he thought about
what the other man had just told him. “Kruglov?”
“I have surmised that. He plays his cards very close to his vest.
Based on his actions and the conversations we had, I have wondered if he
has that in mind.”
“Would he be able to pull that off?”
Khrushchev shrugged. “You know how challenging it is simply to
survive in the Soviet Union. But Kruglov definitely landed on his feet after
Beria’s death.”
“Do you think he had something to do with Beria’s death?”
Khrushchev shrugged again. “At this point, who knows?”
 “And we are wasting time. Let’s get the surrender initiated. I would
like to have a cease-fire at midnight that will give us all day tomorrow to
sort things out.”
Khrushchev stood up. “Then, let’s get started.”
“There is one more thing,” Smirnoff said. “Major!”
A Red Army major stepped into the room along with two sergeants.
“Place the party secretary under arrest, but see that he is well
treated and comfortable.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Comrade Party Secretary, you are critical to this plan. But I don’t
entirely trust you. I want to keep everyone honest.”
After the guards led Khrushchev from the room, Colonels Kuzmin
and Belyaev entered.
“Very well, comrades,” Smirnoff stated. “We have a plan. Do you
have any questions?”
They both shook their heads.
“Very well. Please request a cease-fire as of midnight from the
Germans and inform them that we will accept their conditions. I want to
wrap this up tomorrow.”
The two colonels saluted and marched from the room. Smirnoff
watched them leave, then walked over to the window and looked at nothing.
Finally, he sat down again in the uncomfortable chair and stared at the
paperwork before him. Either way, he was probably dead. But this seemed
to offer a slim chance of survival. Assuming everything else worked out, he
needed to begin thinking about the strategy and tactics for gaining control
of Ukraine.
 
§§§
 
April 6, 1944; 9 AM
The Queen’s Study
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
“I have received some information that I think you need to know
about,” Colin Marty said.
 “You have been working up to this for a while, haven’t you, Mr.
Marty?”
Colin felt like a bug pinned to a sheet of cardboard while the Queen
studied him through a magnifying glass. She seemed to read him all too
well. He had been wrestling with the information Donald Graeme relayed to
him. There was no question Margaret needed to know about it. But he was
worried she would come unglued and cause him to burn his sources in the
Foreign Office.
“Come now. You have worked for me long enough to know my
probable reaction in any given circumstance.”
“That is what concerns me, your Majesty.”
Her single sharp bark of laughter told him what she thought of his
reticence, and it wasn’t humor.
“I received some disquieting information from an unnamed source.
A representative of MI5 visited Churchill and informed him that they had
closed the investigation into the Wallace assassination.”
“Five have not informed me that they had completed the
investigation,” Margaret said quietly.
“I was aware of that, Ma’am, and I was trying to confirm the
information by other means. I was unsuccessful in that, however.”
The Queen said nothing but sat in her chair and silently pondered
this information. Then Colin heard her pencil snap. When the monarch was
angry, she would tend to yell and swear a lot. That she was quiet and doing
things like breaking her pencils caused Marty to get nervous. It meant she
was really angry. He felt sweat break out under his collar.
“How long have you known about this, Colin?”
“About a week.”
“About a week,” she repeated. “when, precisely, did you hear this?”
“Last Tuesday.”
“I am unhappy that you waited this long, Colin. You should have
come directly to me.”
“Your Majesty, if I brought every unsubstantiated rumor to you, you
would get nothing done. And you would probably die from high blood
pressure.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Marty.”
 He looked at her carefully. The temperature of her glare indicated
that she had gone well beyond the boiling point. Her mouth quirked
slightly. Okay, she was not angry with him. Or, not really angry with him.
“I am not going to be so foolish as to demand that you reveal your
source. Tell me, though, how reliable is it?”
“It is someone I have known for a long time. He hears things, and
somehow is always right. I would normally have accepted it without
question. But this is rather sensitive.”
“Indeed.”
The Queen sat quietly as she considered what he had told her. She
looked down at the broken pencil in her hand and carefully disposed of it in
the wastebasket. Drawing a fresh pencil from the drawer of her writing-
table, she began tapping the eraser on her desktop.
“In your opinion, do you believe this information came from within
Five?”
Now Colin thought for a while. “There are two possibilities,
Ma’am. Randolph Churchill sat in on the meeting between Five and his
father. It is entirely possible that he said something while he was in his
cups. Alternatively, someone in Five is unhappy with how the Director is
managing it..”
“And what is your sense of what happened?”
“If Randolph were speaking too freely, it would have shown up in
the press. So I think it would’ve had to come from inside Five.”
“Fleet Street would have likely gone to Five before publishing,” the
queen mused. “They are still careful about the Official Secrets Act.”
“On the other hand,” Marty suggested, “Randolph has little
credibility. This information came from someone who is quietly a strong
supporter of the Crown, and it would have been passed to help you, Your
Majesty. This came from someone who would carefully consider the
reliability of the information before sending it on to us.”
“Point taken.” Margaret drummed her fingers on the top of the
writing-table. “Very well. I must think on this. I believe I shall have to talk
to Clement.”
“That would have been my thought,” Marty murmured.
“And damn you, Colin, you must tell me these things sooner! Much
sooner.”
 “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Now, get out of my office.”
Colin Marty almost scampered out of the Queen’s office. He
considered himself fortunate to have received a scalding as opposed to
catching the brunt of a flamethrower.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
 
 
April 10, 1944; 9 AM
Glienicke Palace
Potsdam, Germany
 
Glienicke Palace was somewhat overrated, Schloss thought. It had
originally been constructed as a summer cottage for one of the Prussian
princes and upgraded since. It lacked the grandeur of the Stadtschloss or
Sanssouci, but upon reflection, it seemed better suited to Schloss’s style.
He had risen early for his Condor flight from Frankfurt to Potsdam.
The Russian investiture of Berlin had stopped short of the ancient capital of
Brandenburg. And Rainer would not allow Schloss to set foot in Berlin until
it was deemed safe.
Flying in personally to take this meeting ran counter to Schloss’s
usual practice of delegating as much as possible. However, the surrender of
the Russian armies in Berlin along with the presence of General Smirnoff,
and particularly Party Secretary Khrushchev, drove the need. Given his
plans for the subsequent conduct of the war, Schloss wanted to be here.
The Party Security people ushered him into one of the reception
rooms that had been quickly fitted out as a sitting room, especially for this
meeting. Smirnoff and Khrushchev quickly rose to their feet when he
walked in. He thought it was interesting that while Smirnoff looked
nervous, Khrushchev was unreadable. The man had a reputation as a
survivor, and it seemed he knew how to play the game.
The presence of two interpreters complicated the meeting. Schloss
did not speak Russian, and the other two did not speak German or English.
Schloss hoped that everyone would be able to understand the nuance.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me this morning, meine Herren,”
Schloss began. “I regret placing you under these circumstances. Your army
fought valiantly and well.”
“We are honored by your presence, Herr Reich Chancellor,”
Smirnoff replied. I very much regret the circumstances, but I am pleased
there was no further loss of life.”
“Shall we be seated then?”
The group returned to the facing sofas, which were, for a change,
surprisingly comfortable. Smirnoff and Khrushchev looked expectantly at
Schloss, and for the first time, Smirnoff spotted uncertainty in the party
secretary’s eyes.
“Rather than leaving you in internment with the rest of your
officers, I wanted to discuss some ideas I had for getting this war ended.”
“You will recognize, of course,” Khrushchev responded, “that due
to our surrender, I no longer have any leverage at all with Comrade Stalin.”
“Did you ever have any leverage?” Schloss asked with a one-sided
grin.
“Ha! That is the question, is it not? Stalin does what Stalin desires.
To be honest, the rest of us have mainly scrambled to remain alive.”
Smirnoff glanced over at Khrushchev and then turned to face
Schloss again. “While I am happy to talk, I have very little influence on the
course of the war moving forward.”
“Your request concerning Ukraine that was part of your surrender
note was intriguing for several reasons.”
Smirnoff slid forward slightly on the sofa, trying to listen more
closely to what Schloss had to say.
“First of all,” Schloss continued, “Stalin can only interpret this as
an act of insurrection.”
“To be honest,” Smirnoff responded, “the moment we asked for
terms, our lives were forfeit.”
 Schloss nodded. “I can understand that. Secondly, your suggestion
mirrored some things I had considered. I’m confident Germany will
eventually win this war. The problem we face is how to arrange the
European boundaries and governance so that we don’t have to do this again
in twenty years. I am not confident we will ever see any sensible
government in Moscow. So my question would be, how do we break apart
your Soviet Union in such a way so that no single part can be a threat to the
German Reich?”
“That is an honest answer,” Smirnoff said. “To be candid myself, I
began looking at this as a means to ensure personal survival. That is what
we do in the Soviet Union. But if I can get at least some of the people out
from under the thumb of Stalin, is that not such a bad thing? The man is a
monster.”
Schloss studied the two men across from him. Khrushchev was
deferring to Smirnoff, and he thought that interesting.
“So let us explore what you have in mind and how Germany might
be able to help. I believe our aims are similar, if not identical. You ask that
we allow you to set up an independent state in Ukraine, but it may be some
time before we can be in a position to do that.”
After the interpreter translated the words into Russian, Khrushchev
laughed. “So you’re saying it will be sometime before we can harvest that
field.”
Schloss smiled. “That is entirely correct. What might Germany do
to hasten that harvest?”
“My people are in good condition, but we would need to be
equipped and provisioned,” Smirnoff stated. “The lack of food,
ammunition, and POL is what drove our surrender, as you know.”
It is incredible how a simple conversation can be so revealing,
Schloss thought to himself. It seemed that Smirnoff had been thinking about
this for some time.  He had arranged the surrender in a way to salvage his
army, regardless of Stalin’s orders to fight to the finish.
“And so after we fight through to the eastern border of Ukraine, we
simply hand the country over to you. What will you be doing meanwhile?”
Smirnoff looked over at Khrushchev and then back at Schloss. He
rubbed his hands on his trouser legs and seemed to hesitate.
 “General Smirnoff, there must be a quid pro quo here other than just
my general strategy to end the war.”
“I suppose we are going to have to help fight through to the eastern
borders of Ukraine.”
“Yes, I suppose you are. And that begs the question we’ve all been
dancing around this morning. Are you willing to fight against your nation
and your fellow officers? Is your army willing to fight?”
Smirnoff leaned back and gazed around the room, seemingly
studying the details.
“Come now, General,” Schloss persisted, “this cannot be the first
time you have considered this.”
“It has occupied my thinking since Rommel closed off the salient,
and we found ourselves in a sack. When our resupply did not arrive, the end
was not in question. Let me tell you what I have done. Yes, I have thought
about this; and yes, I am willing to fight against my countrymen. You will
note that the first thing we did was to arrest all of our political officers.”
“What about him?” Schloss asked, pointing to Khrushchev.
Khrushchev looked down at the floor. “I found myself under arrest
as well.”
So Smirnoff really is in control, Schloss thought. This is interesting.
He looked around the room as he thought quickly.
“Here is what we are going to do, meine Herren. You will be
interned in camps in Germany. You will be responsible for unit discipline
and development. Your first task will be to determine which of those in
your army are willing to fight for an independent Ukraine and who aren’t.
We will split the two groups into separate camps. As far as the world is
concerned, you are all prisoners of war, and we will treat you accordingly.
As we develop plans to move back into Poland and eventually Ukraine, we
will keep you apprised and develop plans for utilizing your army. Right
now, I intend that your army will probably comprise the invasion force. We
will provide your logistics. Is that agreeable?”
Smirnoff nodded. “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. That is not only
agreeable but generous. If it has to be said, we will be honorable and
reliable allies to Germany. I hope that we can help build a lasting peace so
that nothing like this ever happens again.”
 “Thank you. That is my fervent hope as well. For the moment, you
will work with members of the Wehrmacht High Command. At various
times, as needed, you will also work with members of my government. We
will be involved in helping you design a new government. We would like
something that is both stable and easy for us to work with.”
“I understand,” Smirnoff answered.
Schloss stood. The other two men quickly stood as well.
“Meine Herren,” Schloss said, “thank you for your time this
morning.”
After shaking hands with Smirnoff and Khrushchev, Schloss walked
quickly from the room. He hoped his trip to Brandenburg had not been a
fool’s errand. But, Smirnoff and Khrushchev were realists. If they were
convinced they could separate Ukraine from the Soviet Union, Germany
should help them.
 
§§§
 
April 12, 1944; 3PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Schloss greeted Wernher Von Braun and General Walter Dornberger
as they entered his office.
“Good morning, meine Herren. I know you have traveled a long
distance to get here, so let’s make the most of the time.”
“Thank you,” Dornberger said. “We have accomplished much since
we last met, and we are excited to share with you.”
Schloss ushered them to the chairs across from his desk and
returned to his chair. “I read the brief you sent ahead and found it
interesting. I can’t say that I understand most of it, but it sounds like you’re
making progress. General, would you like to summarize?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. We have our new base set up and
functioning. We are now located about 30 kilometers east of Tripoli in
Libya. Depending on the testing regime, the location allows us to fire
rockets either into the Mediterranean or the Libyan desert.”
 “I was surprised you were able to get your base up and operational
so quickly,” Schloss commented.
“Conditions are primitive at the moment, but we have everything
needed to continue the development of the rockets.”
“Are you getting cooperation from the Army?”
“Yes Herr Reich Chancellor. The Army has provided everything we
have needed in terms of supplies and security. So far, most of our rocket
assemblies are shipped in Germany, and Wernher is setting up a small
factory so that we can quickly assemble rockets onsite.”
“And you have done this on a shoestring budget. I am amazed. Now
let’s talk about your progress with the rocket development.”
“We are working on your directive to scale up the A4 to give us
something with a range of about 2000 kilometers. I would like Wernher to
explain the project in detail if that is all right with you, sir.”
Schloss nodded and looked expectantly at von Braun. The dapper
young man cleared his throat and began to speak.
“Given the realities of our budget situation,” and his eyes twinkled,
“we decided to rethink the whole process. We essentially started over and
scrapped the A-10 design. We have a satisfactory rocket engine that we use
in the A4. So we are taking a multipronged approach. We will scale up the
rocket by adding A4 engines to the platform to give us the necessary range
and payload. We have also initiated an extensive testing program on the
engines themselves. First of all, we are working to increase the thrust of the
engines, and secondly, we are working to improve the reliability.”
“What kind of things are you looking at to increase the thrust?”
Schloss asked.
“We think the biggest gain will be in a redesign of the injector. We
abandoned several promising designs because of the haste to get the
original A4 into production. We also have a team that is focused on looking
for less expensive components and cheaper manufacturing techniques. As
you have pointed out, Herr Reich Chancellor, the A4 is too expensive to be
an effective weapon. The success of the V1 was an eye-opener for us.”
“What is the old saying?” Schloss asked with a grin. “Experience is
the best teacher.”
Von Braun laughed out loud. “And some fools will have no other.”
 “Exactly. A tight budget stimulates creativity. Have you given any
thought to fitting the improved engines into the A4?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. I have a proposal with me for the
redesign of the A4. It will, of course, require a budget.”
Schloss laughed out loud while Dornberger looked horrified. “You
really are a rascal, aren’t you? If you leave the proposal with me, I will start
looking at it.”
Von Braun handed a folder across the desk to Schloss. “Here is a
drawing of the redesigned A-10, along with the general specifications and
performance estimates.”
Schloss opened it and examined the drawing of the new missile. “I
see you have abandoned the streamlined shape of the A4. It looks like a
long piece of pipe.”
“We realized that the longer-range rocket would rise above the
heaviest part of the atmosphere before it gained a lot of speed. This design
is much simpler to manufacture and gives us more interior space to work
with.”
“And that you are planning to use six engines, then?”
“That is our intention at this point, although that could change. We
are examining the possibility of providing a flexible mounting for the
central engine to deflect the thrust by re-pointing the engine rather than
using guidance vanes. The guidance vanes on the A4 have proven
troublesome.”
“That’s very interesting. Since this looks like a preliminary design,
how long do you think it will be before you have something to fly?”
Von Braun looked over at Dornberger, who then spoke.
“We have been debating on a new methodology for testing and
development,” the general said. “Because we have simplified the overall
design, the individual rockets should be inexpensive enough to build that
we could rapidly build prototypes and test them, and make running changes
to perfect it.”
“Seems like a waste of good hardware to me,” Schloss commented.
“Those on the team opposed to the methodology change have made
that point. I believe that we are balancing the hardware cost against the
team's payroll and fixing unexpected flaws in the production rocket. We are
developing a new technology here, and I believe it would be a good
opportunity to develop new ways of building the things.”
Schloss bit his lower lip as he considered what he heard. “Very
well, meine Herren, your track record has been good. I don’t think I want to
try to be the engineer for you. Was there anything else this morning?”
Von Braun slid another folder across to Schloss’s desk. “Here’s the
proposal for the A4C rocket.”
Schloss stood up, as did the others. “Thank you for making the trip
up here. Make sure you keep the monthly reports coming. I don’t want to
make you travel here for a twenty-minute meeting every month. You would
lose a week in the travel. Let’s plan on having one of you travel here every
six months. If I see something in the reports that warrants closer attention,
then I will ask you to come for a visit.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Dornberger murmured.
Schloss returned to his desk and thought about the rocketry project.
He needed a weapon that could reach Moscow from Germany. If
Heisenberg were able to develop an atomic warhead, the A10 would be the
best delivery vehicle. It would be one of those weapons he hoped never to
have to use.
And von Braun still had his dreams of reaching the Moon. In
Schloss’s other world, the scientist had been a vital member of the
American Moon program. For Germany to be a truly global power, this was
a technology she had to master. He hoped the von Braun of this world was
up to the task.
 

 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 
 
April 14, 1944; 3PM
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
 Stalin’s meetings were usually quiet. Those attending kept their
voices low, and Stalin never shouted, either. The first meeting following
Smirnoff’s surrender was strangely subdued. The four men in the room
worked through routine business required of governing the state. Along
with Stalin, of course, were Kruglov and Malenkov. Demyan Korotchenko
had been summoned from Kiev and was also in attendance. Unsure of his
status, he sat quietly and visibly fought his fears.
“For our final item today,” Stalin announced,  “we will select a
replacement for Ivan Smirnoff, who has turned his back upon his people
and stabbed International Socialism in the back.”
Malenkov took this as his cue to speak. “The Presidium voted to
elevate Vasily Chuikov to be responsible for all the armies in the West.”
It was quiet in the room again as Stalin loaded his pipe. After
fouling the air with his acrid tobacco, he looked around the table.
“Comments from anyone?”
“I would recommend Ivan Koney,” Kruglov said. “He is a reliable
party member and also a superior tactician.”
“I would agree with Comrade Kruglov’s comments about Koney,”
Malenkov responded. “However, there seems to be a consensus that
Chuikov is just as good.”
Stalin looked over at Korotchenko as though expecting him to
speak. The Ukrainian glanced wildly around the room and saw no overt
sympathy.
“I have met Chuikov,” he stammered. “I do not know him well. He
seems to be a loyal son of the revolution.”
Stalin stared at him for a while. The man was panting in fright. He
gazed around the room again.
“Very well. We will accept the recommendation of the Presidium.
That will be all. Sergei, please remain behind.”
“Of course, Comrade General Secretary,” Kruglov murmured.
Stalin seemed to puff contentedly on his pipe after the others had
trooped out. One never knew what Stalin was thinking, Kruglov thought,
and the man was devilishly hard to read. Finally, the general secretary
spoke again.
“What do you think of our new friend from Kiev?”
 Kruglov snorted involuntarily. “The man is a lightweight. He is a
climber who does not understand his limitations.”
“Is he reliable?”
“Is anyone truly reliable? He serves himself, first of all. He has not
given any cause to doubt his loyalty, however.”
“That will have to suffice for the moment. Why did you not arrest
Khrushchev and Smirnoff?”
“I lost contact with the party apparatus in the Army. We later
learned that Smirnoff had arrested all of the political officers and
sequestered them.”
“And how did he learn the identities of all the political officers?”
“Khrushchev,” was Kruglov’s one-word reply.
Stalin tapped the ash out of his pipe on the table and began refilling
it. He did not speak again until the tobacco was alight.
“Khrushchev killed Beria.” A statement.
“I believe that is correct, Comrade Party Secretary.”
“And now he thinks he is out of our reach.”
“If he believes that, he is mistaken.”
Stalin removed his pipe and stared at Kruglov. After a few
moments, he nodded.
“See to it, Sergei.”
Kruglov had spent time and effort in protecting Khrushchev and
Smirnoff. Once they had surrendered, he lost the ability to watch over them.
Consequently, he was not sure he even wanted to protect them. At this
point, he agreed with Stalin that everyone needed to learn the lesson.
“Understand, Comrade, that we have two highly placed agents in
the German army. One is a colonel, and the other is a major. They will
likely be expended in this operation.”
Stalin replaced the pipe in his mouth and commenced his usual
tuneless humming. After a while, he waved Kruglov out of the room. The
head of the MKV understood Stalin’s decision. He had the general
secretary’s permission to do whatever was necessary to eliminate
Khrushchev and Smirnoff. If the effort failed, he would later be held
responsible for the resources he wasted.
He stood and walked from the room. It was the way the game was
played in the Soviet Union, and he accepted that. Protecting himself against
Stalin’s unpredictability was one challenge he faced. Malenkov was also a
threat, as was Korotchenko. On top of that, he had to manage the huge
bureaucracy that was the NKVD effectively. And Dzerzhinsky Square was
full of vipers who thought they might overthrow Kruglov and run the place
one day. The challenge there was to maintain awareness of who those
people were and make sure they knew he was aware.
To be honest with himself, Kruglov enjoyed the challenge of
managing the wheels within wheels that was the Soviet government. As a
self-critical man, he was comfortable in his abilities and confident that he
could control his future.
Kruglov returned to his office and began planning the removal of
Smirnoff and Khrushchev. While he was satisfied he had the resources to
accomplish the task, he was well aware that little had gone right in this war.
The Germans had repeatedly maneuvered their forces to avoid a crushing
defeat while bleeding the Red Army. The Russians had learned a lot in this
war, mainly through painful experience.
 
§§§
 
April 17, 1944; 4 PM
Hickam Army Air Force Base
Honolulu, Hawaii, USA
 
“Well, that’s it, then.” Cordell Hull stood and reached across the
table to shake hands with Mamoru Shigemitsu.
“Despite the dishonor Japan has exhibited during this war, the
honor and generosity of the United States are overwhelming,” the Japanese
Foreign Minister said. “Rest assured we will do everything in our power to
uphold this treaty and work to regain the respect of other nations.”
“Getting this war behind us will be a good thing,” Hull commented.
“Putting the hard feelings behind us will be more difficult and take longer.
However, that will be the more rewarding.”
“Indeed. I’m sure the Prime Minister is anxiously awaiting the news
that we have completed negotiations.”
“As is President Truman. First, however, we need to get the
photographers in here so we can sign the document.”
 The American and Japanese teams that accompanied the negotiators
quickly rearranged the tables in the room to give the photographers an
unobstructed view of the ceremony. Whatever the hard feelings, Hall
thought, the two teams were professional and worked well together.
Hull stepped out to visit the bathroom. He then walked into a side
room where the Army maintained a refrigerator and a table of snacks. He
pulled out a bottle of Coca-Cola and snagged a cookie from the table.
Shigemitsu walked in at that moment and moved directly to the refrigerator.
He extracted a bottle of Coke and opened it; he took a long drink and then
sighed.
“Pardon me if I sound uncouth, but of all the things I have missed
during the embargoes and the war, this was probably at the top of my list. I
really love this.”
Hull smiled at the Japanese Foreign Minister. “It will likely be a
while before you have it show up in Tokyo in any quantity. How about if I
arrange for several cases to be placed aboard your ship before you sail?”
“That would be most generous, Mr. Secretary. I shamelessly
accept.”
Despite his resentment towards the Japanese, Cordell Hull had
grown fond of the little foreign minister. Shigemitsu had demonstrated that
there were indeed decent people in that strange land. Since the United
States had bound Japan into a protective alliance, Hull knew that they had
to develop these friendships for things to succeed in the long run.
The British Undersecretary walked in and headed towards the
refrigerator. Frank Ashton-Gwatkin was Clement Attlee’s choice to lead the
British team to Honolulu. It turned out to be an inspired selection as the
man’s far Eastern expertise helped the Allied team avoid the cultural
misunderstandings that might have sunk the talks.
He opened the door to the refrigerator and scanned the contents. “Is
there nothing here but that brown syrup only drunk by barbarians?”
He glanced around and noticed that Shigemitsu also had a bottle.
He turned red.
“My apologies, Mr. Foreign Minister. That did not come out quite
as I intended.”
“I was not offended. Besides, we both can agree that the Americans
are barbarians,” he quipped.
 Hull choked and quickly grabbed his handkerchief to stanch the
Coke that flowed out of his nose. Ashton-Gwatkin laughed loudly.
“You know,” Hull commented, once he had retrieved control, “the
stuff really burns your sinuses.”
“I believe that confirms my assertion,” the British Undersecretary
said.
The three men chuckled.
“One further thing, Mr. Foreign Minister,” Hull stated.
“Anticipating the conclusion of negotiations, today, I ordered the first oil
shipments from Los Angeles to sail this morning to Osaka.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I appreciate your trust and confidence.”
Hull managed a one-sided grin. “Well, there was a certain
pragmatism involved. The British and the Dutch are anxious for you to
leave Borneo. Since the treaty provisions allow you to remain in possession
of that until regular shipments of oil began arriving, I thought it wise to get
things moving quickly.”
Shigemitsu nodded deeply. “I understand, and I apologize for the
inconvenience. However, this was one point I was given no latitude for our
discussions.”
“Prime Minister Yamamoto was insistent, I assume.”
“Speaking highly unofficially, of course, I suspect the Emperor
insisted on this point.”
“I completely understand,” Ashton-Gwatkin agreed. “Queen
Margaret was insistent upon several points of negotiation as well.”
“And I am gratified that we were able to accommodate the demands
in putting together the agreement,” Hull stated.
Shigemitsu nodded. “I believe we all recognized what was truly
important to the three parties.”
“What the hell,” the Brit said as he eased a bottle of Coke from the
refrigerator. “One does what one must in a foreign land, Mr. Foreign
Minister. I only hope no one will accuse me of going native.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Hull laughed.
A half-hour later, the teams returned to the conference room. While
the American army had expended some effort in dressing up the room, it
still lacked the ambiance of the Royal Hawaiian hotel, which was now
rubble.
 Under the actinic light from the flashbulbs, the Japanese, British,
and American negotiators signed the treaty. Following that, the people in
the room burst into applause. They made up the teams from the principal
governments and had endured the weeks of nail-biting that made up the
negotiations. Their relief was not only at the end of the war but also at the
completion of this marathon.
Hull was surprised at the depth of his relief. The United States
could stop pouring American blood into the Pacific Ocean and now engage
with the former enemy rationally. With the war out of the way, the
Americans could now focus on cleaning up the disaster in Hanford,
Washington.
It was good, he thought, that Stalin consumed with the war in
Western Europe. The United States was committed to protecting Japanese
interests in the northern Pacific, and he thought it would be years before the
Americans could place significant forces there.
He had not mentioned, but everyone was aware of, the large flotilla
of American warships and commercial vessels that were now sailing into
Tokyo Bay and Sasebo, Japan. In addition to creating a robust diplomatic
presence in Tokyo, the Americans intended to develop naval bases in
Yokosuka and Sasebo. It would send a strong message to the Japanese that
life has changed. It would also provide basing and support for the American
Pacific Fleet.
Hull was not sanguine about how the Japanese people would
receive this. However, people in Hawaii had been polite and even friendly
to the Japanese delegation, and he thought this was a hopeful sign.
Following the signing ceremony, the Army staff was anxious to
clear the room to prepare it for the reception that evening. However, the
delegates stood around conversing and relaxed now that they had
accomplished what they set out to do.
Shigemitsu walked over to Hans Thomsen, the German ambassador
to the United States.
“Japan is honored that Germany chose to send an observer to the
conference. We would also like to apologize for our reaction when
Germany refused to support us in this war. As Japan seeks to rejoin the
discourse between the nations, we would hope to mend our relationship
with Germany and again become friends.”
 Thomsen replied while shaking Shigemitsu’s hand. “Thank you
very much for that, Mr. Foreign Minister. I shall indeed communicate your
thoughts to the Reich Chancellor.”
“I have prepared a letter to Herr Schloss. I will have it delivered to
you in the morning.”
Thomsen had done little in the conference beyond listening and
taking careful notes. In their conversations, Ribbentrop had told him that
Germany did not have significant interests in the far east or Japan in
particular. But the conclusion of the current war could only help improve
trade. A fairly large contingent in the German government also liked the
Japanese and would approve of the closer relationship.
“There is also an unofficial message I would like to pass along to
your government,” Shigemitsu said. “We have uncovered evidence that a
member of the German Embassy in Tokyo has regular communications with
the Soviet Embassy.”
Thomsen, who was no fool, stared at the Japanese Foreign Minister.
“You would be speaking of things beyond the usual diplomatic exchanges?”
“Yes. We may be wrong; however, we would suggest you
investigate Richard Sorge. Our people spotted him servicing several
message drops also used by the Soviet military attaché.”
“That is disquieting,” Thomsen said. “But thank you for the
information. We will certainly follow up on it.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
 
 
April 24, 1944; 11 AM
Imperial Palace
Tokyo, Japan
 
“What have you brought before me, Prime Minister?”
 Yamamoto bowed deeply and extended the treaty books which he
had carried to the Imperial Palace that morning.
“We have ended the war, Majesty. I bring the documents confirming
the agreement.”
“And what have our diplomats accomplished, Prime Minister?”
“We have achieved an end to the embargo from the Occidental
Powers. We have arrived at a trade agreement with the United States. The
Americans have agreed to supply oil to the Japanese Empire for twenty-five
years at market prices. And we have learned much from this war.”
“And what have we learned from this recent effort, Prime
Minister?”
Yamamoto glanced up quickly and then down again. That last
question from Emperor Hirohito was unscripted.
“We have learned that it is much more profitable to achieve Japan’s
aims through trade and careful diplomacy than wasting the blood and
treasure of our nation in fruitless war.”
“You are to be commended, Prime Minister.” Hirohito gazed around
the room. “Let it be known that our Prime Minister, Isoroku Yamamoto, is a
far-seeing man. He has rescued our nation from defeat and dishonor. We
look forward to resuming normal relationships with the other nations of the
world and will strive to put the unpleasantness behind us.”
Once again, the Emperor surprised Yamamoto. He had argued
strenuously against some of the peace treaty terms, which forced Yamamoto
to quash his objections. The Emperor’s position had become known in the
Army, and Yamamoto feared a coup attempt. Word of this morning’s
statements would ricochet quickly around the nation and the military, and
hopefully, that would reduce the risk of the radicals in the country
attempting something regrettable.
After the Imperial reception, majordomo once again guided
Yamamoto through the labyrinth of hallways to Hirohito’s private office.
The Emperor was now wearing his usual business attire, having removed
the royal robes.
“What am I to do with you, Prime Minister?” Yamamoto wondered
if this was a rhetorical question or if the man expected an answer. Then the
Emperor continued speaking.
 “You have fulfilled our desires in bringing an end to the war, but
your methods have been questionable.”
“How so, Your Majesty?” Yamamoto responded.
“You have removed from us our normal conduits for
communication with other members of the government. You have
disregarded our instructions on the conduct of the negotiations. You have
made us virtually a prisoner in our own palace. But, you have delivered
peace.”
The Prime Minister bowed low. “If I have displeased the Emperor, I
will remove myself from the divine presence and retire from the
government.”
Hirohito chuckled softly. “Once again, you attempt to manipulate
us. What you do not understand is that we allowed your manipulation and
could have stopped it at any time. We are not happy with how you pursued
peace, but the alternatives do not bear reflection. We desired to preserve the
nation, and you were our tool. One does not discard a well-honed tool.”
Walking over to his desk, Hirohito opened the book containing the
text of the treaty. He paged through the document and turned to the
signatures.
“This is the beginning of a new century for Japan. We must now
rebuild our reputation and our commerce. Convincing the Americans to
agree to provide military protection was a masterstroke, resulting in billions
of yen that we will not have to remove from the economy. While I am not
happy with this result, I am satisfied. We will no longer have the burden of
war, and we will not have our people dying across the Pacific. Please tell
me of your plans now, Prime Minister.”
“The first shipments of oil from the United States will begin
arriving within the week. A flotilla of American and British vessels will
soon arrive in Sasebo and Yokosuka. We must plan to greet the arrival of a
diplomatic delegation in Tokyo within the week. And we must prepare the
people for these things.”
“A Prime Minister with foresight would have been preparing for
this already.”
Yamamoto suppressed a grin. “And, we have, your Majesty.”
“Prime Minister, are you ever concerned about the things you don’t
know?” Hirohito responded with a grin.
 “Oh, I am very much aware of my encompassing ignorance, your
Majesty. I worry every day about making a fool of myself or the nation
because of my ignorance.”
“If this is something that you keep in mind, then you are no fool.
And now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare for my address to the
nation.”
Yamamoto looked up quickly. It was twice this morning the
Emperor had surprised him.
“I was not aware you are planning an address, Majesty.”
The Emperor was openly grinning now. “We enjoy our little
surprises. We will explain to the nation how our Prime Minister has
heroically rescued the nation from death and destruction. I must convince
them that foreign boots on our soil are not dishonor but another way to
fulfill our manifest destiny. We would request your office to work with ours
to make sure the text is satisfactory.”
Yamamoto hoped that his relief did not show on his face. He
wondered if there was a royal protocol for having the Prime Minister drop
dead of a heart attack in the Emperor’s presence. He often thought the stress
of an audience with the Emperor was worse than facing down the assassins
who came into his house that night.
He pondered the morning’s experience as he headed back to his
office. The Emperor was enigmatic but also had a subtle sense of humor.
However, Yamamoto had accomplished the most significant task related to
the peace treaty. He needed to watch carefully for those who would
sabotage the process through a coup or assassination, and both were a
genuine danger. However, an address from the Emperor would go a long
way towards settling things down.
 
§§§
 
April 25, 1944, 5 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Officers
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
 “I have to say this is the most relaxed I have seen you in a long
time, Hennie,” Peter Schreiber stated. “You have needed to relax more.”
“It must be the chair,” Karl Rainer said.
Schloss leaned back with his hands behind his head and smiled
contentedly. He was seated in what was called an executive chair. Someone
in the Frankfurt party offices had imported it from the United States.
Willem had seen it and thought it would be a magnificent addition to the
Reich Chancellor’s office.
“Careful, Karl, your teeth are showing,” Schloss retorted. “And I
think I will take this chair back to Berlin with me whenever that happens.
It’s quite comfortable.”
“And you will probably break some poor party bureaucrat’s heart.
Do you suppose he spent his personal funds on this?”
“I doubt it; however that’s a good question. Willem!” He shouted.
“Schloss’s secretary stepped into the doorway. “Yes, Herr Reich
Chancellor?”
“See if you can find out who bought this chair originally and if they
paid for it personally or with party funds.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor. Will you require further action
on this once I find out?”
“Yes, I am planning to take this chair back to Berlin with us. If the
previous owner procured this with his own money, we need to make him
whole.”
“Otherwise?”
“Otherwise, I will dictate a nice thank you note to him for
contributing the chair to the mission of the Reich.”
“That is cruel, Hennie,” Peter chortled. “The poor soul will
probably go home to his hausfrau and weep on her chest.”
“Seriously, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Rainer interjected, “you ought
to ask Ambassador Smoke if he can arrange for an executive chair to be
shipped in from the United States. He will probably be so pleased to have
you speak to him he will wet himself.”
Schloss laughed. “Please, Karl. We cannot cause embarrassment to
our American friends by causing their Ambassador to lose his self-control.”
 Rainer snorted. “I know Smoke has been helpful, but sometimes I
feel like we’re him dealing with the village idiot.”
“Incidentally, Hennie, Herr Smoke delivered the official
communiqué from the Americans this afternoon about the conclusion of the
Honolulu Conference. The war is over.”
“So, Peter, Hans Thomsen delivered the news what forty-eight
hours ago?”
“More like seventy-two hours. I was a little surprised since Smoke
usually is the first to arrive with good news.”
“Well, he is not popular in Washington,” Karl said. “Misty had not
heard about it, either. I gave her a copy of Hans’ note. She was not happy.”
“About the war ending?” Peter asked. Rainer gave him a decidedly
patronizing look. “No, mein Herr. She set a sharp message to the State
Department asking why the American Embassy was left out of the loop.
You can bet both Cordell Hull and William Donovan know about that, too.”
“And Misty is to be respected,” Schloss commented.
“And people cross swords with Misty at their considerable peril,”
Karl said.
“Does that include you, Karl?” Peter asked with a grin.
“No. Misty loves me.”
“How is Misty doing?” Schloss asked.
“Physically, she is almost completely recovered. The doctors are
going to remove the wiring from her jaw next week. She has already been
talking to a dentist about getting a false tooth installed.”
Peter shook his head. “A terrible thing. I’m glad you suggested I get
into contact with Colin Marty. He sent me a brief thank you note, but I think
he’s having a tough time of it. I received a personal note from the Queen
thanking me for going to the trouble. I don’t know if it helped Marty any,
but it seems to have had an impact on the Queen.”
“That was kind of you, Peter,” Schloss said.
“It actually helped me to write the note,” he said. “I have started
planning a diplomatic trip to London, and I want to have dinner with him.
Us widowers have to stick together, you know.”
Schloss noticed the look of pain on Peter’s face and decided to
change the subject.
“Will the end of the Pacific war impact us?”
 “It will free up some armaments, of course,” Peter said. “Although,
from what Ribbentrop has told me, the only real shortage we had was of the
250-kilogram bombs. And the English seem to be taking care of that
problem. He commented that it was a good thing that we had already
transferred all the ships to the Americans. He wonders if they will cancel
the fifty U-boat order.”
“I worried about that, myself,” Schloss said. “We are still scraping
for every bit of foreign exchange we can get.”
“I would think that without the far east to distract Stalin, he will be
more focused on the war against us,” Rainer commented. “But I suspect he
is already fully engaged. The SS sources in Moscow are pretty low level,
but they indicate the Russians are still running around in circles after
Smirnoff surrendered.”
Schloss nodded. “That’s pretty much what Colonel Gehlen reported.
The longer they stay confused, the happier I am.”
“What’s going to happen, now, Hennie?” Peter asked.
“We are in the middle of the spring rains, so nothing much is
moving in Poland. But we must never forget that we are facing a large and
determined foe. We are not getting to the end of the war soon by any
means.”
“Do you think Smirnoff's surrender represents a turning point in the
war?” Rainer asked.
“I would like to think so. But it’s a long time until that sausage is
fried. In fact, I am worried about Schörner’s army. If he pushes too hard or
too far, the Russians will try to cut him off. It wouldn’t be as bad as losing
Model’s army was, but it would hurt.”
“Rommel is keeping an eye on him, right?” Peter asked.
“Yes, and Heinz is watching, too,” Schloss replied.
“Heinz has worked with us to clean the remaining Russians out of
Eastern Germany,” Rainer noted. “I just hope the Russians don’t manage to
get across the river again.”
“You can bet they are going to try it again,” Schloss shrugged. “I’m
pushing the high command to come up with a plan to discourage the
Russians from trying.”
“I believe we need to be convincing,” Rainer responded.
 “Indeed,” Schloss said as he stood. “Peter and I need to head home.
It’s almost dinner time, and we don’t need to face the wrath of Frau
Marsden.”
“Heaven forbid,” Rainer replied.
 

 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
 
 
April 28, 1944; 2PM
Grandview, Washington, USA
 
“It looks like the fire is out, sir. Finally,” Colonel Kent Clarke said.
“Well, that’s some good news for a change,” General Mark Clark
responded.
“That may be the easiest part of this job,” Admiral Ray Spruance
added.
“I won’t argue with you there, Ray. We need to get our hands
around an approach to the cleanup. I think we need to have a team get
started at the accident site. Any thoughts, gentleman?”
“Assuming, of course, that there are no further significant emissions
from the plant, we are also going to have to come up with a plan for the
cleanup from the smoke plume,” General Leslie Groves said.
Groves had flown in from the East Coast to consult with the
leadership of the cleanup team. He looked as though he had aged ten years
in the previous several months.
Admiral Spruance spoke, “With the Army standing down from the
war with Japan, they will make available as many people as we need.”
“Assuming they know what they’re doing,” Groves replied.
“There is that. I had thought about using the scientists to train the
men who will be in the field, but I don’t believe they know how to approach
this, either.”
“If it’s agreeable with you, Mark,” Groves continued, “I can
organize the training for the team that will be going into Hanford. I assume
you are all aware that having the fire out does not mean that we have
corrected all the problems at the plant site. The fissile materials from the
pile are probably still active, and they would have melted and pooled on the
floor of the pile building. It’s only a matter of time until they burn their way
through the concrete. And it will eventually impact the groundwater.”
General Clark grimaced. “I’m delighted the fire is out. At least we
can start thinking about the next steps. Do you have a plan for dealing with
the remaining materials – you call them fissile, right?”
Groves nodded. “We are going to have to build a concrete
sarcophagus around the wreck of the pile.”
“How will you deal with the melt-through? General Clark asked.
“We are going to have to tunnel underground and get a concrete
barrier in place underneath that building. I would like to have a good supply
of cadmium and Borax sitting above the barrier we build so that it will
hopefully mix with the melted nuclear fuel so that the reaction will stop.
And that is the key to this whole exercise. The reaction must stop.”
“Then you are going to have to begin soon,” General Clark said.
“We are going to have to scrape off as much of the topsoil around
the plant as we can. We know the wind directed the plume east to southeast,
but I’m assuming that will have contaminated soil for some distance around
all sides of the plant.”
“That should be something we would be able to handle,” Admiral
Spruance said. “We will need to teach the crews what needs to be done and
also arrange for protecting them from the radioactive dust.”
“We will have challenges in where we store the contaminated soil
from the site,” Colonel Clarke said. “If we just dump it in a ravine
somewhere, we’ll have the same groundwater problems we’re facing with
the atomic pile itself.”
“That is correct,” Groves said. “There’s a team at Oak Ridge
studying this very issue. I would suggest you go ahead and get your team
assembled, and hopefully, we’ll have a solution for you by that point.
You’re going to have to collect a pretty good fleet of earth-moving
equipment for what you want to do.”
“Are you suggesting that we not proceed until we have that solution
from your engineers, General?” Spruance asked.
 “By no means, Admiral. It is critically important to begin working
on the side of the pile as soon as possible. I think you’re going to have to
pile the scrapings above ground. Keeping it stable is another story, of
course. Based on some late-night pondering, you might want to keep a
continuous water spray on the debris so that it does not spread in the wind.
You may have to dig some ditches so that the runoff goes into a retention
pond. We don’t need any of this getting into the Columbia River, and that’s
at all costs.”
“I understand,” Spruance replied. “General Clark, I have the teams
available to clear the ground around the factory site, and I have been
promised earth-moving equipment within the next couple of days. With any
luck at all, we should be able to start within the week. What I don’t know,
General Groves, is what kind of equipment you will need for the building
itself. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I have a train coming with the equipment we will need for the
job.”
“I’m amazed you have pulled so much together so quickly,”
General Clark said.
“When you have orders assigned by the president and has DP
written all over it, it’s amazing the size of a mountain you can move and
how quickly.”
General Clark and Admiral Spruance both chuckled. General
officers in every branch of the military lived in mortal fear of getting a
memo that began with At the Direction of the President. It enabled the
recipient to get things done, but it bypassed a large segment of the chain of
command, which irritated the people at the Pentagon.
DP orders also sometimes exhibited questionable legality or
constitutionality. And these orders generally left a lot of people at career
risk. Nobody wanted to be without a chair when the music stopped. Groves
looked at the men around the table and easily read their reactions.
“I can tell by the looks on your faces,” Groves continued, “you are
wondering what is going to happen when it hits the fan, which it inevitably
will. First, President Truman has accepted full responsibility for the
accident as well as the cleanup. I also accept responsibility; however, the
president doesn’t want me to say things like that. So, we will try to protect
you and your people from wrecking your careers. But understand that this is
more important than any of our careers. We have a job to do, gentlemen,
and we’re going to get this done.”
General Clark nodded at Groves, as did the others. General Groves
studied the reaction a moment longer and then spoke again.
“Once again, this is a directive from the president, and I need to
hear a proper response.”
General Clark responded at once. “Yes, sir. We will get this thing
done.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Spruance said.
“Yes, Sir,” Colonel Clarke responded.
General Clark looked at Spruance. “You know what you need to do,
Ray?”
“Yes, General.”
Clark looked at Colonel Clarke. “How about you, Superman?”
Spruance grinned, and Groves looked confused.
“Yes, General. I believe I have a train to unload.”
“Superman?” Groves asked.
General Clark laughed. “You see the familiarity of Colonel Clarke’s
name? Since we have had confusion because he and I both have the same
last name, we all decided to call him Superman to limit the confusion.”
“With all due respect, General,” Colonel Clarke said, “everybody
didn’t decide that; you did.”
General Clark ignored the response. “How long are you in town for,
Leslie?”
“At least until my train gets here. Along with the equipment on the
train, I have two platoons of engineers. I want to make sure they understand
what they have to do as well as how to do it safely.”
“If you can provide to me the details of the personnel mix, I will
need to see about quarters,” Spruance said. “They are scarce right now.”
“Thank you, Admiral. We’re headed into summer, so you can put
them in tents if you have to. Once we are assured we have removed the
local ground contamination, I would suggest moving them closer to the
plant.”
“It is very likely going to be tents, General. Every spare board-foot
is going into quarters for the people the accident displaced. I’m glad I don’t
have that nightmare. I can’t see how we are even going to feed all those
people.”
The Secretary of the Interior has all that in his portfolio,” Groves
replied. “The president thinks he is competent, for whatever that’s worth.”
“I’ve heard good things about Harold Ickes,” Spruance commented.
General Clark nodded. “If there’s nothing else, let’s adjourn so we
can get back to our offices.”
“I had one other item,” General Groves added.
General Clark rolled his fingers to indicate that Groves could
continue.
“This one is rather delicate. The Germans asked the president if
they could send an observer to the cleanup operation.”
“Letting a German in here?” Spruance spoke sharply. “I know this
comes from the president, but what is he thinking?”
“This benefits us in two ways. First of all, it confirms that the
Germans have an ongoing project similar to ours here. Secondly, he will be
working close to you three, and anything he lets slip about the German
program is going to be gravy for us as far as I’m concerned.”
General Clark shrugged. “If the president wants to do it, I guess we
need to salute and get on with it.”
“I agree,” Spruance said.
No one said anything further, so General Clark stood, as did the
others. They and filed out of the meeting room. Ray Spruance was
thoughtful as he walked back to his office. They were getting ready to
receive several thousand military and civilian personnel to begin the
cleanup task, and housing was in critically short supply. Grandview was
already well beyond capacity with the fifteen thousand refugees from the
contaminated zone.
Spruance had spent a couple of fruitless days calling around Army
supply depots to look for anything and everything that would help him in
his task. He was not notably successful. Fortunately, he had priority to make
all the long-distance calls he needed, so he put in a call to the naval station
in San Diego.
“Spruance, have you adopted lubberly ways, now?” Chester Nimitz
said in his gruff voice.
 “No, Sir. I’ll never forget the Navy. Maybe I’ll get a deck under my
feet sometime in the distant future.”
“That will likely remain in your dreams; I’m sorry to say. How can
the Navy help you today?”
“Has the Army requisitioned everything out of the naval and marine
warehouses yet?”
“I think the Army has forgotten we exist, which is not a bad thing at
all.”
“That’s good, Admiral. I essentially need everything you can ship
me before the Army wakes up and takes it. There are a lot of people
running around taking advantage of their DP orders.”
Nimitz rubbed his chin as he held the telephone receiver and then
came to a decision. “If I’ve got it, Ray, you’ve got it.”
“Okay, Sir. I need tentage, Quonset huts, rations, vehicles, tools,
and if you have any exceptional logisticians, I would be in your debt.”
Nimitz chuckled. “You’re already in my debt. But what’s a couple
of trainloads of goods between friends.”
“And could I ask for a solid group of Marines to guard the
shipments, Sir? I think we’ll need someone who is not afraid to stare down
flag officers. Maybe if you put “DP” into the written orders, we won’t lose
the shipments. You can bet the Army will try to grab it if it figures out what
we’re doing.”
“Are you telling me this is DP, Ray?”
“I’m working for Mark Clark, and he definitely is working under
DP. If you want, I can telex you a set of orders under his cover.”
“That might be wise. I don’t think Harry Truman would bother me
about what we’re trying to do, but there are plenty of useless people at the
Pentagon who would get their rocks off by messing with us.”
“Very well, Admiral. Thank you for your time.”
“If we’re going to be doing this a lot, Ray, then you need to plan to
make a trip down here so I can buy you dinner.”
“I will certainly keep that in mind, Sir. Thank you for your help.”
“Glad to.”
And Nimitz hung up.
 
 
  
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
 
 
May 1, 1944; 2PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Schloss always wondered why famous scientists were seemingly
unable to tame their hair. He welcomed Konrad Zuse into his office and idly
considered whether the man had been in contact with a severe charge of
static electricity. By all accounts, the Zuse was a genius, although he did not
receive due credit for his contributions to computer science for decades
after the fact.
“I am glad to see that you got safely out of Berlin, Herr Doctor. You
have reopened your laboratory in Leipzig, is that correct?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. When the Russians came over the
Oder River, I began arranging the move immediately. We got all of our
people and equipment out in good order.”
“I am glad to hear that. Was there some reason to select Leipzig
rather than a location further away from the front?”
Zuse tilted his head slightly. “I wanted to relocate to Munich but,
the Army told me that Leipzig was good enough. When I tried to explain
that I was working on a strategic project for the Reich Chancellor, they told
me I would have to take my chances.”
Schloss scribbled a note on the pad in front of him. This was
something Rundstedt needed to know. He felt like he was the only one in
the government who recognized what Zuse was doing.
“Very well. You should be fine for the moment. I think I will have
you speak with the Reichsmarshall while you are in town. I have had
difficulty in convincing people of the importance of your work. How badly
did the interruption affect you?”
“I would say we lost about three weeks. The new laboratory is not
as nice as the old one, but we have an adequate electrical supply. And that’s
the most important thing.”
“And what is the progress on your Z4 device?” Schloss asked.
“We were just completing it when we had to leave Berlin.
Fortunately, it was not damaged in the move. We are running tests on it
now, and so far, any issues have been minor.”
“And have you identified an area where we can put the machine to
work?”
“Yes, mein Herr. The Army ballistics group has agreed to test the
machine.”
“And are they enthusiastic?” Schloss asked with a smile.
Zuse grinned back at the Reich Chancellor. “I would suggest they
were grudging in their acceptance.”
“I think they resented my interference. I passed the word down that
they would accept the machine for testing, and they would make every
effort to succeed.”
“I hate to have to twist people’s arms,” Zuse commented, “but this
is the kind of thing that accrues advantages to the Reich. On the other hand,
our invention of solid electron tubes has drawn a huge amount of interest.”
“Is that so? Can you give me a summary of how that project is
going?”
“Yes, mein Herr. Herr Ribbentrop has signed a nonexclusive
contract with Siemens to develop the invention. They hope to have
production devices in about eighteen months. The Askania Works also has a
contract, and Herr Ribbentrop finds that to be significant. We also signed a
contract with a small consortium of inventors and engineers. They made no
commitments to a schedule, but they are very excited about it.”
“That is encouraging,” Schloss commented. “Refresh my memory;
what does the Askania works do?”
Zuse looked confused. “Herr Ribbentrop told me that you own
significant stock in that company. I must not have heard him correctly. I am
probably not supposed to know this, but they make guidance computers for
some of our secret weapons.”
Careful, Hennie, Schloss thought, you’ve been in this world for
three years, and there are still things that can trip you up.
He waved a hand. “I suppose that has slipped my mind. But it looks
like this invention is showing promise.”
 “Oh, yes. I sat in on one of the meetings between the Siemens
scientists and the people on my team that did the research. Siemens thinks
this will revolutionize the radio and electronics industries. I think this will
be even bigger than the market for my computational machines. And as the
costs come down, the parts will find their way into new applications.”
“Did you not say that you would be able to use this development in
your machines?”
“I had thought to use electron tubes in the Z4, and you instructed
me to make that a separate development. That project is moving slowly.”
Schloss glanced around the room as he thought. “The Z4 works
satisfactorily with the telephone relays, does it not?”
“Yes, it does, Herr Reich Chancellor. If the solid tubes work out as
well as the Siemens people think, a calculating machine would be orders of
magnitude faster. I had some ideas about combining that with the card
tabulating machines that we purchased from IBM.”
It looks like he is already on the right track. “It sounds to me like
you have a lot of good ideas, Herr Zuse. I am very pleased with your work.”
Zuse had done very well on a shoestring budget. He had an
operating electro-mechanical computer and was seriously thinking about
ways to advance the technology. After the scientist left, Schloss walked
over to his secretary’s desk.
“Willem, please send a note to Joachim Ribbentrop. I would like to
give a bonus to Herr Zuse and would like his suggestions as to the amount.”
“At once, Herr Reich Chancellor. Your next appointment is here.”
He glanced over to see Peter Schreiber sitting in a chair in Willem’s
office.
“Peter, let me step down the hall for a minute, and then we can get
started.”
“I suppose if I got in your way, the results would not be pretty.”
Schloss shook his fist at his brother-in-law as he stepped into the
hallway on his way to the toilet. A few minutes later, he was back in his
office with Peter sitting across from him. Willem had replenished the coffee
supply, and Schloss sighed in bliss as he took his first sip of the fresh cup.
“What do we have today, Peter?”
“My people are agitating to move back to Berlin. The facilities
there are much better than we have here. I know you are not in favor of this,
but I wanted to run it by you again.”
“Are you talking about the Foreign Ministry or the propaganda
group?”
“The propaganda group. All the embassies have set up temporary
quarters here in Frankfurt. Moving the Foreign Ministry back to Berlin at
this time would be pointless.”
“Are they getting the work done?”
“The propaganda group? Yes, I would say so. That’s a very
productive group of people.”
“I don’t know, Peter. You are saying that the main reason is so they
can be more comfortable?”
Schreiber had a rueful grin. “When you put it that way, the answer
is pretty clear, isn’t it?”
“We’ve talked about this. I know sooner or later we will have to
move back to Berlin. It’s more of a question of when we feel like we can
afford to lose two or three weeks' worth of work to get it done. And I’m not
convinced we will necessarily stop the Russians from coming across the
Oder River again if they make up their minds they need to do so.”
Schreiber took another sip of coffee and then rubbed his lips.
“When do you think we can move the government back to Berlin?”
Schloss’s executive chair was on casters as well as a vertical shaft.
It would rock forward and backward, and he now turned it back and forth
behind the desk as he thought. He really liked the chair.
“Why don’t you put that on the agenda for the next Council
meeting, Peter? In my thinking, we ought to stay here until the war is over
with.”
“I knew that’s what you were thinking, Hennie. But from a
propaganda standpoint, I wonder if we are sending the right message by
doing that.”
“That’s why we need to talk this over. I may be getting tunnel
vision concerning the war. We don’t want to miss an opportunity to advance
Germany’s interests and the rest of the world.”
Schreiber nodded. “I’ll put it on the agenda, then. The next item:
I’ve been talking to Khrushchev and Smirnov to get some idea of their
plans for Ukraine.”
“Might we be getting ahead of ourselves there?”
 “Not at all,” Peter responded. “I want to have a plan in place so that
at the right time, they will declare the Ukrainian state, and we will
immediately recognize them.”
“Okay, I can see the value of that. It will likely be a while before
anybody else is willing to drop an ambassador or a chargé d’affaires into
Kiev.”
“I wonder, with a little bit of effort, if we could convince the
English and the Italians to recognize them at the same time we do.”
Schloss rocked back and forth in his chair as he considered what
Schreiber had said. “This really is a nice chair, Peter.”
“I believe you have mentioned that to me a time or two before.”
“I’m not trying to evade your question. I think your line of thinking
has merit, and I suspect the Queen is angry enough at the Russians to sign
on to something like this immediately. Has anybody talked to Ciano
lately?”
“Our ambassador in Rome talks to him regularly. They are
exceedingly thankful that we did not drag them into our war with Russia.”
“Is he aware that we think the Italian Army would have been more
trouble than it was worth to bring them into the war?”
Schreiber chuckled. “Oh yes, he is very much aware of that. I
understand he is doing something about it.”
“Doing something about the quality of his army?” Schloss asked.
“Yes. He has forcibly retired most of the senior officers, and he has
also rented some people from the English to start reorganizing and
retraining them.”
“That is interesting. I’m glad you told me. Please keep an eye on
that to see if that will ultimately affect our relationship with the Italians.”
“I will do so. That occurred to me as well.”
“What else do we have today?”
“I am planning a trip to London sometime in the next couple of
months. I will be meeting with Lord Halifax, of course. I also plan to spend
some time with Colin Marty.”
“That’s the Queen’s private secretary, right?”
Schreiber nodded. “Yes. He is having a tough time dealing with the
death of his wife. I thought maybe I could encourage him.”
 “That is a kind thing to do, Peter,” Schloss said. “I’m not
discounting the personal aspects of the trip, but I think it’s a good idea. I
should probably send a personal note with you to give to the Queen,
thanking her for the matériel they have kindly loaned us.”
Schreiber grinned. “I have the draft already prepared, and I will
send it over for you to look at.”
Schloss glared at Schreiber. “You enjoy doing things like this, don’t
you?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Right. If there’s nothing else, I suppose you should get back to
your office before I throw something at you.”
“Perish the thought.”
 

 
CHAPTER NINETEEN
 
 
May 2, 1944; 10 AM
Breslau, Polish Territory
 
Ferdinand Schörner and Erwin Rommel stood in the central square
and gazed at the ruins of the Silesian town of Breslau. The war had passed
over the city several times in the preceding five years, and there was little
left but rubble.
“It seems you have achieved our immediate objective, Herr
General,” Rommel said.
Schörner nodded. “This operation was far less difficult than I
anticipated. Since the ground is firming up, I propose we stand down for a
few days to take care of maintenance issues and then push on to Poznan.”
Rommel continued gazing at the city and then turned to the other
general. “What do you expect to achieve by taking Poznan?”
“Why we will cut off the Russian forces on the Oder River as well
as block the resupply. That should be obvious.”
“And you plan to do this with four divisions?”
 “I plan to request four more divisions from the reserve, Herr
General. I know things are very lean right now, but we do not want to pass
up this opportunity.”
“It is not just resupply coming from the east,” Rommel stated.
“Stalin has a new army commander that is going to be working hard to earn
his stars.”
“Exactly. It is a perfect opportunity to teach the Russians a lesson.”
“And we need to remember our lessons, Herr General. I believe you
could probably get to Poznan without difficulty. But the Russians will likely
have forces five or six times stronger than yours, and they would have the
luxury of directly taking you out at Poznan or cutting your line of retreat.”
“But you were able to cut off the Russians and force their surrender
in Berlin,” Schörner persisted.
“I was able to do that because the Russians made several serious
mistakes. They pushed into Berlin with inadequate supplies, and we were
able to hold reinforcements at the river. Here on the Polish plains, you don’t
have any natural features to fortify. The Russians would cut you up in
detail. I am not comfortable even with you sitting here in Breslau. If the
Russians shoved a few divisions up from Kattowitz, you would be in real
trouble.”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing,” Schörner shouted. “We have
an opportunity to go on the offensive and shorten the war.”
“And you remember what happened to us when we got a little too
overconfident at Lodz. Walter Model lost a hundred thousand men, and that
was after he did everything right.”
“Obviously, Herr General,” Schörner exclaimed, rolling the title
back in Rommel’s face, “Walter Model did not do everything right if he
suffered a loss like that. I am surprised the Reich Chancellor didn’t sack
him after that.”
Rommel turned to face Schörner, and eventually, his glare burned
through Schörner’s iciness. “Be careful, Herr General. Be very careful. The
decision to open the salient was a consensus decision made by the OKW,
the governing Council, and the Reich Chancellor himself.”
“I am not suggesting it was a bad decision, but only that it was
poorly executed.”
 “Furthermore,” Rommel said, warming to the subject, “if the
Russians wipe you out here or at Poznan, there would be nothing to stop
them from pushing through to Prague and then moving north into Germany.
We recently won a significant victory, but we still have to handle our sword
carefully.”
“Fa! I don’t understand why you are suddenly so timid, Erwin.”
“I want the Russians to break their teeth at the Oder River. We can
hold them and bleed them at minimal cost to our forces. Mobile warfare
here in Silesia is not feasible when you have forces to your left and right
that are larger than yours. It’s suicidal.”
“Mobile war is what the Wehrmacht does best, Herr General. We
can tie the Russian up in knots.”
“Very well then, Herr General. Let me make this as clear and
unmistakable as possible. Your orders are to remain in Breslau until the
Reich Chancellor or the high command tells you otherwise. You have the
liberty to retreat should circumstances require it, but you will not move
forward. Is that clear enough?”
Schörner pulled himself to attention. “Jawohl, Herr General!”
“Fine. Before I return to Berlin, I need to look at your logistic
situation.”
“Of course, Herr General.”
 
§§§
 
May 3, 1944; 10 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“You are looking tired, Joachim,” Schloss said when the other man
sat down across from him.
“I am tired, Herr Reich Chancellor. I don’t know how you do it.”
“My minders insist that I get the necessary rest. They seem to feel
the world would not survive without me.”
Ribbentrop laughed. “I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I
don’t think Germany could survive without you.”
 If I agree with him, does that mean I am guilty of hubris? Schloss
thought. Hitler and his minions were so thorough in their takeover of the
country it is hard to find people willing to take leadership.
“I heard an object lesson one time that when you begin to feel self-
important, take a bucket and fill it with water. You place your hand in the
water. When you pull it out, the hole that remains is the measure of how
much you will be missed.”
“I somehow think you are more important than that,” Ribbentrop
chuckled.
The commerce minister looked up as Willem offered him the cup of
coffee on a saucer. “Thank you, Willem.”
Schloss swung around and poured a fresh cup from the decanter on
his credenza. He spun back around to face Ribbentrop. “Do you like my
new chair?”
Ribbentrop laughed again. “I have heard about your chair. Do you
realize that you will contribute to our balance of payments deficit when
everybody starts ordering those things from the Americans?”
“I stand corrected. From here on out, my lips are sealed about the
chair.”
The conversation stopped briefly on each sipped from their cups.
Schloss’s love of coffee was well known, so there was no problem
procuring truly excellent coffee for his office.
“What do you have for me today, Joachim?”
“Just our usual problems with the economy, Herr Reich Chancellor.
We are pouring a lot of money into the armaments industries, and consumer
goods are getting a bit scarce. So inflation is creeping up again.”
“And after what happened to us in the 20s,” Schloss commented,
“everyone is going to be very sensitive to that. And rightfully so, I might
add.”
“Correct. We are soaking up a lot of peoples’ extra cash with the
war taxes, but we are just about at the limits of what we can do there
without a backlash from the people.”
“You are a better theoretician than I am. Is there a threshold on the
tax that once we go above, it starts becoming counterproductive?”
“I don’t think there is a hard and fast rule,” the commerce minister
replied. “Everyone knows the war situation, so there is not a lot of interest
in rocking the boat. But at some level, people start to wonder why they are
even bothering to work. We would see morale and productivity slide, and
we would wonder why.”
Schloss picked up his pencil and turned to the point on his notepad
as he thought. “Are we getting any traction on our war bonds?”
“Oh yes, they are doing well. The problem with war bonds is that
they show up as debt on the government balance sheet. Twenty-five years
from now, when they come to term, somebody will have a problem.”
“I am perfectly willing to defer that particular problem,” Schloss
grinned. “Are we getting much in the way of foreign sales on the bonds?”
“No, it is primarily a domestic product. We sell a few in England
and Italy, and even in Judaea. But that’s about it.”
“Should we consider marketing them more heavily outside of
Germany?”
“We could, but our primary goal with the bonds was to soak up
excess income in the Reich.”
“I’m glad we have you doing this,” Schloss said. “These wheels
within wheels make my head spin.”
“As you know, one of the problems we faced is that we had almost
completely transitioned back to a peacetime economy when the war with
Russia started. Shifting many of the plants back to armaments did not go as
smoothly as we would have liked. Fortunately, it’s a buyers’ market out
there for armaments right now. “
Ribbentrop continued. “The Americans are focused on cleaning up
their industrial accident. Rather than demobilizing, they shifted their army
around to be the main resource for cleanup. But they have a lot of surplus
weaponry for sale. The English are in a similar position but need the foreign
exchange worse than the Americans.”
“However tragic the circumstances may be,” Schloss added, “the
Queen’s grudge against Stalin has been immensely valuable to us. Without
the 250 kilogram bombs they supplied us, I don’t think we would have held
the Russians.”
“I am not in a position to argue that point,” Ribbentrop said. “The
support of the English has been invaluable.”
“It sounds like you are managing things about as well as can be
expected,” Schloss said. “Other challenges?”
 “There is the general labor shortage. Everybody is screaming for
workers, and this will put more pressure on inflation than anything due to
rising wages.”
“And they are competing with the Army for some of the prime
employees.”
Ribbentrop nodded. “Exactly. If we are going to continue to expand
our workforce, there are several things we will have to consider.”
“Okay,” Schloss prodded. “Judging from the way you approach
this, it’s something you don’t want to talk about with me.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It is just that we face some difficult choices.
We could implement a guest worker program and bring in people from
Eastern Europe or the Middle East to work in the factories.”
“And then you need to review, for the record, the problems with
that,” Schloss directed.
“There are the language and cultural barriers. With large numbers
of guest workers, there are real challenges in controlling them when they
are not at work. Further, once they are here, they will want to bring their
families and stay permanently. Do we want to do that?”
“Those are some good questions,” Schloss said. “Is there another
option?”
“We lower the age for participation in the workforce to sixteen.
That will bring in a lot of workers to the factories, but many of those people
are already working on the farms.”
“And we don’t want to impact the productivity of our farms.”
“Correct. The third option is to release our women into the
workforce.”
“And we reverse one of the key tenets of Nazi doctrine,” Schloss
provided. “You know, and I know, Joachim, that’s probably the best
option.”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor, I believe it is.”
Schloss stared up at the ceiling and swung his chair back and forth
as he thought. Then he looked at Ribbentrop again. “Okay, put it on the
agenda for the next government Council meeting. We are going to have to
force everyone to eat a spoon full of mineral oil and convince them that
they like it.”
 “I don’t know that I would have expressed it quite in that fashion,”
Ribbentrop commented. “But I think we all understand the dilemma.”
“We will just have to handle it carefully.”
“I am happy to leave that one in your lap, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“I am sure you are.”
Later that evening, Schloss sat in the living room of his home and
nursed a cup of coffee. Gisela was curled up next to him on the sofa and
cradled a sleeping baby. Peter sat across the room, studied a Foreign
Ministry document, and enjoyed the peacefulness since Gratia was asleep.
“So it looks like we’re going to need to put the nation’s women to
work.
“That is going to be a problem, isn’t it?” Gisela asked. “It’s not just
what the party has been saying for the last fifteen years, but we will be
changing hundreds of years of German tradition.”
“And we will be changing our culture,” Peter interjected. “That’s
the big thing. Once our German girls get a taste of the freedom of their
income, they will be demanding the vote again and eventually participate
everywhere.”
“Is that such a bad thing, Peter?” Gisela asked.
“Not necessarily. I mean, everyone else is doing it. The Americans,
the English, and the Russians, God help us. All I’m saying is that we had
better gain a broad consensus before we do this because there will be no
going back.”
“And Peter will get to manage the promotion of the new policy,”
Schloss said with a grin.
Peter glowered at his brother-in-law. “I’ll bet you have been waiting
all evening to tell me that.”
Schloss shrugged. “I noticed that you seem to be at loose ends
lately, Peter. It will keep you from being bored.”
“Oh, thank you very much.”
 
 

 
CHAPTER TWENTY
  
 
May 5, 1944; 10 AM
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Colin Marty looked up as the dapper-looking man entered the
office. It took a moment before he recognized Peter Schreiber, and he
jumped to his feet.
“Oh, Herr Foreign Minister. Welcome to London.”
“Thank you. And there has been a lot of water over the dam since
we last met.”
“Yes.” Marty stuck out his hand as Peter walked across the room
and extended his hand. “It is an honor to see you again. I don’t understand
how you dare travel alone, all things considered.”
“Oh, my minders are stooging around outside. The Reichsprotektor
insisted that six guards travel with me. I convinced them that if I wasn’t
safe in the Queen’s palace, I wasn’t safe anywhere. They took it with ill-
grace, I might add.”
Marty snorted. “Minders are like that. When Her Majesty travels,
she and I constantly work to prune back the entourage.”
“The Reichsprotektor travels with a single aircraft, and when the
seats are filled, that’s it. He has refused to add a second airplane, and his
secretary plays off one group against the other for seats. I think the man
enjoys the blood sport.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” Marty commented. “I might suggest
that to Her Majesty.”
“I understand,” Peter said, “that her sense of humor is such that she
might enjoy something like that.”
“Yes, but we try not to encourage it,” Colin said, rolling his tongue
around in his cheek.
“Speaking of which, I had an appointment with Her Majesty,” Peter
said. “I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“I must offer apologies, but Her Majesty had a meeting with her
Seneschal this morning, and it has gone longer than expected. She sent
word she would do her best to get here presently.”
“No need to apologize, Colin. We all have days like that.”
“This is a bit unusual. The queen is usually a stickler about her
schedule. How was your meeting with Lord Halifax?”
“Short and productive. We were able to dispatch the trade items
with little discussion. The general session tomorrow will be more involved,
of course.”
“Of course.”
Peter leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. After clearing
his throat, he spoke again.
“So, how are you doing, Colin, really?”
The grief briefly conquered Colin’s face. “It’s really rough. I mean,
I understand that intellectually, but I guess I will now be more sympathetic
to other peoples’ losses.”
Peter grimaced. “Having been there, I can say with confidence that
I don’t think the pain will ever go away completely, nor would I want it to.
But it is easier now after six or seven months. But, God, how I miss
Renate.”
Colin nodded. “It is tough walking in the house each evening. She
loved that place. And you have a child.”
“And that is what has kept me going. Since I am raising Gratia, it
keeps me grounded.”
“And I have my job. It keeps me focused.”
“I understand. Between the job and some good friends, I manage.”
“Do you have those well-meaning folks who invade your life
thinking to console you?”
Peter laughed. “God save us from the well-meaning. I have had
several who insist on introducing me to eligible ladies. To be honest, several
were very nice, but all it did was make me miss Renate the more. And I
came to offer you encouragement, not cry in my beer.”
“And I’m delighted you are here. Just knowing someone who is
going through the same experience has been comforting.”
“Herr Foreign Minister, I apologize for my tardiness,” Margaret
Windsor said as she swept into the room. Keeping a representative of a
friendly government waiting is simply inexcusable on my part.”
 Schreiber stood and clicked his heels in the proper Prussian manner.
“It is certainly not a problem, Your Majesty. Colin and I have been able to
fill in the time quite profitably.”
“Very well, come on into my lair. We have things to discuss.”
Colin stopped Peter as he walked towards the door. “If your
schedule allows, would you be available for dinner tonight?”
“I have kept my schedule open, and I would be happy to dine with
you.”
The two men walked into the Queen’s office. Peter thought the
queen seemed uncommonly cheerful, which was a nice contrast to the
sheets of rain beating against the windows.
“Bit of dirty weather, don’t you think, Herr Foreign Minister?”
“I’m just glad we got into the airport before the worst of it hit.”
“Just so. I’m just as glad I don’t have any outdoor events on my
schedule for today. It’s bad enough subjecting the Royal Subjects to my
speeches but doing so during a downpour goes beyond the bounds of
reason.”
“Just so, Your Majesty,” Colin said sotto voce.”
“Colin thinks I don’t hear his little incendiary comments, but I am
merely collecting evidence before I toss him into the Tower.”
Peter smiled. He had heard that the Queen did not take herself too
seriously, and this seemed to confirm that. Her affection for her secretary
was apparent as well.
“Very well,” the queen continued. “Shall we begin?”
“First of all,” Peter started, “I wanted to thank you personally for
your recent help during our war with the Russians. Particularly, we
probably would not have held the Russians without the 250-kilogram
bombs. And the Mosquito squadron has been invaluable for ground
support.”
“The unofficial Mosquito Squadron,” the queen corrected.
“Of course. We understand your reluctance to get into another war
and understand.”
“I can assure you,” Margaret said, “that we do not want to be facing
the Red Army across the Channel. I am uncertain, however, that the British
public would tolerate us shedding British blood on the continent in support
of a former enemy. The people like the current arrangement, and I have a bit
of latitude in how I utilize our resources to help. I think, given a few years
for things to settle further, we will have a closer relationship between our
countries.”
“That is our hopeful expectation,” Peter replied.
“Very well, let’s talk about things that we can accomplish together.
In particular, I wondered if Herr Schloss has given thought to the postwar
environment.”
And the discussion continued for another ninety minutes. Margaret
was rather proud of herself for arranging time for Peter and Colin to talk. To
further her goal, she suggested they have lunch. Colin had done remarkably
well dealing with his tragedies, but she could tell Peter had already had a
measurable effect on Colin.
 
§§§
 
May 6, 1944; 9 AM
British Foreign Office
Whitehall
London, England, UK
 
Joachim Ribbentrop leaned over to whisper to Peter Schreiber. “I
still don’t know why you wanted me here, Peter.”
“Because we need to put together more business deals with the
English, and you are the best we have in that area.”
“I didn’t endear myself to the English when I was the ambassador
here.”
“Well, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Just don’t screw it
up.”
Also in the room besides Schreiber and Ribbentrop were Colin
Marty, Lord Halifax, Clement Attlee, and the Queen. Schreiber noted that
Attlee seemed to be glaring at the queen and wondered if there was a
problem in that relationship. Schreiber and Ribbentrop had each brought
their secretaries but had limited the size of the entourage at Peter’s urging.
“Let me state for the record,” Margaret began, “that I am here as an
observer only. I have complete confidence in My government and am
mainly interested in the details of our relationship with Germany.”
 “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Attlee said smoothly. “We would like
to welcome the German delegation to London and welcome the opportunity
to negotiate on matters of mutual interest.”
“I thank you for the invitation,” Peter said, “and Germany is
appreciative of England’s assistance during our current challenging
situation.”
“I wonder, Herr Schreiber,” Halifax interjected, “if you might tell us
how the German government evaluates the current state of the war with the
Soviet Union?”
“Of course, Sir” he replied. “As you are aware, we were in a
desperate situation when Smirnoff captured Berlin. However, Rommel’s
actions that forced Smirnoff to surrender changed the dynamic of the war
considerably. I would not claim that we are winning the war at this point,
but we have the Russians on the defensive for the first time.”
“And you also have a large prisoner population to guard and feed,”
Wood said.
“True, although we have some experience with that after our actions
in northern Africa.”
Attlee blushed. Rommel had forced the surrender of the British
army under Montgomery and interned them in Egypt. That action had
hastened the end of the war with Britain. The queen was not entirely
successful in hiding the smirk on her face.
“Has Smirnoff been cooperative?” Wood asked.
“Very much so,” Peter replied. “I would also note, although we
want the information held close, that along with Smirnoff, we captured
Nikita Khrushchev. He was with Smirnoff in Berlin when we trapped the
Russian armies.”
“What is happening now?” the British Foreign Minister asked.
“We have several divisions pushing into the Silesian district from
Prague. We are prepared to pull them back to a defensive position since the
Russians are working hard to reinforce their armies on the Oder River.
General Schörner has four divisions, and they would be annihilated under
any scenario we envision. The Reich Chancellor has directed that we
continue to bleed the Russians while preserving our forces.”
“How long can that go on?” Halifax asked.
 “The strategy has worked well for us,” Peter replied. “We have been
successful in trading space for time, other than the Berlin offensive.
Smirnoff surprised us with his breakthrough and was in Berlin before we
could appropriately react. It is clear in hindsight that he moved before he
was ready. We were able to cut his supply lines, and that made his surrender
a matter of time.”
“Very well,” Attlee said. “Thank you for that update. Now, since
trade is on the agenda, what would you like to propose?”
“First of all,” Peter said, “we are grateful for the supply of bombs
and other ammunition you have released to us. We want to continue that
supply on a contractual basis, and we will pay either in kind or in specie.”
“What is your government’s financial situation?” Attlee asked.
Peter looked over at Ribbentrop to answer the question.
“It could be better, to be honest, but we are making do. We have
avoided heavy sovereign debt and are financing the war primarily from the
German economy. Some type of mutual investment in each other’s
economies would be helpful.”
“But what is your greatest need?” the Queen interrupted?
“Manpower!” was Ribbentrop’s one-word response.
“Could you elaborate on that, please?” she asked. Attlee was once
again glaring at her.
“The Wehrmacht has first call on personnel, naturally. And this
removes the most productive men from the industrial sector. We have jobs
to fill and not enough people.”
Margaret nodded. “That is a problem. What is Germany doing to
solve the problem?”
Ribbentrop looked at Peter, who nodded.
“We have considered bringing in guest workers. The alternative is
to introduce our women into the workforce.”
“Which other countries have done successfully,” she replied. “What
are the considerations?”
“It goes against a thousand years of German tradition and is
something the government has worked to avoid more recently.”
“And you will likely have to give them the franchise again, is that
not correct?”
Peter smiled. “That is indeed something we must do anyway.”
 “And why have you not done so?” the queen asked.
“Herr Schloss is limited in the amount of change he can accomplish
immediately.”
Margaret studied Schreiber for a few moments. “Yes, I can see how
that might be the case. Would you consider guest workers from the United
Kingdom? The cultural issues would not be so pronounced. And we have a
bit of an unemployment problem.”
“This is something I would need to consult with the Reich
Chancellor about, but the idea sounds like it might be workable.”
“Then you must put that on your list of things to discuss with Herr
Schloss and Clement; I apologize. I did not mean to take over your
meeting.”
“I would be tempted to say the damage is done, Your Majesty, but
the idea has merit.”
“Ever the tactful one, Prime Minister,” she said with a smile.
Peter was again reminded who called the shots in England, and it
wasn’t the prime minister.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
 
 
May 10, 1944; 3 PM
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
Harry Truman left the bathroom in his upstairs quarters and hurried
to the Oval Office. He was late for his meeting, but the cramps in his
intestinal tract forced him to stop along the way. He wasn’t sure if it was
something he had eaten or just picked up a bug. Either way, it was
inconvenient. He hoped the steward would wait for a bit to clean the
bathroom because the smell was frankly embarrassing.
 Admiral Leahy and Vannevar Bush were already present in the Oval
Office when Truman walked in. The secretary had had the presence of mind
to serve coffee and Danish as they waited, but Truman wondered if he
would be wise to avoid the refreshments considering his most recent
experience.
“Gentlemen, I am sorry to be delayed. Perhaps we can quickly
proceed.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Mr. President,” Bush said.
“Thank you,” Truman said as he settled into one of the chairs. “The
purpose of this meeting is to discuss the status of the Manhattan project.”
“The tragedy out West notwithstanding,” Bush commented. “I
believe we would be making a mistake to shut the project down.”
Truman smiled slightly. “You are leading me into what I wanted to
say, Mr. Bush. I have given this a lot of thought, and I agree that it would be
a mistake to shut the project down.”
“That is some good news, anyway. Other than the end of the war,
there has been too little of it.”
“That is certainly correct,” Truman agreed. “The challenge we are
facing is twofold: the first is to determine how to proceed, and the second is
to decide who will run it. I would like your thoughts on this pair of
questions.”
Bush cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair, looking
thoughtful. “While I am familiar with the broad outlines of the project, I
cannot say that I have enough detailed knowledge to make a
recommendation on a direction. However, I believe that sacking General
Groves was a mistake. He was an excellent choice to head the program and
did exceptionally well.”
“I would be hard put to disagree. Leslie Groves was an inspired
choice. But the nature of the accident dictated that he had to go.”
“But he certainly could not have predicted or prevented the
accident. It was not his fault.”
“I agree with you, Mr. Bush,” Truman nodded. “But he was
responsible, and the accident happened on his watch, as it happened on
mine. You will note, though, that he is still working for the government.”
“Yes, and I wondered about that. He is certainly keeping a low
profile, though.”
 “We should not waste someone with Groves’ skills. The general is
acting as a roving troubleshooter for me personally. He is still involved in
the Manhattan project, though he obviously cannot be in charge of it.”
“Very well,” Bush replied. “I suppose I have to accept that. But,
finding a replacement of Groves’ caliber is going to be a challenge. And we
do not want to wait very long. The entire project has lost momentum
because of the accident, and it’s going to take some efforts to get things
moving again.”
“That is why we are having this meeting. What I had in mind, Mr.
Bush, was for you to lead the project.”
“Ah. I wondered if it was coming to that. I would need to resign my
position at the Office of Scientific Research and Development to manage
the Manhattan district properly. I feel like I have been effective there, and I
hate to leave.”
“You have been effective at the OSRD,” Truman stated. “If the
situation were not so serious, I would be happy to leave you there. But we
need someone of your skills to get this project back on track.”
“I’m playing Devil’s advocate here, but are you truly convinced we
need weapons of that magnitude?”
“We know the Germans and the Brits are working on it, and we
have inferred from some of Yamamoto’s comments that the Japanese were
working on it. We can assume that Stalin has a team working on it as well. I
believe the United States must have these weapons if we are going to be
effective in the future.”
Bush placed his teeth together and hissed through them. “It appears
the genie is out of the bottle, then.”
“Are you surprised?” Truman asked.
“No. But I had my hopes.”
“These scientists gossip like a bunch of old women. Oppenheimer
explained to me that this was how things had advanced so quickly.
Unfortunately, the fundamentals, as I understand them, are common
knowledge in the scientific community.”
“That means we are in a race, then,” Truman commented.
“I suppose I shall accept the job, then,” Bush said. “This is an Army
project, so I would strongly recommend that we have an Army officer
report to me who would be responsible for the day-to-day operation of the
project.”
Leahy spoke for the first time during the meeting. “We have already
embedded Mark Clark into the program. He would be the natural officer for
the job, and he has a good track record.”
“No,” Truman responded. “He has his hands full with the mess out
in Washington state. I think we can all agree that the cleanup has priority.
But with the end of the war, the Manhattan project will probably be the
biggest item in the military budget.”
“It’s going to be hard to keep it secret,” Bush commented.
“When the Hanford plant blew up, we lost any ability to keep the
project black.” Truman looked frustrated. “I’ve got both a house and a
Senate committee looking into this. And there is going to be resistance to
continued funding for the program.”
“Can’t we shut the inquiry down because of national security?”
“No, Mr. Bush. I refuse to do that. The Congress represents the
people of this country and has oversight over everything we do. I did sit
down with the members of both committees and stressed to them that if any
of them are discovered to have leaked information, they will be arrested and
probably end up in prison.”
“Did they believe you?”
Admiral Leahy laughed. “Let’s just say that we hope no one wants
to find out.”
Bush smiled. “I suppose I could say that your reputation precedes
you, Mr. President.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Very well, Mr. President. I assume this change is immediate.”
“It is,” Truman confirmed.
“May I consult with General Groves on the details of settling into
the new position?”
“You may. As it happens, he is in town at the moment. I will have
Admiral Leahy give him a heads up on what is happening. I want to keep
this change confidential. When asked, as you certainly will be, simply say
you are involved in a task at the direction of the president. People will
eventually figure out what you are doing, but they have also learned not to
get nosy around this project.”
 “Mr. President, I am honored that you considered me for this job. I
will do my very best.”
Truman stood up, indicating the meeting was over. “I know you
will, and I expected nothing less. Thank you for coming in today.”
After the man whom everyone believed was the nation’s chief
scientist had left the Oval Office, Admiral Leahy looked at the president.
“I’m glad that went well. He was content over at OSRD, you
know.”
“Considering the scope of the disaster we have to clean up, it’s
going to take our very best people to straighten things out.”
Leahy nodded. “Do you think it is wise to leave town again so soon,
Mr. President?”
“I need to visit more of the refugee camps. A lot of American
citizens still wonder what in the hell the government is doing. We have to
continue to reassure them or things will start to come apart.”
“And you’re going to have to fit your reelection campaign into this
somehow.”
“And you’re expecting me to say, ‘screw the election?’” Truman
snapped. “That would be the coward’s way out, Admiral. We have a job to
finish here. I am under no illusions that there are some Republicans who
would be just as capable in this office as I. But there is no time for them to
get up to speed. I plan to campaign aggressively. If we lose, then I am
willing to leave things in the hands of Providence.”
“Will there be anything else, Mr. President?”
“While we are on the subject, please send a memo over my
signature to Mr. Hoover requesting that he spare no effort to in keeping an
eye on the congressional committees. The scientists are not the only ones
who gossip like a bunch of old women. Now, if you would hold my next
appointment for ten minutes, I feel the urgent need to return to the
bathroom.”
And the President of the United States walked quickly from the
Oval Office.
 
§§§
 
May 11, 1944; 10 AM
Stalin’s Office
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
“You wished to see me, Comrade General Secretary?” The head of
the NKVD asked.
“Sit down, Sergei. We must talk.”
Kruglov sat in the chair across from Stalin’s desk. It was unusual to
be summoned directly to the leader’s inner sanctum. Usually, Stalin
preferred to meet in his conference room. Kruglov wondered if Stalin could
control the dynamics better in that room or if he chose not to have
intrusions into his privacy.
“How may I serve the Soviet Union?” he asked.
“We have a problem in the West,” Stalin began without preamble.
“The Nazis dealt us a severe defeat in Berlin, and now they have an army
sitting in Breslau. The generals commanding the Red Army seem to have
become timid. We should have lopped the head off of the serpent in Breslau
and reinforced the armies on the Oder. I am also unhappy with Comrade
Malenkov’s management of the war industries. We are missing too many
opportunities, Sergei.”
“Our options would be either to replace those in responsible
positions or somehow encourage them to do better,” Kruglov said.
“How long has Chuikov been in the West?”
“About a month, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin seemed to ponder this for a few moments and then raised a
finger. “You will warn him that we expect results.”
“I will get a message off immediately,” Kruglov replied.
“No, Sergei. You will personally deliver the message.”
“As you wish.”
“Does this displease you, Sergei?”
“No, Comrade General Secretary,” Kruglov replied quickly. “You
surprised me.”
Stalin busied himself with loading his pipe with the vile-smelling
tobacco. Kruglov thought he detected a twinkle in the other man’s eye but
was unwilling to bet his life on it. Stalin tunelessly hummed as he filled the
pipe and then struck a match. Once the roiling smoke showed that he had it
alight, he looked at Kruglov again.
“I am not entirely happy with you, Sergei. The Kabul operation
failed, and the project in Honolulu did not achieve the results we desired.”
Kruglov willed his face to remain expressionless despite the chill
that ran down his back. “I make no excuses, Comrade General Secretary.
Both operations were my responsibility, and they did not pay off as we had
hoped.”
Stalin held his pipe in his hand as he stared at the NKVD chief. “I
understand these were difficult operations. But we must do better.”
“Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”
“You have a trip to make,” Stalin said as he waved Kruglov out of
the room.
Once in the hallway, the head of the NKVD was able to sweat
freely. He had held his breath for weeks waiting for Stalin to say something
about the failure of the two operations. He had hoped that the shock and
confusion of Smirnov’s surrender would deflect attention away from him.
But Stalin had waited for an opportune time to tip him off balance. Kruglov
reminded himself to never underestimate the man.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
 
 
May 12, 1944; 9 AM
Old Executive Office Building
Washington, DC, USA
 
Leslie Groves was not sure what to expect from his German visitor.
Erich Schumann had given some thought to the best way to ingratiate
himself with his American hosts and decided his professorial persona would
make the Americans more comfortable with him. He wasn't sure how
people would react to his army uniform, although he was entitled to wear
the badges of a Colonel.
 Groves walked into his outer office to greet the guest. The short,
spare man was dressed in a finely tailored business suit and looked very
much the scientist Groves was told to expect.
 "Doctor Schumann, I am Leslie Groves," the general, said reaching
out to shake hands.
 "I am honored to meet you, General. You have a fine reputation in
Germany both as a general officer and an engineer. I was delighted when
Herr Doctor Heisenberg recommended me for this task."
 "To be honest, Doctor Schumann…."
 "Please, call me Erich," the German interrupted. The Americans
had a reputation for informality, and he thought it might be a good idea to
play upon that.
 "As I was saying, Erich, we had mixed feelings about bringing a
foreign national into what is one of our most tightly guarded programs in
the United States. But as Larry Oppenheimer reminded me, the physics
behind what we are doing is widely known. We knew we weren't the only
ones working in this area."
Schumann chuckled. "As you say, the physics is widely known and
not that difficult. The engineering, of course, is another matter."
 "And you will understand, of course, that there will be areas that
we cannot allow you to see."
 "Of course, of course. My directive was to observe your cleanup
efforts and to make suggestions if such made sense. We would like to
understand the underlying causes of the disaster so that we can avoid
something similar happening in Germany."
 Groves nodded. "I understand. We only recently got the fires put
out. It will be months before we discover the cause of the accident if we
ever do. Please, come on into my office. It is secure, and we will be able to
talk more freely."
 Schumann glanced around the office and at the Army Master
Sergeant, who acted as Groves’ gatekeeper.
 "I understand completely."
 They retreated to Groves’ office, and the Master Sergeant placed a
pitcher of coffee and a plate of doughnuts on the edge of the desk.
 "First of all," Groves stated, "let me give you the details on how we
will allow you to conduct your observation here in the United States. For
the purposes of your work, you will be considered a guest of the United
States Army. You will travel on Army-provided transport and be billeted in
Army facilities. We will also provide meals. Any other expenses you will be
expected to cover."
 "I understand," Schumann responded.
 "Furthermore, you will be accompanied by two members of the
military police. Their job is to protect you from Americans who may be
overly curious or perhaps even hostile. They will also function as guides
and also politely suggest that you move on when there is something we do
not want you to see."
 Schumann chuckled. "I understand completely, and I appreciate
your hospitality."
 "I appreciate your understanding. We want to be as reasonable and
forthcoming as possible so that nothing like this will ever happen to
Germany. But I did want to make you aware of the limitations."
 "I am delighted that you have been very clear and forthcoming
about this. I will work hard to avoid giving you any reason to mistrust me
or doubt my word."
 "Thank you, Doctor Schumann." Groves picked up a thick binder
containing a typewritten report. "This is a copy of the initial findings
concerning the accident. There are two versions of this report. The top-
secret report contains all the details of the accident that we have at this time.
What you see here is merely secret." Groves grinned. "We have shown this
version of the report to the Congress as well as people in military and
civilian positions who have a general need to know."
"That makes perfect sense," Schumann said. "We understand the
need for compartmentalization."
 "Good. If you are ready to begin, I can assign you to an office
where you can read the report. It will probably take most of the day. When
you need to stop for meals or physical needs, ask the guard to send Master
Sergeant Bieber in who will lock up the document until you return."
 "Thank you, General Groves. I am ready to begin."
Schumann was amazed at the amount of information the Americans
had managed to pull together. It was clear to him that the Americans were
careful scientists and keen observers of physical phenomena. They were
also careful to separate speculation from hard fact.
 This version of the document did not include theories on the cause
of the accident; however, there was discussion of the potential instabilities
of a graphite-moderated nuclear engine. Under some circumstances,
procedures that would usually dampen the production of neutrons and slow
the machine down would have the opposite effect and potentially cause a
runaway reaction.
 They were not sure whether the jamming of the control rod that
preceded the explosion resulted from a mechanical failure or a design flaw.
Schumann inferred that the Americans had a team feverishly working the
theoretical math underlying the design of the machine in hopes of spotting
the flaw that precipitated the accident.
 
§§§
 
May 13, 1944; 6 PM
Wüstewaltersdorf
Lower Silesia
 
“Herr General, it seems you have managed to snatch your forces
from the jaws of the Russians,” Erwin Rommel said.
“Well, Herr General, I am forced to admit that heeding your
directives was the correct action,” a subdued General Schörner said. “We
got out of Breslau by the thinnest of margins.”
Rommel looked around him as the two generals stood talking.
Schörner’s people were rapidly shaking down into defensive positions.
When he had arrived, Rommel had instructed the pilot of his Storch to fly
over the German lines. It looked as though Schörner had placed his forces
in the gaps between the forested hills.
“Do you believe this position to be defensible, Ferdinand?”
“It depends on how determined the Russians are to come through
here. If they are focused on the Oder River line, then I think they just
wanted me out of the way. If they have decided on a major push into
Prague, then I will have to pull back, of course.”
 “The Russians have exhibited straightforward thinking,” Rommel
commented. “We believe they are working to get themselves into a position
to cross the Oder again. But I haven’t really gotten the measure of Chuikov
yet.”
“If they decided to make a major push towards Prague, we have
little to stop them,” Schörner replied. “I think we can back up into the
mountains, such as they are, and hold them long enough to get reinforced.”
“And we don’t have a lot with which to reinforce without pulling
forces from the main front. And then we would have to worry about
whether or not it was simply a feint. We need to be smart about this.”
“I wonder if we have the opportunity to launch some quick thrusts
against them and then pull back.”
Rommel frowned. “Let’s take a look at a map.”
Schörner led the other general into the building he had appropriated
for his headquarters. Stapled to the wall was a large relief map of the
southern Polish territory. He tapped the location of Wüstewaltersdorf with
his index finger.
“We could run a force to the north through the valley towards
Waldenburg as though we were going to encircle Breslau again. Or perhaps
to the southeast, and then north. It would keep the Russians off-balance
while they are trying to move forces and supplies to the Oder.”
Rommel considered what the other general had told him. “The
problem is that your forces are pretty light to be doing anything after
considering the Russian reinforcements. If Chuikov gets frisky, you could
be in real trouble.”
“I just feel like we are not being aggressive enough.”
“Your move into Breslau was plenty aggressive,” Rommel stated
forcefully. “But you also must know when it is time to be conservative. Our
strategy in this war has been to bleed the Russians while conserving our
forces. So far, it has worked well for us.”
Schörner pointed to Frankfurt am Oder and tapped the map. “It
seems to me you are plenty aggressive here, Herr General.”
“And when presented with opportunities like that, we want to be as
aggressive as possible. The Russians left themselves wide open, and we
took full advantage of it.”
 “So the desert fox does not feel anyone else can be as aggressive?”
The sneer was apparent in Schörner’s voice.
Rommel glanced around the room. Most of Schörner’s staff was
present, and they could all hear the conversation. It was a mistake on
Schörner’s part.
“Let me explain the chain of command to you, Herr General,”
Rommel said tightly. “You command this four-division corps with primary
responsibility for the protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. I command the
German forces along the Eastern Front, and you report to me. General
Guderian is responsible for overall military action for the Reich and reports
to the OKW, and I report to him. And General Guderian reports to General
von Rundstedt, who reports to the Reich Chancellor. I set the operational
strategy for the front. My directives to you are not designed to keep you
from being a hero, Herr General, but rather to keep you from endangering
the Reich. Now, we will do this my way, or I will find somebody else to do
it. Do you understand?”
With teeth clenched, Schörner replied. “I understand, Herr general.”
The man was white with rage, but he appeared to Rommel to be listening, at
least.
“Very well. I want a daily report from you on the status of your
forces and what the enemy is doing in this area. Are we clear?”
“We are clear, Herr General.”
“I suppose I need to tell you that I don’t have time to come down
here to wipe your nose every other week,” Rommel spat. “This trip is taking
the better part of two days out of my schedule. God knows what Chuikov is
doing at this time.”
Without another word, Rommel turned and stalked out of the
building. A driver was waiting to take him back to where he had landed. It
was okay that Schörner was angry, for Rommel was furious as well. The
Storch would take him back to Prague, where he would likely have to spend
the night. Then in the morning, he would twiddle his thumbs on the JU52
taking him back to Berlin.
Along the way, Rommel pondered what to do about Ferdinand
Schörner. He treated his subordinates poorly and was disrespectful to those
for whom he worked. The man was also rumored to be an unreconstructed
Nazi, and Rommel wondered if he had ties to the Munich faction. On the
other hand, the man was relatively competent and showed initiative, which
was too rare of a commodity in the Reich. He resolved to talk to Guderian
about it.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
 
 
Prime Minister’s Office
Tokyo, Japan
 
Isoroku Yamamoto stared at the pile of paperwork on his desk. He
idly wondered if the other national leaders dealt with the same kinds of
minutia that he had to read and digest. After engineering an end to the war,
he had thought his life would become much more manageable. Indeed the
peace treaty had removed a massive burden from the nation as well as from
his shoulders. But the challenge of finding work for all of the suddenly
demobilized military personnel grew. That many people on the street
concerned him.
Fortunately, the war had not touched the homeland other than the
single American carrier strike on Tokyo. The comparatively minor damage
required little rebuilding. With the shipments of oil from America
beginning to arrive in the ports, the people’s confidence had grown, and the
economy was starting to grow likewise. The race was on to develop new
business quickly enough to absorb the additional labor.
Yamamoto’s popularity was strong and muted the voices of the
radical nationalists who claimed the peace treaty dishonored Imperial
Japan. The Prime Minister was under no illusions that he would be forced
to deal with this faction sooner or later. The group had widespread support
in the military as well as the government bureaucracy. But, it seemed,
though, that the average citizen of Japan wanted to be left alone to go about
his business.
 The biggest challenge was one that nobody had anticipated. The
Japanese rampage across the Western Pacific had trampled over the very
customers served by the mercantile interests in the country. And the
government was surprised to learn that rapine did not pay as well as
commerce. Two problems presented themselves. While the homeland was
pretty much intact, the Japanese had destroyed the economies of the nations
she had conquered. And assuming those economies recovered, it would take
a generation to regain the trust of those former customers.
The Japanese commerce ministry fully recognized the current peril.
The group had actively sent out representatives around the globe, focusing
on countries that were neutral or friendly to Japan. The commerce team also
actively looked at the strengths of the Japanese manufacturing sector and
was developing an industrial strategy that would sell merchandise around
the globe and create jobs for Japanese military veterans.
Yamamoto picked up a piece of paper from the top of the stack and
glanced at it. It was a memo from the foreign minister. Mamoru Shigemitsu
had written to say that Richard Sorge had been recalled from the German
Embassy and returned to Berlin. Sorge was unusual. Yamamoto had met the
man when he was working as a journalist. The German Foreign Ministry
had co-opted him, and he had served as First Secretary in the German
Embassy for several years.
Japanese military intelligence had uncovered evidence that Sorge
was working for the Soviets. Yamamoto elected to pass this information
along to the Germans as a peace offering. Now it appeared that the Germans
had accepted his advance. Yamamoto snorted to himself. Sorge would
likely have an interesting reception when he arrived in Berlin.
It was time for his audience with the Emperor, so Yamamoto
gathered his notes and walked to his waiting car. Security was now heavy,
and a group of thirty guards accompanied him wherever he went. Though
there had been no more assassination attempts, the bitterness of the radical
nationalists guaranteed that they were actively fulminating against him.
Along the ride to the palace, he pondered what to do about that. It was a
difficult problem.
“And what does our Prime Minister have for us today?” The
emperor asked as he sat on his throne.
 “Majesty, we have a new report from the Ministry of Commerce.
The economy is now growing on a three percent annualized basis, and we
estimate one hundred thousand new jobs have been created across the
homeland. We have also signed an agreement to purchase bauxite from
Australia.”
Hirohito nodded. “The news is good. Is three percent enough to
sustain our employment needs, Prime Minister?”
“Your Majesty is very perceptive. In the short term, we need closer
to five percent growth for our employment needs.”
“That is an honest answer. We look forward to hearing how our
government is working to advance the growth of the nation.”
Yamamoto bowed. “Indeed, your Majesty. The Ministry of
Commerce is developing a plan for economic growth, which we will
present to you for approval.”
“We thank the Prime Minister for his efforts.”
With that, Hirohito stood and slipped from the throne room.
Yamamoto glanced around. There seemed to be more military people in the
room than usual. He would have to ask the military Chief of Staff about
that. The throne room was much more pleasant during the summer without
the coal braziers fogging the air. But the tension sang just as high as ever.
He turned and made his way through the twisting hallways to the
Emperor’s private office.
“Is the unemployment situation going to become a problem?”
Hirohito asked once Yamamoto was ushered into his office.
“It is already a problem, Majesty. The nationalists seem to be
following the German pattern and setting up an organization to attract the
disaffected people. They have not, so far, developed a charismatic leader for
the groups to coalesce around. But make no mistake, they are dangerous.
Other people seem to be drifting into the Communist Party organization,
and that is potentially dangerous as well.”
“What are you doing about this?” Yamamoto noted the Emperor
seemed to be getting querulous. “We saw this happen ten years ago during
the economic troubles. I view that as a direct cause of the war.”
“His Majesty is very perceptive.”
“Please do not patronize me. I am attempting to see things as you
do.”
 Yamamoto was abashed. It was rare for the Emperor to rebuke him
like that directly. He wondered what pressures afflicted the Emperor. The
Prime Minister quickly stood and bowed.
“I stand corrected, your Majesty. I am guilty of being overly
familiar with the throne.”
Hirohito waved a hand. “No matter, Prime Minister. I am simply in
a bad mood this morning. Things are going well; despite my uneasiness
with some of your activities, I have concluded that any change of
government would be dangerous and possibly disastrous. Therefore I must
support the government. Have you given thought to the upcoming
elections?”
“The upcoming elections are something I ponder constantly.
Several options present themselves. I believe we can no longer allow the
military to select or approve the Prime Minister. The military must be
subservient to the civilian government. Otherwise, they will try to destroy
the nation again.”
“I agree. I don’t believe it is commonly known how close the war
brought the nation to ruin. Convincing the Army and the Navy to accept
this will be difficult.”
Yamamoto nodded in agreement but kept his face expressionless,
which was a challenge in the face of the Emperor’s monumental
understatement.
“If we hold elections, I would have to convince the House of
Representatives to maintain you as Prime Minister. The alternative would
be to postpone elections, which I can do.”
“Might I suggest, Majesty,” Yamamoto commented, “that we
develop a plan for bringing the military under civilian control? That should
help us determine how to proceed with the elections. The other problem is
that I must identify myself with a political party, and that is also
problematical.”
“Because you are identified with the military?”
“Exactly, Majesty. And I am no longer popular with a large swath
of the military.”
“Very well, then. We will think on these things.”
Hirohito stood, indicating the meeting was over. During the ride
back to his office, Yamamoto concluded that the Emperor saw no easy
solutions to the problems they faced, and that made two of them.
 
§§§
 
May 13, 1944; 8 PM
Conway Hall
Conway Ethical Society
London, England, UK
 
It was unusual for Winston Churchill to attend a lecture where he
was not the sole speaker. He reminded himself that although his original
purpose in setting up the speaking engagements was to have a way for his
benefactors to pump cash into his accounts discreetly, they desired to build
a movement to restore a Conservative government to the UK. Along the
way, he was caught up in the listeners' enthusiasm, which caused him to
redouble his efforts in preparing the speeches.
This evening, though, he was tasked with giving the closing lecture
of a series that had begun in the morning and continued through the day.
Churchill was not the only Briton who was concerned about the influence
of Heinrich Schloss upon the English government. His speeches stirred up a
groundswell of support for the idea that the Queen should not have given
Germany something gratis, regardless of the desperate position Schloss
found himself in against the Soviets. One school of thought suggested that
any aid to Germany must be tied to a commitment to free the subjugated
peoples of the continent.
Others felt that while ending the war was a good thing; the country
should still have as little to do with Germany as possible. Both groups were
represented in the day’s seminar. Either way, Churchill was motivated to
give as much careful attention to his lectures as he ever did for his speeches
in parliament.
So he mounted the stage in Conway Hall and carefully studied the
crowd before beginning to speak. And it was a crowd. He cleared his throat
and spoke.
I must congratulate this assembled group upon the high level of
attention maintained during this evening. Not only have the speeches
been full of thoughts which have their own particular value because they
 have been contributed from so many angles, but also there have been
successful attempts at oratory which have triumphed over the acoustic
conditions which, I must tell you, are none too good and which will, I
trust, be subject to development, like all the rest of our proceedings.
As a nation we are engaged with a now apparently peaceful
Germany which is in the process of creating a European unit out of a
group of formerly free continental units. Herr Schloss desires we forget
the deceit, the dishonor, and the betrayal we all suffered at the hands of
Hitler and his minions.
And now, Germany is faced with the onslaught of the Godless
Communists who seek to impose their will over Western Europe. Britain
has struggled to remain neutral in the face of continued provocation by
Stalin. And yet, our honor impels us to respond to the cold-blooded
murder of our diplomats in Frankfurt and Kabul. Our fair Queen
Margaret has bid to assist Herr Schloss in repulsing Stalin, but in so
doing has placed a dilemma before the government.
Five ancient capitals of Europe lie under the boot of the German.
A large part of this continent is held in bondage. A communist victory
would exchange one merciless master for another. It is like making a
long and agonizing journey to leave the North Pole only to find out that,
as a result, you have woken up in the South Pole. All around are only ice
and snow and bitter piercing winds.
Then there is the question of human rights, which is the second
subject set down on our agenda for this evening. We attach great
importance to this, not only because of our tradition as a free people, but
also because of our former allies we have abandoned to the Hun. We
should certainly make some provision for association with
representatives of these countries, who are deprived of ordinary
democratic freedom but who will surely regain it in the long march of
time.
 
Churchill stepped off the platform to polite applause and returned to
his chair. The event organizer stood up and made a few brief comments
before politely thanking the people for their attendance. Churchill had
spoken in Conway Hall on several occasions before the war. A small private
club was located a block from the hall, and the former prime minister had
an open invitation to visit any time he desired. He had often stopped there
in the past.
Since he had completed his day’s work, he ordered a stouter
whiskey than usual. He felt he deserved to relax. As long as he could
summon the coherence to take a cab back to his hotel, he would enjoy the
evening.
It was there the organizer of the event found him. He placed a thick
envelope in Churchill’s hand.
“A rather good day, Prime Minister, to be sure.”
“With six speakers, I wondered about my share of the donations,”
Churchill responded.
“A couple of five hundred pound notes found their way into your
share of the receipts, sir.”
“Then it was a very good day. My wife will be pleased.”
The organizer touched his eyebrow and bowed slightly before
turning to leave. Churchill slipped the envelope into a coat pocket and
sipped his drink. It was a good day indeed. Now, if only he could figure out
a way to regain control of the government. Having the management of
British foreign policy under the oversight of Clement Attlee was bad
enough. But he feared that the man was looking for his first opportunity to
introduce socialized medicine into the economy.
The issue was controversial in the kingdom. Churchill feared that
once something like that was adopted, it would become popular, and the
British people would never escape its snares.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
 
 
May 15, 1944; 9 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“So you see the dilemma we are facing?” Von Rundstedt asked.
Schloss leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. He was now
careful not to explain to his guests how wonderful the American office chair
was for him. But he reminded himself that it was still a very nice chair. No
one commented when Willem rolled it into the meeting room for him to use
during the governing council meetings, but he was sure everyone had
noticed.
“So you are dealing with one of the generals who is aggressive and
competent, but nobody likes him. Doesn’t that resemble somebody in this
room?” Schloss asked, staring at Guderian.
Heinz Guderian’s quick bark of laughter told Schloss that the shot
had gone home.
“I take your point, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Guderian said.
“However, my critics were generally in the OKW. Since most of them now
work for me, they are wise enough not to say anything.”
Von Rundstedt snorted. “After the officers revolt a couple of years
ago, most of the senior brass does not want to mess with Schneller Heinz,
or with you for that matter, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“So General Schörner has not learned that lesson?” Schloss asked.
“I don’t know,” Guderian responded. “He has always been
thoroughly disagreeable. The people who work for him hate him. And those
who he reports to don’t care for him, either. But he is an able administrator
and a decent tactician.”
“But Rommel is worried about him?”
“That is essentially correct,” Von Rundstedt commented. “He
recently performed well with his army in Silesia. But failure to see the big
picture put him in danger of getting trapped by vastly superior forces.
Rommel had to sit on him because he wasn’t listening.”
Guderian sipped his coffee and then cleared his throat. “What
complicates matters is that Schörner is advocating actions that could
potentially break the Russian forces on the Oder River.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Schloss asked.
“The problem is that he wants to do this with four divisions. If we
are going to do something like this, we will have to be smart about it, and
it’s going to take a lot more than four divisions. We would have to pull in
every bit of our remaining reserves and also strip forces from the front
along the Oder.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Schloss murmured.
Guderian nodded in agreement. “Oh, it is risky. If we were to do
something like that and the Russians got across the Oder River again, we
probably wouldn’t stop them at Berlin.”
“The benefit,” von Rundstedt interjected, “is that we could
potentially trap the Russian forces all along the Oder River. That would
open for us the possibility of recovering most of the territory we had at the
beginning of the war. But, more importantly, it would wipe a significant
portion of the Russian forces from the table. And if we are going to win this
war, we have to remove the Russian ability to fight.”
Schloss frowned and tipped forward in his chair. “But if we lose
another army attempting an encirclement like this, we will be in real
trouble.”
“Herr Schloss,” Guderian said forcefully, “we recently destroyed a
Russian army that had invested Berlin. I would describe that as a very high-
risk operation, and Rommel took the initiative and executed it before any of
us knew what he was doing. But if he had not done that, we would be in a
far worse situation today.”
Schloss stood and walked over to the window. He preferred this
view over the one from his window at the Reich Chancellery. He would
miss this when they eventually moved the government back to Berlin. The
generals’ proposal frightened him. Germany could ill afford to lose another
hundred thousand men into Russian captivity.
“How can we avoid another defeat?”
“We are in much better shape with our bombing capability,”
Guderian answered. “We are confident the Russians have not resupplied
their forces along the Oder to any great extent.”
“As far as we know,” Schloss corrected.
“As far as we know,” Guderian agreed. “The Russians have also
been unable to rebuild their Air Force in any significant numbers. Chuikov
has been throwing the new aircraft into the fight in dribs and drabs. At the
moment, we maintain control of the air. We have had the opportunity to
perform another maintenance cycle on our mechanized equipment. The
Russians lost most of their first-line equipment when we locked them in
Berlin.”
“So, you are saying we may not have another opportunity like
this?”
“No, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Guderian answered. “Our successes
in this war have been from taking advantage of opportunities as they come
along. There will be others, but this is a good one.”
Schloss looked at the Reichsmarshall. “What do you think, Gerd?”
“I believe we need to act quickly, Herr Reich Chancellor. If we do
not, the opportunity will disappear, and we will have accomplished
nothing.”
“How soon do you need an answer?”
“As soon as possible. I suspect Rommel has already started moving
forces around.”
“He has,” Guderian had his trademark smirk in place.
“Very well. We need to take this to the governing Council.
However, you have my approval to begin planning and lining up forces.
The Council meets this afternoon, and I would like both of you attending,
meine Herren.”
“Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt said. “I am
hopeful this will bring great encouragement to the Reich.”
Schloss placed his hands on the desk. “Was there anything else?”
Von Rundstedt sighed. “There’s still the matter of General
Schörner.”
“With the size of the forces we will be putting in place for this
operation, I had assumed Rommel would be running it and Schörner would
be subordinate. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Then Rommel will be in a position to either lead the man or
relieve him. Honestly, meine Herren, this is not something you needed to
bring to me. Rommel should have taken care of it. And tell him I said so.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss stood up, as did the other two. “Thank you for coming in
this morning. You will, of course, keep me updated on the progress of your
preparations.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
 As the two generals descended to the first floor in the elevator, von
Rundstedt glanced over at Guderian.
“Are you waiting for a good opportunity to tell me, ’I told you so,
Heinz?’”
“Of course not, Herr Reichsmarshall. The next time I talk to Erwin,
I’m going to relay the Reich Chancellor’s disappointment that he was not
able to handle this on his own.”
As they left the elevator, von Rundstedt rolled his tongue around in
his cheek and spoke dryly. “I believe that will achieve the desired effect.”
 
§§§
 
May 17, 1944; 4 PM
Stalin’s Dacha
Kuntsevo District
Moscow, USSR
 
Joseph Stalin puffed contentedly on his pipe as he watched his
daughter Svetlana assemble a wooden puzzle at the side table in his office.
It was the first time he had been able to escape from the Kremlin in several
months, and he badly needed the change in scenery. His little girl needed to
be out of the city for a while, which provided the reason for the trip.
However, he did not have to answer to anyone about his travel schedule.
He was comfortable in this dacha, although he rarely left the office
when he visited the place. He rarely used the bedroom, preferring to sleep
on the sofa in the office. The dining room was through the doorway on one
side of his office, and he did entertain members of the Politburo
occasionally at the estate.
His thoughts turned to the war, and his stomach tightened up again.
There was no question he had stuck his hand into an adder’s nest when he
attacked Germany. His advisors had warned him about it. But he considered
the risks of unrest in the Soviet Union to be far greater than what he faced
with Germany.
That the Red Army had briefly occupied Berlin despite tenacious
opposition from the Germans told him the task was achievable. But, Stalin
was forced to work with a subpar cadre that had proven incompetent. And,
since the surrender of Smirnoff and Khrushchev to the Germans, the
logistics had gone from barely adequate to disastrous. Whatever else he
could say about the man, Khrushchev was talented and got things done.
Now everyone involved in the movement of supplies and matériel to the
West seemed intent on blaming each other for the shortcomings rather than
stepping up to solve problems.
“Are we going to have some ice cream, Papa?” Svetlana asked.
Stalin pulled himself back from his ruminations and smiled at the
girl. “Of course, we may have some ice cream, Precious. I was not paying
attention there. I will call for some ice cream right now.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
After Stalin had instructed the Sergeant of the Guard to bring ice
cream, he returned to his meditation. One of the reasons he liked coming to
the dacha was that he could spend extended time thinking without the
constant interruptions that were the norm and the Kremlin.
Chuikov was preparing to force another crossing of the Oder River.
Because of the failure to receive his supplies in a timely fashion, the kickoff
date was still indefinite. Meanwhile, the Germans were reinforcing against
the expected attack, and Stalin was concerned the Red Army would fail
once again.
If only he had military advisers in Moscow who knew what they
were doing, but those men feared their own shadows. He needed to talk to
Chuikov. Since nothing much seemed to be happening, he decided to
summon the general back to Moscow to discuss some ideas he had
pondered.
A quick double knock on the door interrupted Stalin’s reverie, and
the Sergeant of the Guard stepped in carrying two bowls of ice cream.
Svetlana visibly brightened when she saw the ice cream, and Stalin enjoyed
it as well. After delivering the ice cream, the guard remained standing in
front of Stalin’s desk.
“What is it?”
“Comrade Malenkov is here, Comrade General Secretary.”
“He can wait.” And Stalin waved the guard out of the room.
“Now, precious daughter, we can enjoy our ice cream together.”
“Yes, Papa. Thank you.”
 An hour later, Svetlana walked outside to visit the gardens
surrounding the dacha. Stalin did not worry about the girl. A small army of
guards surrounded the place, and ten of them were assigned to his daughter.
“So, Georgy, what do you have for me today?” Stalin asked
expansively.
“I have the armament production figures for the previous quarter,
Comrade.”
Malenkov handed the folder to Stalin. He waited nervously while
the general secretary perused the document.
“We have constructed two-thousand tanks in the first quarter of the
year. Is that correct?” Stalin murmured.
“Yes, Comrade. The plant is now in full production. We are phasing
in the upgrade with the 85 gun. I have shifted the focus of the development
team to investigating quality issues. We have too many units requiring
further work when they arrive in the Red Army depots.”
“I trust you make an appropriate example of those who are failing
the revolution, Georgy.”
“Indeed, Comrade General Secretary, we are rigorously identifying
the malefactors and correcting the problems. I have ordered the arrest of the
factory manager. He diverted materials to the black market to finance the
construction of his dacha.”
 This was a common enough practice, even in the Politburo. But, the
factory manager had the poor judgment to divert material from a
strategically important program. The example needed to be made.
Stalin had laid the report on his desk and now worked on refilling
the bowl of his pipe. Once he got it properly lit, he looked up at Malenkov.
“It seems to me that things go well with tank production. Do you
not let your attention drift. Now, what about our aircraft production?”
“We are on track to produce about forty thousand aircraft of all
types this year.”
“And what of the new type based on what we captured from the
Germans?”
Malenkov swallowed. Though he felt prepared for this question, he
wasn’t sure the answer would be satisfactory.
“We have two aircraft designs in progress. The Yak-15 and MiG-9.
We have succeeded in duplicating the engines.”
“And when will we have production aircraft?”
“We have constructed fifteen of the Yak-15. It is to give us enough
aircraft for extensive testing and to prove out the production line. I
anticipate the airplane being in production by the end of the summer.”
“Not fast enough, Georgy.”
“We have a more immediate problem with our aircraft production,
Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin removed the pipe from his mouth and set it down. “And what
would that be?”
“As our aircraft leave the factory, they are immediately thrown into
action. We cannot collect enough new aircraft to form squadrons and bring
them into battle in sufficient numbers to make a difference.”
Stalin did not reply for a few moments. He considered what
Malenkov had just told him.
“Are you sure our Air Corps members are not simply making
excuses for their failures?”
Malenkov hid his sigh of relief. He had successfully changed the
subject, and it was something that did require attention.
“I cannot speak to the failures of our pilots, Comrade, General
Secretary, but we are not able to commit full squadrons to the battle because
each squadron has lost most of their aircraft. When only two or three
fighters can attack the bombers, they accomplish nothing. Besides the
problem of the bombers, we get overwhelmed by the German fighters.”
“I understand. It bears further thought, Georgy. I have summoned
Chuikov to Moscow, and this is something I will discuss with him.”
Malenkov nodded. Stalin placed his pipe back in his mouth and
studied the document. After a while, he glanced up at Malenkov as though
surprised. He waved his hand to dismiss the War Industries Director, and
Malenkov walked out the office with a sense of relief.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
 
 
May 18, 1944; 4 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Residence
Nordend-Ost
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Heinrich Schloss stood off to the side with his cup of coffee and
watched the women of the house struggle with the recalcitrant baby. It was
Gratia’s first birthday. Gisela and Frau Marsden, along with Marlena,
Erich’s nurse, had worked hard to make sure everything was exactly right
for the party. Unfortunately, Gratia wasn’t having it.
The child had awakened from her nap in a sour mood, and events
seemed to go downhill from there. Her crying fit had set Erich off, and now
he wailed as well. The attempt to seat Gratia behind the decorated cake was
notably unsuccessful, and they only narrowly avoided terminal damage to
the cake from the flailing girl.
Anna-Lisa managed to get in the way in her efforts to help with the
problem, earning a rare rebuke from Frau Marsden. Hans followed his
father’s example and stood off to the side, and tried to avoid engaging in the
chaos.
 Gisela marched over to Schloss. “Do you suppose you might tend to
your son, mein Herr?”
“Of course, my dear.”
He set his coffee cup down and walked over to hoist Erich from the
floor. He began pacing the room while patting the child.
“Now, now, it’s not so bad.”
Meanwhile, Peter sat on the other side of the room and watched the
mayhem with apparent mirth, despite the glares from Gisela and Frau
Marsden. Finally, Gisela snapped at him.
“Are you going to allow your daughter’s party to be ruined, Peter?”
“Ha!” Peter chuckled, pulling himself out of the chair. “This is not
Gratia’s party. The adults are having a party, and the child is an unwilling
participant.”
“That’s giving it back, Peter,” Schloss laughed.”
“And you, mein Herr, had better think about the possible results of
your unhelpfulness,” Gisela said, pointing her finger at Schloss.
Schloss seeing the opportunity for retreat, carried Erich from the
room. The boy rapidly settled down in his father’s arms and was happy
again now that he had escaped along with his father. Slipping into the
kitchen, Schloss asked the steward for another cup of coffee, and he met
Peter as he walked from the kitchen.
“The strategic retreat was called for, Hennie. Even Frau Marsden
couldn’t settle Gratia down.”
“Children her age don’t understand about German discipline,”
Schloss commented. “When you try it, you get frustrated, and the baby is
unhappy.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Peter replied. “Much easier to deal with the
diplomatic community.”
“Even though they tend to act the same way.”
“Absolutely!” Peter laughed.
 
§§§
 
May 20, 1944; 10 AM
DOM Cathedral
Frankfurt, Germany
  
Heinrich Schloss looked around the interior of the downtown
Cathedral in Frankfurt. The security implications terrified him. Not only
was he seated here with the children, but most of the government was here
as well. He approved of weddings in general and favored this one
particularly. But a well-placed bomb would wreak havoc with Germany.
Still, enough security was present to preclude an attack by some
maniac with a gun. The Nazi party security team paid close attention to the
Reich Chancellor and his family. The team was also responsible for Peter’s
security as well as other members of the government. Karl Rainer had his
own SS security team, and he made sure that his security meshed well with
Schloss’s. The local Polizei was present in large numbers as well.
The memories of the hotel bombing the previous fall were still fresh
on everyone’s mind, and no one was interested in reliving that event. With
the experiences of the past four years behind him, Schloss concluded he
would never feel entirely safe for the rest of his life. He could live with that
but could not avoid the contraction in his gut whenever he was out in public
like this.
Annalisa sat close to him on the left and Hans to his right. The two
infants in the family had been left with a nurse, and Frau Marsden assured
everyone they would be fine.
The organ tone changed as the minister walked in, followed by a
very nervous-looking Karl Rainer. Accompanying Karl was Peter Schreiber
and Lane Johnson.
The minister opened his arms and intoned, “All rise.”
The congregation stood and faced the aisle as the processional
began. The bride had insisted on an American-style wedding, and Schloss
wondered what the Germans thought. Frau Marsden was the first down the
aisle, acting as an attendant for the bride. Schloss almost burst into laughter
at the incongruity of the scene. It was a day of great joy for the wedding
party and their friends. But Frau Marsden glared at everyone, as usual.
Gisela followed the old lady down the aisle as she was the maid of
honor. Once the two attendants had reached the front and turned to face the
aisle, the organ segued into the tune of Here Comes the Bride. Howard
Simpson marched down the aisle with a radiant-looking Misty on his arm.
 Karl had an indescribable look on his face. For the first time, he had
completely lost situational awareness since he was focused on Misty.
Schloss found it amusing but was also inexplicably choked up. Karl and
Misty were not only friends of his, but they were wonderful people. He was
delighted that they would be together, even during this dark time in
Germany’s history.
The minister began working his way through the wedding
ceremony. He was using the English ceremony from the Book of Common
Prayer, which was a tradition in America. His heavy accent indicated a
particular language barrier, and it was heavy going for him. Peter caught his
eye, and Schloss could tell he found that highly amusing. Schloss decided
to look elsewhere so that the children would not ask him what was funny.
He decided to watch Gisela, an enjoyable pastime on any occasion.
But she glared at him, obviously having figured out what was going on.
That was kind of depressing to know that he could not fool anyone
anymore.
Thankfully the minister did not embellish the ceremony, and there
was no other music. Everyone got through the vows in good form, and the
minister pronounced the couple. Misty looked joyful as they proceeded
down the aisle. Karl looked like he had been shot. Peter winked at him as he
walked by with Gisela on his arm. Lane Johnson looked terrified with Frau
Marsden walking beside him. The old woman seemed to relish doing that to
people.
Howard Simpson had rented a civic hall near the church, and it had
been tastefully but extensively decorated for the reception. Since Gisela and
Frau Marsden were part of the wedding party, Schloss was responsible for
seeing that the children could partake of the refreshments and otherwise
stay out of trouble. He was just as happy to stand in the corner with them,
drink coffee, and allow the German glitterati to fawn over the newly
married couple.
Karl had wanted a small, private ceremony, but the women in his
life had immediately overruled him. It was the social event of the year in
Germany, and Peter had applied the total resources of the Ministry of
Information to make sure everyone knew about it. It sent an unspoken
message to Stalin and the rest of the world as well. Germany was still in
business.
 “Quite a day, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Gordon Smoke said as he
stepped up next to Schloss.
“Yes, quite. Something I am sure we are all delighted to see, Herr
Ambassador.”
Smoke cleared his throat. “Yes, well. The downside is that I have to
train a new First Secretary in the embassy. Misty will be hard to replace.”
“You sound disturbed about this, Ambassador Smoke,” Schloss
grinned. “I thought you two hated each other.”
The American had the grace to blush. “Hate is such a strong word.
Indeed, we did not get along well, but Misty was very good at what she
did.”
Schloss suddenly remembered an academic Dean from his prior life
in nineteen eighty-two Berlin. The man was hopelessly inept. His people
would frantically work to salvage one project after another, following which
the hapless Dean would gain credit for the success. It took Schloss a while
to understand, but that man’s management style was very similar to
Smoke’s. The essence of good management was to get people to
accomplish things for the mission and do it well.
Schloss had learned this lesson anew when he landed in this
Germany, wherever it was. He thought he was pretty smart but knew he
couldn’t do it all. The trick was to encourage the others to do more than
they thought they were capable of accomplishing. Misty was right. Gordon
Smoke was an idiot. But he was a very successful idiot.
“Might we get some more sweets, Poppa?” Hans asked.
“Yes, you may. Take your sister with you and come right back
here.”
“Yes, Poppa,” the boy said.
He watched as his children walked over to the refreshments. The
guards were also paying attention to them, and that was good. He looked up
to see Howard Simpson approaching him.
“I wonder if I might introduce myself to the Reich Chancellor,” the
beefy American said.
“Heinrich Schloss, and I am pleased to meet you, Herr Simpson.”
The two shook hands and sized each other up.
“Colonel William Donovan asked that I speak with you,” Simpson
said.
 “The head of the American OSS?”
“Correct. He wished me to allay any concerns your government
might have about my daughter being married to the Reichsprotektor.”
“Is that so?”
Schloss decided to let things play out and see where Misty’s father
was headed.
“While I think everyone recognizes there is little honor in the
world’s second-oldest profession, Donovan will not be demanding inside
information about the German government from Misty. But he does want to
maintain the communications conduit so that you will have a direct channel
to the president.”
“I see.” Schloss thought about what Simpson told him and came to
a decision. “Karl Rainer is the most honorable man that I know. What I
have seen from Misty tells me that she is made of similar stuff. I have told
Karl that I have no worries about him in that regard. And I appreciate your
making available a means of communicating directly with President
Truman.”
“Well, now I can enjoy the reception.”
Schloss laughed. “I somehow think you have been used to traveling
in rarefied circles, Herr Simpson. Something like this should not have
bothered you.”
“To be honest, I was originally concerned about Misty’s posting to
Germany. I have always been fond of the English and their culture. I
worried about her being in Berlin in the middle of a shooting war. And I
worried about her meeting a debonair German. It seems my worries have
been laid to rest in both cases, at least concerning the British.”
“She’s a tough lady,” Schloss said. “I was very sorry about what
happened to her in Kabul, and I’m delighted she survived.”
“That was frightening,” Simpson agreed. “I thought seriously about
confronting Harriman, but to be honest, it wasn’t his fault. I don’t like the
man, but it appears he was very effective in pulling a deal together with the
Japanese.”
“And how is that going,” Schloss asked. “We don’t hear a lot from
that side of the world.”
“It goes astonishingly well, so far. I will be traveling to Tokyo with
a Commerce Department team next month. We are looking for investment
opportunities so that we can help them to get their economy moving again.
They have a lot of people on the street because they demobilized, and we
are worried about the overall stability of the government.”
“I understand. We are probably not in a position to assist America
in that project, but please let me know if you see an opportunity.”
“I think your Minister of Commerce talks to our people regularly,
so he should be aware of any opportunities as they arise.”
“Ribbentrop does that surprisingly well,” Schloss commented.
By that time the children had returned, and after some small talk,
Simpson moved back to the wedding party. A little while later, Schloss took
the opportunity to depart with the children. As the head of state, he could
always offer pressing business as a reason for not staying longer at the
events. The truth was he hated parties and receptions and avoided as many
as he could politically justify.
But this was one gathering he had no regrets about attending. The
marriage of Karl and Misty had been a long time coming, and he was
delighted to see it finally happen. He only felt bad that his sister and Peter’s
wife, Renate was not alive to see it.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
 
 
May 26, 1944; 10 AM
The Pentagon
Washington, DC, USA
 
General George Brett’s initial dislike of the Pentagon had grown to
cordial hatred. He was convinced that all the useful work got done at the
Army Air Corps bases around the country, and then the drones in the
enormous building in Virginia took all the credit. But when General Hap
Arnold ordered him to take over the Air Corps Pentagon Projects Office, all
he could do was mutter a few choice words and say, yes, Sir.
Brett was singularly unimpressed with the Air Corps Project Office.
It seemed to him that the only thing this organization was good at was
breaking anvils. After having been here for two weeks, the people in the
office had ably assisted him in getting nothing done. So this morning, he
was making a list of the officers who needed to go.
With the war over, the military units not immediately involved in
the cleanup of the Hanford disaster were being rapidly demobilized. The
abrupt change had the career Army officers legitimately fearing for their
jobs, and Brett viewed this as an opportunity.
Rather than dumping the incompetents on other organizations
whose commanders didn’t have the clout to refuse, he planned to start
tossing people onto the street, forcing them to earn an honest living. It
would clear the path for him to choose successful officers who had been
lured into applying for what they thought were prestigious jobs in the
Pentagon. Hap wanted the office fixed, and, by God, Brett was going to do
it.
Master Sergeant Bill Buckley tapped on the door. “The Chief is on
the line for you, sir.”
Speak of the devil. “Thanks, Bill. Close the door, please.”
“Good morning, General,” Brett spoke into the phone receiver.
“I’ve got a job for you, George,” General Hap Arnold said.
“You’ve already tagged me with a useless organization, General.
I’m not your errand boy.”
Arnold laughed. “I know you’d rather be flying around in the
Swoose and tormenting airbase commanders, but you’re doing a job that
needs to be done here, and I need you.”
General Brett’s personal Army transport was a decrepit-looking B-
17D, rebuilt from the parts of two different airplanes early in the war. Some
wag had renamed the bird The Swoose after a children’s poem about
Alexander the Swoose – part swan, part goose. Since the aircraft was a
scrapyard survivor, Brett felt no guilt about appropriating the plane for his
use. He usually flew as the pilot in command and achieved notoriety over
his choice of transportation.
“I’m getting ready to fire a bunch of people, General.”
 “And that’s exactly what I mean. Listen, we talked about the
military attaché to the embassy in Germany in the last staff meeting, and I
assume you were paying attention.”
“Of course I was, General. If you happen to drop dead, I will need
to do your job, and I’d better know what’s going on.”
“Fine. I made the selection, and he’s coming in to see me this
morning. I just got summoned to the White House, and I don’t have time to
meet with him. I need you to carry water for me.”
“So I get to do your work while you are hobnobbing with the
president?”
“Pay attention, General,” Arnold snapped.
The time for banter was over, and the commander of the Army Air
Corps was all business.
“Yes, Sir, I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Thanks, George. Let me know how it turns out.”
Brett cringed when he heard the sound of General Arnold slamming
his phone down. You could have handled that better, he said to himself—no
sense in getting mouthy with Hap, even if you have known him for twenty-
five years.
Arnold and Brett had known each other since World War I. They
had both survived their share of controversies in developing the Air Corps
into a professional organization. Arnold had nearly sunk his career after his
adamant and persistent support of General Billy Mitchell. Brett had gotten
into trouble because of his acid tongue and tactless interactions with senior
brass. Yet, the two remained in the Air Corps and prospered. The consensus
in the American military was that the Air Corps personnel were cut a lot of
slack because they were all crazy anyway.
The two men had both risen in the ranks because of their leadership
and administrative skills. Arnold had an informal agreement with General
Marshall that the air Corps would be split from the Army into its own
service following the war. Everybody knew about it, and it couldn’t come
soon enough for George Brett.
A half-hour later, Sergeant Buckley delivered a sealed manila
envelope to general Brett’s desk.
“Major Johnson is waiting outside, sir.”
“Give him some coffee, Sarge. I need to read this.”
 He used his penknife to slit the top of the envelope and slid out the
folder containing the orders for the new military attaché and the personnel
jacket for Major Lane Johnson. It took ten minutes for the general to
familiarize himself with the contents. He picked up the stack of paper,
jogged it together on the desk, and slid it back into the folder. He drummed
his fingers on the desktop as he considered what he had read. He then yelled
to the Sergeant.
“Send the major in, please, Sergeant.”
The Sergeant opened the door so that Johnson could walk through
and pulled the door shut behind him. The major stopped in front of Brett’s
desk at the prescribed distance and saluted.
“Major Lane, Johnson reporting as ordered, Sir.”
“At ease, Major. Have a seat. We have a lot to cover, and I don’t
have a lot of time this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The chairman has laid a requirement on us to send an officer to the
embassy in Germany to replace the military attaché there. Since you’ve
already spent time there and seem to have developed relationships with the
players, you are the natural choice.”
Johnson looked surprised and then quickly recovered. “Of course,
sir. I’m happy to serve.”
“Thank you. I understand you were just over there?”
“Yes, sir. For the Reichsprotektor’s wedding.”
Brett nodded. “It must’ve been a fast voyage to get back here so
quickly.”
“I was able to come back in the right-hand seat of a C-54. I thought
it wouldn’t hurt to get qualified.”
“Good thinking. That’s not a bad way to travel.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, bobbing up and down on the ocean
doesn’t appeal to me.”
The general laughed. “You’re fitreps say that you are a natural pilot,
so I understand. We have closed out our direct support of the B-17 program
for the Germans, is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir,” Johnson replied. “Boeing remains in a consulting role,
but Heinkel has their hands around it, I think.”
 “And you are involved with the jet bomber project that Boeing is
working on with the Luftwaffe, correct?”
The major blinked several times. “That is mainly around the
periphery, sir. The Reich Chancellor asked Colonel Carlson to stay in the
loop on that project. It was during the time he was having problems with
General Milch. The Colonel told me that somebody here in Washington
directed him to stay on top of that.”
“That directive came from General Arnold. You may consider that
directive as remaining in force for you, Major.”
“Yes, sir?”
“There are at least a couple of good reasons behind that. First of all,
short of going to war, we want to give the Germans all the help we can. For
obvious reasons, we cannot go to war right now. Secondly, we have been
talking to Boeing about the new jet bomber, and we would like to have it,
too. Since all of our strategic bomber programs have been canceled, we
think it would be easier to convince Congress to appropriate money for a
proven design coming from an American manufacturer.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Fine. Now we just have to take care of the housekeeping. The
chief has authorized me to bump you up to a light Colonel. The position
comes with a housing allowance and a car. I assume you are married?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Frankfurt is far enough to the west that it is not considered a war
zone, so you can take your wife if you desire. You will need to spend a
couple of weeks with the Army liaison office to get the background on the
job requirements. Then you will spend some time at the State Department
so that the striped pants people can tell you everything that you probably
should ignore. Any questions?”
“When do I need to be in position, Sir?”
“It’s not a huge emergency, but I would like you there in a month or
so, if possible.”
“That should be no problem, Sir.”
The general leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
“Now, Major Johnson, I want to get personal.”
Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Sir?”
 “The terms of your enlistment say that you serve at the pleasure of
the Secretary or for the duration of the war plus six months. What are your
plans, Major?”
“Sir, I expected to be demobilized when I came back from
Germany. I plan to return to our family farm in Illinois and settle down
there.”
“This position is part of a four-year rotation. Someone with your
skillset does not come along very often. And I don’t mean your piloting
skills. You know how to get things done in the Army, and that’s something I
don’t think we want to lose. Plus, you are good at delivering without
ruffling the feathers of those you work for or your peers. I think you ought
to consider a career in the Air Corps. Everybody seems to think we will be
a separate service in the near future, and that makes your contribution all
the more valuable. I want you to think about it.”
“Thank you, Sir, and I appreciate the compliment. I certainly will
think about it.”
Lane Johnson felt like he was in a fog and flying at zero visibility as
he left General Brett’s office. He had taken some accumulated leave to visit
Germany and participate in Karl and Misty’s wedding. The Reichsprotektor
had covered his travel and lodging costs, and Johnson had duly reported this
to the appropriate Army office. His summons to Brett’s office had
something to do with it, he surmised.
Being appointed to the diplomatic post was completely unexpected,
and he struggled to get his brain back into gear. He began walking towards
the outer door of the office when the Sergeant stopped him.
“If you could wait for just a few minutes, Sir,” Buckley said. “I’m
finishing up your packet of orders. This is happening in a great big hurry.”
“You’re telling me,” Johnson chuckled.
“I’ve been chasing these orders around the building for the past
week so that one Colonel or General or the other can add his input.”
“Is that so?”
“The Sergeant Major over in the chief’s office called me this
morning to give me a heads up. I didn’t even have time to give the general a
heads up when the chief was on the phone to him. Then Corporal Bauer
shows up with the packet and tells me I get to finish it. I hope to God I got
everything right.”
 “So if I find a problem,” Johnson grinned, “I need to call you?”
“Please do, Sir. The general is unmerciful when people screw up.”
The sergeant lowered his voice. “He’s getting ready to fire a whole bucket
load of people around here. Not that it’s unjustified, but there will be blood
running in the hallways by the time he gets done.”
Johnson chuckled softly. “I will do my best to keep you off the
general’s list, then. Do you have a room somewhere I can sit down and read
through these before I leave?”
The Sergeant stood up and walked over to a side door leading from
the office. “This is the general’s meeting room. If he decides he needs it, I’ll
have to throw you out. Other than that, take all the time you need, and I will
greatly appreciate it, Sir.”
Lane Johnson had been in the Army long enough to beware of the
consequences of when a clerk screwed up orders. He carefully read the
documents and used a pencil to note several minor errors. An hour later, he
stepped back into the outer office.
“Everything okay, sir?”
“Three small items,” Johnson replied. “Here, here, and here. They
are all on one page, so you should be able to type them up quickly.”
The Sergeant studied the sheet and mouthed the word, oh. “Yes, Sir,
give me five minutes, and I’ll have this for you.”
“Don’t hurry, Sarge. I’ve got time, and you only want to do this
over again once.”
Sergeant Buckley nodded as he fitted together four sheets of paper
with carbon interleave and rolled the bundle into the typewriter. The page
was complete in four minutes and thirty seconds, and Buckley swept the
sheaf out of the typewriter.
“Now, if you will hand me the packet, Sir, I will get this put back
together for you.”
Lane smiled. “Thank you, Sarge. If you ever want to escape this
place, I’m sure I could find a home for somebody that can type like you.”
“Thank you, Sir. But watching General Brett in action is the most
fun I’ve had in years.”
 

 
  
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
 
 
May 26, 1944; 3 PM
The Connaught Hotel
London, England, UK
 
Dillard Channing followed the bellhop to his room at the
Connaught Hotel in London. Because of his success in bringing business to
Boeing, he had an unlimited expense account. Since the company expected
him to travel around the world extensively, he saw no reason not to indulge
in comfortable lodgings wherever he happened to land. And if this hotel
was not the very best he had experienced, it was certainly close.
After tipping the bellhop, he closed the door and turned to walk
over to where his suitcase stood next to the dresser. In the corner by the
window, a nondescript man sat in a wingback chair.
“Oh, excuse me,” Channing said. “They must have placed me in the
wrong room.”
As he turned to leave, the other man spoke. “No, I believe you are
in the correct room, Mr. Channing.”
Channing turned slowly to face the stranger. “I believe you have me
at a disadvantage, then, sir.”
“My apologies,” the other man dipped his head slightly. “My name
is Harry Armister.”
“Well then, Mr. Armister, what are you doing in my room?”
“Let me begin by giving a little background. You see, I work for MI
Five.”
Channing felt a spike of fear penetrate his chest, but he had no
choice but to play this through. “So, you are a spy?”
“No. I am not a spy. Perhaps you might call me a counterspy. You
see, we have been watching you, Mr. Channing.”
Channing walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Would you like
something to drink, Mr. Armister?”
 “No, thank you. I’ll have a pint in another hour or so.”
“And what makes you think I am a spy, then, Mr. Armister?”
“For the past four years, you have traveled between here, Germany,
and the United States.
“And France, Argentina, and Brazil,” Channing added. “It’s my
job.”
“And when you are in Germany, you have been telling Gehlen
about everything you see in the UK, right?”
“Gehlen as in the head of German military intelligence, right?”
Channing laughed. “No, my friend. I have never met the man.”
“And we know that you have been passing our secrets to the
Germans.”
Channing poured an inch of Glenlivet into a whiskey tumbler and
took a sip. He was proud of himself in that he held the glass steady.
“I know where this is going, and you are making a serious charge.
The people I talked to in the British aircraft industry and the Royal Air
Force have always been careful not to show me things I shouldn’t be seeing.
Now, do I share things I see here with the Germans? Of course, I do. And
things I see in the German aircraft industry I share with people here. And,
in the United States, for that matter.”
“You freely admit to this?” Armister asked with a hint of surprise.
“Well, yes. I am cognizant of the Official Secrets Act, and believe
me; I am very careful about things like that. I do not discuss things that are
not public knowledge, or at least common knowledge in the aircraft
industry.”
“So, how do you handle situations when you encounter secret
material?”
“I deal with material that is confidential to my employer all the
time. Retaining my job depends on not talking about things like that. As
you know, Boeing is working on a couple of projects with the Germans. In
the course of business, I’m involved with documents and conversations that
are clearly marked confidential, and one does not talk about those things.”
“Would that be the same in your dealings here in Britain?” Armister
asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And is your American FBI aware of your activities?”
 Channing grinned. “Yes, they are, and we actually talk on a regular
basis. Have you talked to them?”
“We have seen no need to talk to them.”
“Not to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, but perhaps you
might have a conversation with them. Why all the cloak and dagger,
anyway? I’m just trying to do my job, Mr. Armister.”
Armister stood. “I think we would like to go downtown and have a
conversation, Mr. Channing. Following that, you will most likely be on an
airplane to the United States.”
“I just got off a plane from the United States,” Channing snapped.
“Look, I know you have a job to do, and I don’t minimize its importance.
And I don’t want to see you guys embarrassed. We are starting to do a lot of
business here, and I don’t want to mess that up.”
“Oh, I believe you have already messed it up. Now come along.”
As they left the hotel room, Dillard Channing hoped that Karl
Rainer would find him a job in Germany because this would certainly end
his usefulness to Boeing in the United States. And he had no idea of the
controversy this event would raise on both sides of the Atlantic.
 
§§§
 
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
“Surely you know we didn’t need this right now,” Queen Margaret
snapped.
Clement Attlee sat across from her with his hat resting across his
knees as he sipped the requisite cup of tea.
“Five have kept this very quiet, your Majesty. We all recognize the
sensitivity of the situation.”
“What kind of damage has this Mr. Channing caused, anyway?” she
demanded.
Colin Marty sat in his chair where he had been taking notes. He
looked up to study the Queen. She had been in a bad mood all day, and it
looked like she was building towards an explosion.
 “He freely admitted that he has talked to people in Germany and the
United States, Your Majesty,” Attlee said.
“Of course he did! That’s his job, after all. Let me ask the question
again, what damage has he done?”
“He has been working with our aircraft manufacturers on some
sensitive projects, and he has also had conversations with the RAF.”
“And did he explain anything about his activities then, Prime
Minister?”
“He said that he has access to all kinds of confidential information
concerning the projects he is involved with.”
“I see. And you have naturally collected evidence that Channing
has passed that information to the Germans or the Americans?”
“No, ma’am, we have not.”
She looked over at Marty. “What am I missing here, Colin?”
He shook his head slightly. “I am at a loss, your Majesty.”
Attlee pointed his finger at Colin. “You’re not being helpful, Mr.
Marty.”
“Helpful to you, Prime Minister, or me?” the Queen asked
ominously.
“To all of us, your Majesty,” Attlee said heatedly. “We have a prima
facie case of espionage. These are things that Five are tasked to deal with,
and that is what they did.”
“Have five talked to the Americans or the Germans about this?”
“Of course not, your Majesty. This is an internal law enforcement
matter.”
Margaret slammed her fist down on the table and shouted. “This is
not an internal law enforcement matter. It has the makings of a major
diplomatic incident. Need I remind you, Prime Minister, we do not need
that right now.”
“And so you think we should have let him go Scot free?”
“We are dealing with somebody who works for a major company
who has a presence in our country and is based in the United States and is a
trading partner with Germany. You should have just kept an eye on him and
had some quiet conversations with the Americans and the Germans. Let me
ask you this, Prime Minister, is this man really a spy?”
“Five are convinced of it, your Majesty.”
 She sighed. “I just hate getting involved in things like this. Before
this is over and done with, God help us; we are probably going to have to
turn him loose and apologize.”
“We have already put him on a plane to the United States.”
Margaret firmly placed her elbow on the tabletop and planted her
palm on her forehead. “I just don’t know how we can get anything done in
the face of such incompetence.”
“Your Majesty, if you no longer have confidence in my ability to
get things done, you may have my resignation at any time.”
She raised her head and glared at him. There was fire in her eyes.
“And just how is this going to look to the people of this country and the
world at large to admit that you resigned because you were stupid?”
“I resent that, your Majesty. That is completely unfair.”
“Your Majesty,” Colin said quietly.
She held up a hand to stop him and turned back to Attlee. “Just get
out of my office, Clement!”
The Queen and her secretary watched as the Prime Minister
retreated from the office. Marty walked over to make sure the door was
latched and then returned to his chair.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me I could have handled that better,
Colin.”
“To be honest, ma’am, forcing the Prime Minister to resign over
something like this is a bit silly.”
“He is not going to resign,” the Queen stated. “Every once in a
while, Clement gets full of himself, and I have to keep him trimmed back.
Once he calms down, he’s going to have to get with Halifax and have a
quiet talk with the Americans and the Germans. I fear that MI Five have
made all of us look like fools.”
Colin Marty cocked his head as he looked at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“With all possible respect, ma’am, I suggest you start thinking
about who you are going to ask to be the next prime minister.”
“Nonsense, Colin. Clement is too smart to do something like that.”
Colin Marty nodded and stood to leave. There was trouble coming,
and the Queen didn’t see it. She trusted him because he always gave her
unvarnished advice. But he was always careful not to cross that boundary to
where she would get defensive. Because at that point, there was no
reasoning with her.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
 
 
May 26, 1944; 3 PM
Tokyo Airport
Tokyo, Japan
 
Howard Simpson was thankful that the C-69 was a hundred miles
per hour faster than the C-54. As he climbed down the stairs from the
Lockheed Constellation in Tokyo, he felt every bit of his 47 years. It was
still a long trip. The twenty-four-hundred-mile leg from San Francisco to
Honolulu was very long. But he was able to take a day to rest in Hawaii
before the team boarded the plane again.
They stopped at Midway Island long enough to refuel and then
suffered another twenty-four-hundred-mile leg to Tokyo. Simpson was
tempted to try to find an ocean liner to travel back to the states. Flying that
long and far in a plane was barbaric.
But they were here, and they had a mission. Colonel William
Donovan had suggested Simpson to President Truman as an insightful
businessman who could keep the meetings on track. The other two
members of the commerce group were powerful and valuable in their own
way. Senator Walter George of Georgia was the Chairman of the Senate
Finance Committee and knew how to get things done in the government.
Owen Smith of Chrysler Corporation was an industrial engineer and knew
how to make factories work. But, Howard Simpson knew how to put
business deals together.
Donovan had arranged a quiet meeting between Simpson and
Truman before the beginning of the trip.  The president impressed upon
Simpson the importance of getting the Japanese economy on its feet. The
United States had committed itself to the security of the northern and
western Pacific oceans, but the Japanese were going to have to pay for it.
The Americans had their own problems pouring money down rat holes –
particularly a radioactive rat hole in Hanford, Washington.
And Howard Simpson smelled opportunities in Japan. The United
States agreed to a quid pro quo to end the war, which involved heavy
investment in the Japanese economy. The good news was that the
Americans had not needed to bomb the Japanese islands back to the stone
age. The bad news was that much of their manufacturing equipment was old
and ready for the scrapyard. Modern machinery do wonders for Japanese
productivity, and much of that would come from America and Great
Britain.
The Japanese and the Germans were rapidly mending fences, but
the Germans were not able to help out much. They had their own problems
closer to home. That thought sent a familiar pang of fear into Simpson. His
daughter lived in Germany, and her marriage to the Reichsprotektor put her
in the line of fire in that country’s war with the Soviets. And no one knew
where that would end.
But he put that thought back into a cupboard at the back of his mind
and focused on the here and now. A half dozen Japanese from the
Commerce Ministry lined up to greet them. He hoped they spoke good
English because none of his team spoke Japanese. The bulk of the people in
the United States who spoke Japanese were still working in the military.
The civilians would have to make do.
“Greetings,” one of the hosts spoke. “I am Hideki Kawasaki, and
we welcome you to our land.”
“Thank you,” Senator George responded. “We are honored to be
here.”
“We know you are likely to be weary from your trip. We plan to
convey you to your hotel, and we will begin our meetings tomorrow.”
“That is very kind of you,” the senator replied. “And it has been a
long trip. But please allow me to make the introductions.”
After smiling, nodding, and bowing, Simpson was told the
unpronounceable names of the host team and listened as they commented to
each other in their incomprehensible language. Simpson had traveled
widely and understood enough German, French, and Italian to get by in
Europe. After graduating from Harvard, he had worked for an oil company
in Texas, and there he had picked up enough of the TexMex patois that he
could communicate well in Spanish.
But the Far East was a new experience for him. Not only did he
have another language to wrestle, but a new culture to get his head inside
of. He was looking forward to the challenge. He glanced around at his
colleagues. Walt George was a politician, which, by definition, meant he
would consistently land on his feet. But Owen Smith looked lost. Well, it
wouldn’t be the first time Howard Simpson took someone under his wing.
There was no time to recover from any social faux pas.
The ride from the airport to the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo was
instructive. The police had carefully cleared the route so that the motorcade
was not delayed by traffic on the journey. Simpson studied the city as they
rode along the broad boulevard. The tiny homes seemed to be stacked on
top of one another in the residential areas, and the downtown seemed more
like a European city.
The heat of the day carried the aromas of burning coal, wood, and
gasoline through the open windows of the 1939 Cadillac, but the city
seemed cleaner and more orderly than other places Simpson had visited. He
reminded himself that the Japanese were as technologically advanced as the
Europeans and Americans. But they were still different.
The hotel was luxurious and modern if a bit different. Their hosts
had set up a buffet in the main room of their suite. Most of the foods were
American or British. Simpson thought that this was considerate of the
Japanese. He was sure he would have the opportunity to sample Japanese
cuisine eventually, and he looked forward to it.
After retiring for the night, Howard Simpson lay awake for a while.
He still could feel the vibrations of the Constellation’s engines, and he was
thoughtful. He marveled at the changes in the world that had brought a
destructive war to an abrupt close. It looked like the Japanese, and the
Americans had kissed and made up, to use the vernacular. He wondered if
the peace would hold and what the next fifty years would bring.
 
§§§
 
May 29, 1944; 10 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“There is no coffee today.”
“What?”
“There is no coffee today. Willem forgot to order it.”
Karl Rainer sat in Schloss’s office and wondered at the direction of
the conversation. Twice over the past couple of years, Karl and Peter had
worked with Frau Marsden and Gisela when Schloss had suffered a
breakdown. Karl wondered if this was happening again until he noticed the
slight smirk on the Reich Chancellor’s face.
“Have you brought Willem face to face with his shortcomings, Herr
Schloss?”
“I have. My secretary was properly horrified at his failure.”
“And you have taken full advantage of that, I assume?” Rainer
asked.
“Oh, indeed. As you know, Willem Kirche is a model of perfection,
and he prides himself on it. He is now suffering retribution for the times he
tied my shoelaces together.”
“And what happens when Gisela finds out?”
Schloss sat up straight in his chair. “Hmmm. That might be a
problem. Well, no matter. She is not likely to find out about it.”
At the moment, Kirche scurried into Schloss’s office carrying a tray
with a decanter and several cups.
“I brought you some coffee from the delicatessen across the street,
Herr Reich Chancellor. I will see to it that you have your coffee until the
regular supply arrives.”
“And when will that be, Kirche?” Schloss demanded.
“Next week, Herr Reich Chancellor.  Hopefully.”
“Hopefully?” Schloss bellowed. “I thought you were better than
this, Willem.”
“I am very sorry, Herr Reich Chancellor. This is all my fault. I don’t
know how I missed ordering the supply.”
“I suppose this will just have to do, won’t it?”
 Kirche carefully but quickly poured two cups of coffee, setting one
in front of Schloss and the other on the side table next to Rainer. Seeing that
things were completed, the secretary fled the office.
“Feel better?” Rainer asked with a smile.
“Yes, I do,” Schloss chuckled. “Willem never makes mistakes, so
it’s a signal event when it happens. Anyway, what was it you needed to
discuss this morning, Karl?”
“I lost one of my agents in England last week.”
“And now your entire network will get rolled up?” Schloss asked.
“No. This man was a solo operator. But his arrest was high profile.”
Schloss frowned and shook his head. “And we don’t want to upset
the queen, right now. Who was it?”
“Dillard Channing.”
Schloss raised an eyebrow. “The Boeing salesman?”
Rainer nodded.
“You were running Dillard Channing?” Schloss looked incredulous.
“It was not a formal arrangement. I met personally with him three
or four times per year to discuss what he observed during his trips to
England. And incidentally, the American FBI regularly met with him as
well.”
“So they were doubling him?”
“No, not necessarily. He provided background information. Nothing
that was classified.”
“So somebody in the English counterintelligence establishment
decided he was a threat, then,” Schloss concluded.
“That was what we thought. They put him on the next flight to New
York. We think somebody in London wanted to introduce some friction in
our relationship with them and saw this as an opportunity.”
“What was the reaction of the Americans?”
Rainer shrugged. “We haven’t heard yet from our contacts in the
American government. However, Boeing did fire him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Ribbentrop told me that Boeing does an
excellent job of compartmentalizing their shady operations from senior
management. It seems their rule of thumb is that if you deliver the sales and
don’t get caught red-handed in something illegal or unethical, then all is
well.”
 “Surprisingly pragmatic of the Americans, don’t you think?” Rainer
asked.
“Indeed. I guess I have two questions, Karl.”
Rainer nodded, waiting for Schloss to continue.
First of all, do we have any obligation to Channing? I’ve met him
several times at one reception or another. I liked him. Secondly, will we
have trouble with Margaret over this?”
“I have pondered the first question, myself. Channing never struck
me as being careless. I think we should probably see how we can help him.
The second question is something you need to find out from Peter. Reading
between the lines, it seems the queen was not happy with her people.”
“Very well, Karl. Talk to Peter and figure out an approach. Then
have Joachim approach Boeing informally to inquire if they might
reconsider their decision. If they need to stand by that, maybe we can find
him a position in our aircraft industry. We don’t want to back up Boeing
against the wall for obvious reasons. That relationship is working too well.”
“Are they making progress on the new bomber?”
Schloss nodded. “In another year, I think we might have a prototype
ready for testing. It will have strategic implications.”
Schloss picked up his coffee cup and sipped at the brew. “And this
is not bad coffee. Of course, I would never admit that to Willem.”
“Are you saying that you are not really the coffee snob Peter
claims?” Rainer asked.
“I like good coffee. Much of what they serve in this country is
dishwater. I mainly order my supplies from our friends in Lisbon to keep up
appearances. And they consistently deliver good coffee.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Karl said quietly.
“Right. And tell me, Karl. How is married life? Was it worth the
wait?”
“Oh, very much so, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“And you are living in domestic harmony and bliss?”
“We fight a lot. But we have fought a lot since we first met.”
“Does that bother you?” Schloss smiled.
“It did at first. I have come to understand that this is Misty’s way of
dissecting problems. If she can argue her way through, it helps her reach
solutions. I have come to enjoy it.”
 “Have you heard that your American friend is going to be the new
military attaché?”
“Yes,” Rainer replied. “I’ll be glad to have him here again. He has
become a good friend.”
“Very well. Was there anything else this morning, Karl?”
“That just about covers it, Herr Schloss.”
“Good. Thanks for coming in. I suppose I need to torment Kirche
some more.”
“I believe it is a good time for me to leave before you ask me to
arrest him or something.”
Schloss grinned at the Reichsprotektor. “That hadn’t occurred to
me, Karl. Something like that could be fun.”
Rainer quickly walked from Schloss’s office. He wasn’t sure if the
man was serious.
 

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
 
 
May 30, 1944; 2 PM
Stalin’s Meeting Room
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
Vasily Chuikov was led uneasily into the general secretary’s
meeting room. On one side of the table sat Sergei Kruglov, whom Chuikov
knew slightly. On the other sat Georgie Malenkov, whom Chuikov had not
met but had, of course, heard of. With Khrushchev’s capture or surrender,
this was the group that ruled the Soviet Union.
At the end of the table sat a brooding presence. Stalin puffed on his
pipe and watched as Kruglov guided the general to a chair. Chuikov thought
those eyes resembled that of a shark: dispassionate, emotionless, and lethal.
According to the gossipy heard in the Army, one gambled with his life
anytime Stalin’s invited him into his presence.
“Thank you for coming on short notice,” Kruglov opened the
conversation. “Considering our current situation with the war, we wanted to
consult with you on strategies before moving forward.”
“I serve the Soviet Union.” There. That was positive yet
noncommittal.
“Why have you not forced the crossing of the Oder River?” Stalin
demanded.
“I wish to avoid the mistakes Smirnoff made, Comrade General
Secretary.”
“One of his shortcomings was timidity,” Stalin commented. “What
are you doing about that?”
“I respond quickly and forcefully to German incursions. And I work
to make my own opportunities. Time is the enemy.”
“Well said, Comrade General,” Malenkov said. “What are your
plans to avoid losing that precious commodity?”
“We are poised to strike,” Chuikov said. “As soon as we have
enough supplies for thirty days operations, I will force the crossing and then
hold the West Bank.”
“You will not immediately march on Berlin?” Stalin asked.
“No, Comrade General Secretary. General Smirnoff took a gamble
and managed to take Berlin but was trapped when Rommel cut him off – he
no longer had the supplies to maintain the corridor back to Frankfurt am
Oder.”
“And I think you are being defeatist,” Stalin said.
“I would view my actions as being prudent in an uncertain
environment.”
Stalin wrapped his pipe sharply against his boot and then carefully
filled it with tobacco again. After lighting the tobacco, he puffed it into
wakefulness and seemed to ponder the meeting. Finally, he looked up at
Chuikov.
“Where are the Germans strongest?” Stalin asked around the stem
of the pipe.
“There is no question they have their strongest forces arrayed along
the west bank of the Oder.”
 “And where are they weakest?”
“The Germans advanced towards Breslau with four divisions. It was
an Army group that was stationed in Prague. They immediately pulled back
when we advanced, so we concluded that represented the totality of their
forces. So I would judge that is where they are weakest.”
Stalin hummed to himself as he worked his pipe and thought about
what he heard. Then he looked up at Chuikov again.
“If you were to reorient your forces and attack towards Prague,
could you take that city?”
“I think that is entirely likely, Comrade General Secretary. That area
is mountainous, but the mountains are more like large hills. They don’t
present a particular challenge. I think we could throw twenty divisions
down the highway towards Prague without greatly endangering our position
on the east bank of the Oder.”
“Then why have you not done so?”
“I was ordered to prepare for an attack across the Oder, Comrade
General Secretary.”
There was a long pause as Kruglov and Malenkov looked at each
other. Neither seemed to want to glance down the table at Stalin. The room
grew quiet before Stalin spoke again.
“So you were,” Stalin said.
Chuikov decided he might have been mistaken, but he was sure he
saw a twinkle in Stalin’s eye. Rather than facing a shark, he concluded that
Stalin was like a large cat, toying with its prey. But the general knew he was
still in a dangerous situation.
“Can you reorient your forces to take Prague without alerting the
enemy?” Kruglov asked.
“That is the real question, isn’t it, Comrade General Secretary?”
Chuikov asked. “The Germans overfly the territory constantly, and there is
little we can do about it. This is something that must be done carefully,
probably at night.”
“And how long would it take to be ready to attack?” Stalin asked.
Chuikov sensed the trap but saw no way of avoiding it. The only
solution was an honest answer.
“If everything works as planned, we could be in Prague by the
middle of the summer, perhaps late August.”
 “And how would you avoid being trapped by the Germans?”
Malenkov asked lazily.
Chuikov reminded himself that everyone in the room was
dangerous. Not just Stalin.
“We would have the mountains, such as they are, guarding our
flanks. And we would need to destroy the army facing us.”
“The Red Army has not succeeded in destroying the Germans, so
far,” Malenkov said.
“Other than capturing Model’s army, which I might add, was the
greatest victory of either side during this war.”
Malenkov snapped his mouth shut. The general had managed to
turn his words against him and he didn’t like it. But he reminded himself
that he not only had to match wits with the General Secretary and Kruglov,
but there were those in the Politburo and below who would be delighted to
sit in his chair.
“Very well, Comrade General,” Stalin said. “Get your forces in
position and let us know when you are ready to begin the advance.”
“I shall do so, Comrade General Secretary,” Chuikov responded.
Stalin sat quietly for a few moments, puffing on his pipe. Then he
waved them out of the room.
“What is your honest evaluation of your chances of succeeding,
Comrade General?”
Kruglov and Chuikov stood in the Kremlin Courtyard next to their
cars as they conversed.
“You know as well as I do the imponderables of war,” Chuikov
replied. “If the Nazis do not reinforce their army in Silesia and we hide our
troop movements, things will go well.”
“I keep hearing the word if, Comrade General. May I remind you
that the General Secretary does not like the word if.”
“I cannot lie to you, Comrade Kruglov, and I refuse to lie to
Comrade Stalin. That’s a certain way to an unpleasant death. I believe we
can destroy that Nazi army in Silesia. The commanding general is
competent, but there is only so much he can do with four divisions.”
“Very well. We have lost an entire army in Berlin, and we cannot
afford to lose another. And Comrade Stalin is growing more impatient with
failure.”
 “I am well aware he could pull me in at any time and shoot me.”
“It would be me that pulls you in,” Kruglov corrected. “We cannot
keep losing our Generals. I would prefer you succeed.”
“I will do my best to succeed,” Chuikov asserted. “That is my job,
after all.”
“I want Comrade Stalin to pin a medal on you.” Kruglov paused.
“When will you return to your post?”
“I will fly out after dark. Flying at night is safer than riding the
trains.”
“So I’ve been given to understand,” Kruglov said. “Very well.
Thank you for coming to Moscow so quickly. Now you must return as
quickly.”
“I shall do my best.”
Kruglov watched as the general climbed into his car and rolled out
through the gate. He turned as his assistant walked up.
“What is it, Dmitri?”
“Ilyiv has made two visits to the Kremlin in the past week.”
“Has he said anything about it?”
“He claims to have visited the doctor,” Sagatev said.
“This is getting serious,” Kruglov commented. “Watch him closely.
We need to know who he is developing to support him.”
“I have been doing so, Comrade.”
“Of course you have.”
 
§§§
 
June 2, 1944; 4 AM
Near Liegnitz
Lower Silesia
 
Boris Danislav never expected to be a mess sergeant. War seemed
to have a way of accelerating promotions. His predecessor was unfortunate
enough to be in the Mess Tent when the wash from a napalm canister
enveloped it. This had ended his usefulness to the revolution in a very
permanent manner.
 The Russians had learned to avoid having their tents resemble
anything that might be a target. Tent fabric was now dyed mottled shades of
green and brown. They were placed under trees, and in fact, The Red Army
worked hard to fade their installations into the forests of western Poland.
They did not lose as many people to the bombs that way, although they still
lost too many.
Danislav brought the same rigid standards to the mess tent as he did
to his vehicles and inventory. As a result, after riding in a truck all night, he
was able to get a tent set up and prepare to serve breakfast to the soldiers he
accompanied. The commanding officer and the commissar had both
commended him for his performance. His only serious shortcoming was
that he could not cook. So far, he had been able to rely on a group of
privates and corporals who did not scald water, at least. But he lacked the
gift his predecessor had for throwing together a miserable group of rations
and producing something tasty, if not outstanding.
Once his people were successfully serving breakfast to the
accompanying troops, Danislav stepped out of the tent to smoke a cigarette.
He had chain-smoked all through the night as he worried about his mess
organization getting scattered around Silesia, and the harsh tobacco had
worn his throat raw.  As he puffed on the cardboard tube, a lieutenant
walked up. Danislav recognized him as a junior member of General
Chuikov’s staff.
“All is well, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Comrade Lieutenant. I have the operation up and running. We
have started serving breakfast for the men who have been up all night.”
“Good job, Comrade. You are a credit to the revolution.”
Danislav studied the lieutenant. The man had the fire of zeal in his
eyes. The lieutenant was a true believer in World Communism.
“Thank you, Comrade Lieutenant. We do our best.”
The officer clapped him on the shoulder before marching away. He
must have been a recent addition to the forces here in the west. The past
three years of war had shaken the doctrinaire beliefs out of the Red Army.
Most of the survivors of the ongoing battles were pragmatically working to
preserve their lives and then do the job assigned by Comrade Stalin.
Corporal Subitov walked up. “Comrade Sergeant, the fire has gone
out in one of the stoves, and we cannot get it relit.”
 The mess sergeant sighed. Since he had a reputation for fixing
anything, the men in his unit preferred to report equipment problems to him
and avoid responsibility for the failure. Since he was still new to his job, he
hadn’t figured out how to delegate problem-solving.
Someone had shut off the master valve to the gasoline-fired stove.
He quickly corrected the problem and stepped back outside. He was too
tired to berate the corporal for not attempting to find the problem himself.
That was a job for another day.
The early summer dawn was beginning to brighten the sky when a
German plane swept over the clearing with a roar. He just happened to
glance up to catch sight of the machine, otherwise, he would have missed it;
it moved so quickly. He did catch sight of the German cross on the
underside of one of the wings.
A moment later, the ground shook. Danislav looked in the direction
the aircraft was moving and saw an orange ball of flame boil into the sky
and then heard the deep boom of the explosion. He shook his head. Either a
fuel depot or an ammunition dump was now history. Someone had not
hidden their installation as well as Danislav had concealed the mess tents.
Either that or Danislav was lucky so far.
After working his way through another cigarette, Sergeant Danislav
returned to the mess tent. He needed to prepare for the regular breakfast and
then make sure he had supplies for lunch and the evening meal. He now
knew why his deceased boss was always so grouchy. He had to watch
everything the workers did. They were uncaring and incompetent. He
supposed he could report them to the commissar and have them shot. But
the replacements that the division would send him were worse.
 
§§§
 
June 5, 1944; 4 AM
Stalag IIA
Neubrandenburg, Germany
 
Colonel Gandolf Wahlberg wondered what had brought him to this
point in life. An early and ardent supporter of Communism, he had
followed instructions from the party and joined the Nazis in 1925 during
their rise to prominence. Content to keep a low profile and pass information
to Moscow that he was sure Stalin would receive otherwise, he hoped to be
rewarded for his efforts when Germany joined the ranks of International
Socialism.
Now, however, he was involved in a cloak and dagger operation
that would result in the deaths of a traitorous general and a renegade party
leader. If he survived this mission, he planned to buy a ticket on the next
boat to the United States. He had done his research, and he was sure he
could change his identity and blend into the background in that vast nation.
He wasn’t sure what was worse, working with the strutting, elitist Nazis or
dealing with that madman in Moscow.
Wahlberg stopped at the entry desk and handed his orders to a
Luftwaffe captain. The captain carefully studied the orders and looked up at
Wahlberg.
“I don’t understand, Herr Colonel. There have been no movement
orders for the flag officers in this camp.”
“These are the orders right here, Herr Captain,” Wahlberg tapped
the paper with his finger.
The orders were legal. Why, Wahlberg’s staff had typed them up at
his direction. He was surprised the captain had questioned him. That was
nicht akzeptable.
“But, no one should be removed from this camp,” the captain
protested.
Wahlberg decided the time-honored army method was appropriate
to solve this problem. So he got loud.
“Captain, what is it that you don’t understand about the orders?” he
screamed. “I am supposed to take herren Smirnoff and Khrushchev to a
meeting, and I am delayed by sniveling incompetence. It is too bad the
Gestapo is gone. But you will certainly be having a conversation with the
SS about this.”
“Colonel…” the captain stammered. “General Guderian let me
know in no uncertain terms that only he could authorize our guests from
leaving the camp.”
“Who do you think signed this, you imbecile?” Wahlberg waved the
orders in front of the unfortunate captain’s face. “Who do you think told me
to get these men?”
 “Listen,” the colonel continued, “you perhaps have not heard what
is going on.”
“What is going on, Herr Colonel?”
“Not here. Come over here for a minute.”
The captain followed Wahlberg off to the side of the reception area.
A few moments later, he returned, sliding a combat knife into the sheath
taped inside the sleeve of his shirt. He nodded to the four soldiers with him.
They followed as he walked deeper into the camp.
Each of the soldiers was a dedicated Communist like him, and he
had carefully guided their activities in the Wehrmacht, and they would do as
he ordered without question. And the plan was to take the two Russians
away from the camp to someplace in the countryside where they could be
quietly killed. However, Wahlberg’s inexperience at wet operations was
what brought things to a halt.
The captain was not quite dead. He dragged himself across the
floor, leaving a trail of blood, and reached up with a shaking hand to press
the emergency button on the side of the desk.
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY
 
 
June 6, 1944; 4 AM
Pearl Harbor
Hawaii Territory, USA
 
Chief Mayfield occupied his usual desk when Captain Alan Carper
hurried into the office of ComSubPac. There was an impatient look on his
face when he saw Carper walk through the door.
“The Admiral has been waiting for you, Captain,” he said
reprovingly.
 “Sorry, Chief. Someone got a truck crosswise on the dock when I
was down at the boats. I had to wait for the dock workers to get it out of the
way before I could get past. For some reason, they don’t have a lot of
respect for Navy captains.”
“Sounds like they were smart fellers,” the chief replied. “You can
go on in.”
Carper knocked twice and opened the door to Admiral Charles
Lockwood’s office.
“Admiral, I apologize for being late.”
“I heard, Al. Not a problem. I always have plenty on my desk to
keep me occupied. Should I have a word with Commander Tyler down on
the docks?”
“No, Sir. Looked like a civilian driver got himself crossed up and
drove out onto the wrong pier.”
“Very well. Siddown, Al. We need to talk.”
Carper took the proffered chair across from the admiral.
“How familiar are you with our relations with the Soviets?”
Carper raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard enough to know that we
might’ve joined the Krauts in their war against Stalin if we didn’t have our
problems in the Pacific Northwest.”
“That’s about the size of it. Stalin has managed to torque the Brits
two or three times, not to mention what they did in Kabul. And then there
was the bombing at the Royal Hawaiin.”
“Do we know that they were behind that, Sir?”
“Yes,” Lockwood replied. “It was open and shut. The briefing
packet I received from CincPac confirmed it. And it brings us to the topic of
this conversation.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Carper felt uneasy about where the discussion was leading. While
he settled into his new role without difficulty, he was still getting to know
his boss. The man was easy to work with and genuinely looked after his
people. But Al still had a hard time reading the man, and it made him
nervous.
“The government is concerned that if the Soviets defeat Germany,”
Lockwood began, “they may increase their activities in the Pacific,
specifically the Northwest Pacific.”
 “Against Japan, then?”
“Against Japan and possibly against Alaska. They were sending
money and arms to the Chinese communists, although that has all but
stopped since Stalin invaded Germany.”
“I heard that the Soviets have their hands full in Germany,” Carper
commented.
“That is true. But that war won’t last forever. Which comes to the
crux of our conversation.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“We need to slip a sub into Vladivostok harbor and see what they
have there.”
“So, we haven’t been able to get somebody on the docks there with
a camera; I take it.”
“That’s right. And I think we’ve tried.”
“Navint must want badly to see that harbor,” Carper said. “Sending
in a sub is a high-risk operation. Who did you have in mind for this? Even
with the war over, most of our units have taskings already.”
“Who would you recommend, Captain?” Lockwood asked.
Carper pondered the question and shook his head. “I don’t know,
Sir. We’ve been training our skippers to be aggressive and opportunistic,
but I’m not sure that’s what we need for this mission. Probably chicken of
the sea.”
Lockwood snorted. “Chicken of the sea, indeed. I like that phrase. I
reached the same conclusion you did. I think I would like you to take the
mission.”
“Sir, I didn’t see that coming. But this is something I think I can do.
Which boat would you like me to take?”
“Your comment about the taskings for our boats is well taken. The
Joint Chiefs told Admiral Nimitz that all of the current taskings are
important, but we still have to do this.”
“Kind of them to manage CincPac’s resources for him,” Carper put
an edge in it.
“Well, Nimitz wasn’t happy about it, to be sure. Oh, everyone
agrees on the need for intel. But, there was some debate on how to go about
the tasking. The Army wanted to send a B-17 out of Japan. But to see
anything useful, it would have to fly inside the Soviet five-mile limit.”
 “And it would probably get shot down.”
“I agree,” Lockwood nodded. “No, this is the way to do it. It’s a
moot point anyway. Nimitz gave me the tasking, so we must do it. The only
thing available that could do the job is the Essen.”
Carper sighed. “I knew my sins would come back to haunt me.”
Lockwood laughed. “Ha! You made a righteous decision when you
fired the skipper last week, Al. He had completely lost control of the crew. I
don’t understand how Dick Steck made it so far in the Navy. And he was a
ring-knocker, too.”
“I don’t know, Admiral,” Carper said with a grin, “Annapolis turns
out its share of idiots.”
“Don’t push it, Al,” Lockwood growled. “Just because you didn’t
go to the trade school.”
“Right. How long before I need to sail?”
“I can give you a couple of weeks to collect a crew and get your
boat shipshape. You can raid whoever you think you need to get a crew
together, and I’ll give you cover when everyone starts screaming.”
“Covering it under national security usually quiets things down,”
Carper commented. “Especially since it’s true in this case. Can I pull Greg
Rogers out of his boat to be my exec for this trip?”
Lockwood nodded slowly. “Yes, I think you may. I was probably
going to give him Essen anyway. He has done well on Hessian.”
“So, can I let him know that he can have the boat after this
mission?”
“Let’s not tip our hands just yet. Jolly knows his capabilities, and he
has let it be known he would prefer we not demobilize him. Let’s see how
things go. And I have one other task for you.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“We are reactivating the base at Subic Bay. The Fulton will be
leaving San Diego on or about July first for Manila. She will support the
subs until we get the base back in operation. I want you to sail there after
your mission and get the submarine operations settled down. I’ll fly the
debrief team out there to talk to you.”
“So Subic will be a forward base for us, then, Sir?” Carper asked.
“Yes. We are negotiating with the Japanese for basing rights in
Yokosuka and whatever else we can grab. But the Filipinos want us back in
Subic, and it’s a great harbor.”
“A lot of history there, too.”
“Right. Okay, Al, any questions before I turn you loose?”
“No, Sir. I assume there will be a briefing packet on the mission
itself?”
“Yes. That is coming from Washington, so you know how realistic
it will probably be.”
“I understand.”
“Got my orders for me, Chief?” Carper asked as he walked out of
Lockwood’s office.
“So far it’s VOCO, Sir,” he replied, meaning Verbal Orders of the
Commanding Officer.
Captain Carper returned to his office and began jotting on a
notepad. There was a lot that had to be done and not a lot of time to do it.
 
§§§
June 7, 1944; 4 PM
Old Executive Office Building
Washington, DC, USA
 
It had taken Erich Schumann far longer to study the confidential
document than he expected. The Americans had brought an almost
Germanic efficiency to their documentation process. It provided more
information than he expected to find, but plodding through the report was
laborious.
Now that he had finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked
around the room. After his lunch, he had returned to the office, and the
Army sergeant had retrieved the document for him. Schumann had
immediately noticed that the sergeant had neglected to relock the cabinet.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, he had closed the binder with the
confidential report and replaced it in the cabinet. He pulled out the top-
secret version and returned to the table.
There was a significant element of risk to what he was doing, but
the payoff would be considerable. He pulled out a Minox camera and began
photographing pages in the document. He had to replace the film cassette
several times because of the size of the document, but he was motivated to
work quickly. The sergeant would return promptly at 5 PM to lock up the
report, and he needed to have things in order at that time, whether or not he
had completed photographing the document.
General Groves had scheduled a dinner with Schumann to review
the German’s conclusions from the document. Following the dinner,
Schumann planned on visiting the German embassy to deliver the films to
the military attaché. The attaché was a covert member of the Munich
Faction and would ensure that the films were developed, printed, and sent
to an anonymous office in Munich rather than Frankfurt.
Whenever the true Nazis regained power in Germany, Schumann
expected to be appointed to run the atomic project in the place of that Jew
lover, Heisenberg. And with the development of atomic weapons, he
expected Germany would soon rule the world. It was an honor as well as
intimidating to be a part of such a powerful destiny.
He had glanced at his watch and saw that he had a half-hour
remaining before he would expect the sergeant back. He looked up
suddenly when he heard the doorknob turn. He quickly placed the camera in
his suit-coat pocket and slid his notepad over the report. Perhaps he could
fool the Americans at least once.
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
 
 
June 12, 1944; 9 AM
The State Department
Washington, DC, USA
 
The Reich Ambassador to the United States, Hans Thomsen, felt
uncomfortable as he was ushered into Cordell Hull’s office. He wasn’t quite
sure, yet, what had happened, but Erich Schumann had managed to slam his
fingers in the car door in dramatic fashion. The need for ministerial-level
people to deal with the problem indicated its severity.
“Thank you for coming to see me this morning, Mr. Ambassador,”
Hull started the meeting.
“I am always willing to consult with our American friends, Mr.
Secretary. How may I help you this morning.”
“This has to do with the German representative appointed to
observe our cleanup operations for the industrial accident out west.”
“Yes, Erich Schumann. May I assume that something bad has
happened.”
“You may,” Hull’s said coldly. “We had given Mr. Schumann access
to a confidential document reviewing the accident and the cleanup
operations. Somehow he got hold of the secret version of the document and
was in the process of photographing it. It is a serious breach of trust, and the
President has asked me to speak to you on this matter.”
Thomsen took a deep breath. It was far worse than he expected. He
knew that Germany supported a string of agents in Washington. Everybody
did this. But when the Americans allowed a special representative of the
Reich to participate in one of their most closely guarded secrets, everyone
understood the sensitivity of the activities.
“I… I don’t know what to say, Mr. Secretary. I agree that this is a
serious matter. The Reich Chancellor gave solemn assurances that we
would respect the confidentiality of the material, and he communicated that
intent to me. How was Mr. Schumann able to gain access to the secret
material?”
“We are not entirely sure at this point. Our preliminary investigation
indicated that an oversight on the part of US Army personnel. This allowed
Mr. Schumann to see the secret document. We are investigating everyone
involved, including General Groves. Mr. Schumann has not been
cooperating. Since he does not have diplomatic immunity, he will likely
face some kind of legal jeopardy.”
“I understand. What can I do to help?”
“Would it be possible for you to speak with Mr. Schumann? He is
facing espionage charges which mandate long prison sentences and may
include the death penalty, and we are not sure he understands what he
faces.”
 “Of course, I would be glad to speak with him. I don’t understand
what he was thinking. I saw the briefing packet he was given before his trip
over here. His mission was to learn how we could avoid a similar accident
in Germany.”
“Precisely. I must say that I am dismayed about Doctor Schumann’s
actions. The president asked me to, and I quote, find out what the hell is
going on.”
“I’m sure the Reich Chancellor’s reaction will be more colorful,”
Thomsen noted. “However, I am prepared to proceed to a resolution.”
“When would you be available to interview the prisoner?” Hull
asked.
“I am at your disposal, Mr. Secretary.”
“Excuse me, then, for a moment.”
Hull stepped into the outer office and gave instructions to his
secretary to arrange a meeting for Ambassador Thomsen with General
Groves, Erich Schumann, and whoever Groves thought should be there.”
Hull walked back into his office, and Thomsen stood up.
“My secretary will notify you when he arranges the meeting.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. And thank you for taking the time to see
me.”
“You will forgive me if I do not attend the meeting,” Hull said. “I
do not feel I could add anything of value. My purpose this morning was to
serve as the messenger.”
“Of course, and I understand.”
Even by mid-June, the weather in Washington, DC was dreadful.
The temperature and humidity seemed to wilt everything. Thomsen climbed
into the back seat of the 1939 Horch Phaeton to ride back to the German
embassy. Although the top was up, the side curtains were open, giving the
ambassador a warm, humid breeze for the journey.
The workmen had completed the air conditioning installation in the
embassy the previous week, which was none too soon as far as Thomsen
was concerned. He now looked forward to getting back to his comfortably
cool office so he could begin planning how to deal with the mess that idiot
Schumann had caused.
Things had been going well for Thomsen. After Hitler’s death,
Schloss had avoided war with the United States. This enhanced Thomsen’s
position and worked hard to secure a good working relationship between
Germany and America. While the two nations were not formally allied, they
actively shared military information and were becoming major trade
partners.
And now, this Schumann fellow was endangering everything they
had worked to accomplish. The first thing to do was to draft a message to
Peter Schreiber, apprising him of the situation and what Thomsen was
doing about it. Then he would visit the prisoner and try to ascertain what
was going on with the man.
 
§§§
 
June 13, 1944; 6 PM
Chartwell
Westerham, Kent, UK
 
“I’m grateful for your dinner invitation, Dad,” Randolph Churchill
said.
Winston Churchill looked across the table at his son. “I’m delighted
you were able to attend. It has been too long since we have been able to
simply talk.”
“How are you doing, really, Dad?” the son asked.
“As well as can be expected. My income from my lectures has
exceeded expectations. I won’t become wealthy from this line of work, but
it enables me to live comfortably.”
“That is good to hear. When the queen dismissed you, I feared
everyone would be afraid to touch you.”
“I still have friends in the government and the nation,” the older
man replied. “And it is still important for me to prick at the conscience of
the nation. I don’t want us to forget how we betrayed our friends on the
continent for a mess of pottage.”
“I don’t understand how we allowed that to happen,” Randolph
commented. “It seems like we simply handed the Nazis everything on a
platter. They were the ones who wanted peace, and we didn’t force any
concessions from them.”
“To be honest,” Winston said, “Schloss is a different sort of Nazi.”
 “Yes, I have heard you say that before. But what does it really
mean?”
“He has completely ceased the persecution of the Jews and
established them in a homeland.”
“But we were soon to do that, ourselves, were we not?”
Winston tilted his head slightly in response. “Yes, but we were
intent on hemming them in with conditions related to the Muslim and Arab
populations in Palestine. In one fell swoop, Schloss allowed the Jews to
form their nation without preconditions, and Ben Gurion took full
advantage.”
“Is that good or bad, Father. I am curious.”
“I thought hell had let out for lunch when that maniac blew up the
Dome of the Rock, but things seem to have settled down somewhat. There
is ongoing low-level strife, but the Germans have armed the Jews to a level
far beyond what anyone else in the region can manage. The Judaeans have
completely stopped any incursions. Most of the Arab and Muslim
population pulled up stakes and left. To give Ben Gurion credit, he tried to
convince them to stay. Losing those people really hurt their economy.”
“But they will have a more homogeneous population now, won’t
they?”
“They will all be Jews if that’s what you mean.” Winston displayed
his smile. “But I think there are greater varieties of Jew than of Muslims.
And they are not hesitant to fight with one another.”
“Do you think we should take any action with regards to Judaea?”
Randolph asked.
“We have formal diplomatic relations, now. But they are tied to
Germany militarily and have a strong trading relationship with Italy. We are
having trouble just maintaining our grip on Egypt at the moment.”
“Speaking of which,” the younger man spoke, “there are quite a few
in HM government who say Germany will have to disgorge its conquests
within a generation anyway, and that’s assuming they win the war.”
“That may be true, but it doesn’t resolve the question of what
Britain owes the subjugated peoples. We may end up in a close relationship
with Germany – it appears that is the way things are moving. But the people
in France, the low countries, and eastern Europe may never forgive us. That
is the wound I want to heal.”
 “Is that even possible?”
“I have given some considerable thought to this, son. Our queen is
fighting a two-front war at the moment. First of all, she is trying to avoid a
war with Stalin while at the same time providing significant aid to
Germany. Then, too, she is working towards calling elections so that we can
normalize our government again.”
“What do you want to accomplish, then?”
Winston looked thoughtful. “I do not want Germany to lose this
war. I desire to regain some position of influence. From that commanding
high ground, I would start conditioning our aid to Germany on some kind of
quid pro quo. They need to make some commitments about releasing their
captive peoples.”
“Are you going to stand for Parliament, then?” Randolph asked.
“That is my intention. My associates are evaluating several safe
seats where I can mount a campaign.”
“Please pardon me for asking this, Father, but are you confident of
surmounting that hurdle?”
“I believe there is a level of support among the people. Yes, I think I
can do this.”
“What might I do to help?”
Churchill, the elder, stared at his son. “Honestly, Randolph, I think
you would do best if you kept a low profile.”
“I’ve been on the wagon for three months, you know.”
“I didn’t know, and I had noticed you were drinking only water
during the meal. You have done well at lining up speaking engagements,
behind the scenes, as it were. I think if you continue in a similar capacity,
you will do well.”
“I am also trying to control my temper, but that seems rather harder
than keeping my hand away from the drink.”
“You have my best wishes, son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
 

 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
 
 
June 14, 1944; 6 PM
Near Liegnitz, Polish Territory
 
The two generals saluted each other and then retreated to General
Schörner’s command tent. Once inside, they moved to Schörner’s office
and seated themselves around a table.
“We are here. At last,” Rommel said.
“You moved far faster than anyone would have expected, Herr
General,” Ferdinand Schörner said.
Erwin Rommel tilted his head to acknowledge the statement. “That
may be true, but the greatest enemy of operations like this is time. And it
will take us several days more to transition from a marching army to a
fighting force.”
“I’ve seen no evidence the Russians are aware that you have moved
an army into this area,” Schörner said.
“That may be. They have not been able to establish regular
reconnaissance flights. But their on-the-ground assets are better than
generally known. Plus, Chuikov has been moving forces around along the
Oder, and we haven’t been able to determine what he is up to. I want to get
this operation moving and force them off balance.”
“And your goal is to interrupt their supply lines, correct?”
“Correct. I want to push up to Poznań. That is the pinch point for
their entire supply operation. Your job will be to hold the back door open.”
“I can do that. The Russian forces in this area are not impressive.”
“Understand, Herr General,” Rommel explained, “that once
Chuikov understands what we are doing, he will throw everything he has
into stopping us. And he will understand quickly.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Schörner replied. “Are we planning to
hold Poznań?
“I am not sure we can. But if we can cut up Chuikov’s forces
piecemeal before withdrawing, it will be beneficial. No, I mainly want to
destroy as much of the transportation infrastructure as possible.”
 “I thought we had already bombed the place to rubble.”
Rommel chuckled. “We have. And yet, Chuikov still has a lot of
freight moving through the town. Unfortunately, the Luftwaffe, alone, will
not win this war for us.”
“I suppose the Luftwaffe can’t even find out where Chuikov is
moving his forces.”
“We cannot blame them for that,” Rommel said. “Our cameras do
not work that well at night. And that’s when most of the activity is
occurring.”
“I understand. When do you want to strike?”
“June 20th, probably around 4 AM.”
“What can we do to support you?”
“Keep your patrols out, mainly. I need to be aware of anything that
looks out of the norm. We’re taking a risk with this operation. After the
Russians trapped Model, the OKW gets nervous about anything like this. If
we get to Poznań on time, we will look at swinging west to trap the bulk of
Chuikov’s forces.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Schörner said. “You proved it could
be done when you forced Smirnoff to surrender.”
“I think this time the Russians would fight it out,” Rommel said
grimly. “After what happened to Smirnoff, I suspect that Stalin’s orders to
the generals left no room for interpretation. And he is still trying to punish
Smirnoff.”
“How is he doing that?” Schörner asked.
“He sent an assassin in to kill Smirnoff and Khrushchev, and we
caught it only at the last moment. But, Stalin is deadly serious about
enforcing his will. I’m not sure how that motivates the Russian generals,
though.”
“So then it would be time to stand our ground and smash the
Russians. I don’t understand why we haven’t done that.”
“Because we could destroy the entire Heer. And if we failed in
destroying the Russian armies, there would be nothing to stop them from
rolling across all of Germany and probably to the Atlantic coast.”
Schörner put his hands on his hips and glared at Rommel. “I have
the highest respect for your accomplishments, Herr General, but I am afraid
you are too timid.”
 Rommel stepped back to take a breath mentally. Though Schörner
was also a competent soldier, he had always been a difficult man to deal
with but. Rommel’s difficulty lay in determining whether his anger was
because he didn’t like Schörner or because of the other man’s poor grasp of
the strategic situation.
“We have had this discussion before, Herr General,” Rommel
stated. “Has anything changed in your view?”
“To be honest, the correlation of forces is about the same. No,
nothing has changed.”
“Very well. Then this discussion is pointless. We have talked about
this before, and I gave you my thoughts. Now, let me give you my orders.
We will kick off this operation next week, and you will cover my flank and
rear areas. If you detect any significant movement by the Russians, you will
inform me immediately. Let me refine that just a bit. I want a daily report of
your patrol activities and what they have seen.”
“Will you micromanage my operation for me then?” Schörner was
tight lipped and pale.
“I don’t care how you do it, Herr General. That is entirely up to
you. I simply set my expectations. Are you with me?”
“Of course, Herr General. I am a soldier, and I know we have a job
to do. I felt the need to discuss some of my concerns, though.”
“And that is fine. One thing that I have learned from Herr Schloss is
that it’s important to hear all viewpoints. And I have heard yours. In the
end, it is my responsibility and my decision. And the decision has been
made.”
“I understand and obey, Herr General,” Schörner barked.
“Thank you,” Rommel replied.
As he walked back to his staff car, he wondered if he had made a
mistake in not relieving Schörner on the spot. General Schörner was a sharp
tool, but Rommel worried that the handle was loose and he might end up
cutting himself severely. He concluded that if there were one more incident
with the recalcitrant general, Rommel would relieve him. And he could then
dump the problem on Guderian and Von Rundstedt and let them sort it out.
He didn’t need another correction from the Reich Chancellor. Rommel had
been told in no uncertain terms to deal with it, and that is what he intended
to do.
  
§§§
 
June 16, 1944
Prime Minister’s Office
Tokyo, Japan
 
“I apologize for not meeting with you sooner,” Prime Minister
Yamamoto said. “Since we have ended the war, it seems I have become
busier than before. But please allow me to say that I hope your stay in Japan
has been productive. The reports from our Ministry of Commerce indicate
that we may see great gain from the visit.”
Senator Walter George cleared his throat. “Er, Yes, Mr. Prime
Minister. We are honored that you invited us to see you. I am Senator
Walter George. With me are businessmen Howard Simpson, Owen Smith,
and Thomas Watson, Jr.”
“You have brought great expertise. Our commerce people have told
me that this group has brought practical knowledge to our people. If it puts
more of our citizens to work, we shall all be better for it.”
“Thank you,” George said. “I was fully supportive of the effort to
end the war. The Japanese nation has honored us by facing up to the crimes
that some of her people committed. And it has honored us by inviting us to
help with your postwar economy.”
“And I am gratified the American people have been willing to put
the tragedies behind them,” Yamamoto replied. “I don’t know if we can be
called friends as yet, but we are no longer enemies. And these other men on
the team, what do they do?”
“Mr. Owen Smith works for the Chrysler Corporation, and he is an
industrial engineer. He was able to advise on manufacturing,” George said.
“Mr. Watson is the son of the President of IBM, and they make tabulating
machines. He has been able to advise on information tracking. And Mr.
Simpson simply makes things happen.”
Yamamoto looked curiously at Simpson. “You make things
happen?”
“Well, yes, Mr. Prime Minister,” Simpson responded. “I call myself
a facilitator. I try to pull together the right people and resources to solve
large problems. In many cases, I invest my own money to help start the
process.”
“That would be investing to start a business?”
“Yes, Sir. That is it exactly. Sometimes I meet an individual or
group of people who have what seems to be a brilliant idea. And they lack
the necessary capital to achieve what they set out to do. So I invest in the
business to get them started.”
“That is fascinating,” Yamamoto commented. “How many
businesses have you helped.”
“About twenty.”
“And they were all successful?”
Simpson chuckled. “No. About ten have survived, and most of
those have thrived.”
“And you lost money on the others?”
 “Well, yes, but I have always come out ahead with the successful
businesses. A successful new business will grow its sales and profits
exponentially.”
“And you think this would work in Japan?”
Simpson studied Yamamoto. The man seemed honestly interested in
what he had to say.
“Japan has been a mercantile nation for a long time, and that
requires people who are willing to take risks. So, I think there are
opportunities here.”
Yamamoto rubbed his chin. “For you personally, or for the nation?”
“That’s a good question. If there is interest, I could probably fund
three or four startup businesses. Or I could meet with Japanese people of
wealth and teach them how this works.”
“Probably the biggest challenge to new businesses is dealing with
the keiretsu – our cartels. They are very traditional, and they may move to
block new businesses that they see as a threat.”
“The Commerce Ministry people have tried to explain it to me,”
Simpson said. “It seems to be a longstanding tradition among your people.
As a general rule, I try never to subvert existing business practices. Rather,
it makes sense to co-opt. To facilitate, if I may be permitted to use the
word.”
“It sounds to me like you are describing a long-term consulting
arrangement, Mr. Simpson,” the Prime Minister said.
“I probably am not available for that. However, I can recommend
several people who might be helpful. One of those, Edwards Deming,
specializes in low-defect, efficient manufacturing. I think he might help you
improve the current system.”
“That sounds very interesting,” Yamamoto said.
The conversation continued for another fifteen minutes when
Yamamoto regretfully called a halt.
“I have kept people waiting for my next meeting, so you will please
forgive me for ending this one abruptly. But thank you for coming to see
me, and thank you for traveling to Japan.”
As the Americans left the Prime Minister’s office, they were each
presented with a porcelain vase as a gift from the Japanese people.
 As the Lockheed Constellation climbed out of Tokyo, Senator
George plopped down next to Howard Simpson.
“Quite the trip, Mr. Simpson.”
“Yes. I thought it was fascinating.”
“Do you believe we will see any fruit from the trees we planted in
Japan?”
Simpson considered the question. “Yes, I think we will. The
Japanese had to humble themselves to accept the terms to end the war. It
made them examine their belief systems and everything else. If we can
encourage some innovative thinking, then I believe they will go at it with a
will. They may even become an economic competitor with the United
States.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. I had a conversation with Edwards Deming; that’s what
brought him to mind in our meeting with the Prime Minister. He has been
trying to educate or cajole American manufacturers, and they pretty much
all rejected his ideas as unnecessary. He thinks large American business has
gotten fat and lazy. They need to be shaken up.”
“That’s an interesting idea. Of course, it’s hard enough to encourage
businesses to come to Georgia.”
“I’ll tell you what, Senator, if you can identify some entrepreneurs
in your state that seem to have good ideas, let me know. I can get in touch
with them and see if there are opportunities.”
“Would you do that?” George asked in surprise. “I thought New
Yorkers assumed the world ended at the Mason-Dixon line. No offense.”
“And none was taken. No, I would be delighted to help businesses
get off the ground in Georgia. And all through the south. I think there are
opportunities there, and that means it’s a chance to grow your economy and
make me a lot of money in the process.”
“I must think about this,” the Senator said. “Can you do something
like that while you are otherwise engaged in Japan?”
“I recently closed out my position in several companies, so I have
been looking for opportunities. Here is my business card.”
“Thank you, Mr. Simpson. If we can get several businesses started
in Georgia, I will consider this trip to have been a success, the Japanese
notwithstanding.”
  

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
 
 
June 17, 1944; 5 PM
Hirschberg im Riesengebirge, Silesia
 
General Chuikov looked around the table at the gathered general
officers. By shamelessly stealing units from all along the front, he had
assembled three armies for this operation. That gave him twelve divisions
along with the supply train. While he was concerned about going up against
the Germans, he was convinced he held a three-to-one advantage over
Schörner.
While the supply situation was still terrible, he had accumulated
enough materiél to do what was needed.  And the division commanders
were among the best in the Red Army.
“We kick-off the operation in three days, Comrades. The ToT will
be at 6:30 AM on June 21. You have performed well in getting ready for
this. Does anyone have any concerns or questions?
“All things considered Comrades,” a Major-General said, “we are in
better shape than any time since the start of the war. “
“We have our preparations in place,” a Lieutenant-General
commented. “The question in my mind is whether the Nazis will
cooperate.”
Chuikov waited for the laughter to die down. “The Nazis have not
been very cooperative in this war. I hope to teach them better in just a few
days.”
“Execution of the Time on Target requires no great coordination on
our part. But are we certain of the targeting information?”
“It’s not as current as I could wish,” Chuikov admitted. “I worry
that sending too many scouts into the area might spook the Germans, and
they are unpredictable enough as is. Our mapping points are dialed in,
though. You should be prepared to call fire down upon any units you
stumble over. Just pay attention to your map grids. Colonel Lignarov
doesn’t want you dropping rounds on his head.”
The laughter was slightly forced. Friendly fire was a problem in all
armies, and despite the pains the artillery groups took with the maps and
targeting information, accidents still happened. The fog of war was a
genuine concept.
“Remember to push hard. Schörner has but four divisions. Once we
encounter resistance, we will immediately move to flank the Germans. 
Once they are isolated from their train, we can cut them up at minimal risk.
Beware, though, that Schörner has a reputation for being overly aggressive.
Once we are in contact, he may push hard against us. Under those
circumstances, retreat far enough so that the Germans are inside your
flanks. Then you can swing around and have them in the sack.”
Chuikov looked around the table. “If there are no further questions,
you are dismissed. We will meet at the same time tomorrow. Please be
ready with your status reports. That is all.”
The general watched as his people left the room. His adjutant
stepped to his side.
“I’m just glad we aren’t trying to force a crossing of the Oder,” the
adjutant commented.
“As am I. I am hopeful we can punch through to Prague, and we
should be able to do so. But once the Germans figure out what we are
doing, they will respond quickly. That’s when things will get dangerous.
According to the original plan for this war, we should be sitting on the
Atlantic coast with all of Western Europe in our grasp. That didn’t work out
quite as we expected, now did it?’
“I am no longer sure why we are even fighting this war. I should
think we would do better by being friendly and convincing the Germans of
the superiority of the Marxist Dialectic.”
“I have sat in the same room with the Party General Secretary along
with the head of the NKVD and commerce. They are consistent in saying
the Germans started this. Absent compelling evidence, I have to accept
that.”
 The adjutant internally debated whether to say more. All the
preparations originally made for the war told him that the Soviets planned
to invade Germany rather than the obverse. There was a time to speak in the
Soviet Union, and there were times to remain silent. He wondered if
Chuikov believed everything the people in the Kremlin told him. Since the
general hewed to the party line, the adjutant decided it was best to say
nothing more.
The adjutant decided to change the subject. “I am surprised the
Germans haven’t noticed what we are doing.”
Chuikov agreed. “They are hard to fool. On the other hand, Silesia
is large, not to mention the Polish territory. This makes it correspondingly
difficult to watch everything.”
“I hope we can make it to Prague.”
“Let’s try to be more optimistic, Tino. I believe we can get there.
And once we are parked in Prague, we will have the interior supply lines.
They will have a hard time dislodging us, and they won’t be able to flank us
because of the terrain.”
The general poured himself a cup of coffee and retreated to his
office. He was convinced the Red Army was adequately prepared for this
operation. He was concerned about morale, though. Even his adjutant
seemed uneasy about it. Was there anything Chuikov could do about it? He
gave it some thought as he drank his coffee and then called the adjutant into
his office.
“I’m concerned about morale. I think I will spend the day tomorrow
visiting the commanding officers and provide some encouragement. The
Germans are not ten feet tall.”
“I will be happy to take care of it, Comrade General.”
As he walked out of the office, he considered what Chuikov wanted
to do. He agreed that the Germans were not ten feet tall. But they were all
of seven feet tall. The Nazis had chewed up several armies worth of men
and equipment and had stopped them at the Oder River. General Smirnoff
was the only Soviet general who had succeeded in making the crossing and
managed to capture Berlin, however briefly. The only reason the Red Army
was still in the game was due to the superior numbers of men and
equipment.
 For some reason, the adjutant had a bad feeling about the upcoming
operation. Chuikov was a top-flight general, but the adjutant was convinced
that the general was being too aggressive. It was a safe assumption that the
Germans could also read the maps and know which areas were vulnerable.
 
§§§
 
June 18, 1944; 8 AM
Pearl Harbor
Hawaii Territory, USA
 
Two anti-submarine corvettes accompanied the USS Essen as it
steamed out of the harbor. It was a carry-over policy from the war when
there was always the risk from Japanese submarines sneaking in to put
torpedoes into ships that didn’t have the sea room to maneuver. It was
probably no longer necessary since the peace treaty was signed, but Captain
Alan Carper thought it was still a good idea.
The watch-standers on the large cargo vessels and tankers generally
paid attention to other ships but sometimes would not spot the low-lying
submarines. Hopefully, they would spot the two small warships and start
watching the ocean. Hopefully. This was why Carper was on the bridge
when they left the harbor.
Carper was also concerned about the scratch crew aboard the Essen.
The only member of the original crew now aboard was the Chief Engineer.
Scotty Attwater was a grizzled thirty-five-year veteran of the Navy and was
probably why the previous crew did not fall completely apart. His seniority
made him Chief of the Boat.
There was no question about Chief Attwater’s experience,
qualifications, and leadership. But there was only so much he could do with
an incompetent skipper. Carper had sat on the review committee after Essen
made port. Based upon what they heard, Lieutenant Steck was a whisker
away from a mutiny. There were several bad apples on the crew, but
everything that followed was the skipper’s responsibility. And Steck had
taken a bad situation and made it worse.
Chief Attwater had identified the troublemakers for him, so Carper
was able to demobilize them. He didn’t feel good about dumping them onto
the civilians, but there wasn’t enough evidence to send them to the Naval
Prison at Portsmouth. Carper and Admiral Lockwood had scattered the rest
of the crew around the flotilla. And between his and Jolly’s efforts, they had
managed to scrape together a decent team. But that was just the beginning.
Carper watched as the corvettes signaled God speed and turned
away. Fifteen minutes later, he turned to the officer of the deck and tapped
him on the shoulder.
“Okay,” Carper said conversationally, “sound General Quarters,
Emergency Dive.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
A moment later, the diving klaxon began with its typical ah-oog-ah
sound. The watchstanders slid down the ladders from their posts on the
conning tower so quickly that they looked like they were falling. Carper
took a quick look around and then jumped down the hatch. He quickly
stepped out of the way so the OOD wouldn’t land on him. He then walked
over to where the diving officer watched the controls. Rogers had the con,
so Carper mainly observed.
“Green board, Sir,” the diving officer shouted.
A row of green lights indicated that all of the hatches and other
openings were shut.
“Dive, dive, dive,” the Executive Officer called.
With a gurgle and a whoosh, the ballast tanks began filling with
water. The sound was similar to one-hundred toilets flushing at the same
time.
“Ten degree down bubble,” Rogers ordered.
“Ten degree down bubble, aye, Sir,” the dive plane operator replied.
Rogers looked over at Carper and raised an eyebrow.
“Two-hundred at five,” Carper said.
“Make your depth two-zero-zero feet,” Rogers ordered.
“Two-zero-zero feet, aye, Sir,” the dive plane operator immediately
responded.
“Turns for five knots,” Rogers again ordered.
“Turns for five knots, aye, Sir.”
The Essen was a new build German design and was very much at
home in the depths of the sea. She was also quieter than anything else out
there. Rogers walked over to stand next to Carper.
 “How did we look, Skipper?” Rogers whispered.
“Slow.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“You know what you need to do,” Carper stated.
“Oh, don’t I ever,” Jolly grinned.
“I’ll leave you to your fun, then.”
Rogers walked over to the sonar operator. “Anything on the roof
right now, Eddie?”
“Not unless they stopped to drop a fishing hook into the water, Sir.”
“Let’s hope not. All right. Emergency surface,” Rogers ordered.
“Surface, surface, surface.”
“Helm, give me fifteen degrees up-bubble,” Rogers called.
“Fifteen degrees up-bubble, aye, Sir.”
The sound of high-pressure air flowing into the ballast tanks echoed
through the boat.  Carper could feel the surge as the motors went to flank
speed. He put his hand on the corner of an equipment rack to avoid falling.
Fifteen degrees might not sound like a steep angle, but that was really
pushing it on a submarine.
A minute later, the submarine was on the surface.
“Rig for surface operation,” Rogers commanded.
The diesel engines rumbled to life as the watchstanders scrambled
up the ladder again.
Rogers picked up the microphone to the 1MC. “This is the Exec.
Department heads to meet in the wardroom in ten minutes.”
“Going to tear a strip off of them, Jolly?” Carper asked.
“You betcha. This was a really pathetic exercise.”
“You get to teach them what the navy is all about, then.”
“There’s a lot of fun in this job, don’t you know?”
Carper laughed and turned to climb back up to the Conning Tower.
“I have the con, Jolly.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Captain has the con.”
 

 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
 
 
June 20, 1944; 4 AM
Liegnitz
Lower Silesia
 
Erwin Rommel stood outside of his command headquarters tent,
holding his binoculars. The early morning quiet was now rent with the roar
of artillery as the Wehrmacht began its advance towards Poznań. The
commander of the armies in the East had designed an action that utilized a
strategy perfected by the Germans – the lightning war, or Blitzkrieg.
During the previous winter, Rommel, Guderian, von Rundstedt, and
the OKW General Staff had discussed, debated, and refined a strategy to
win Germany's war. They had dissected a compilation of successes and
failures in the current conflict with Russia as well as the previous European
war.
The results of the effort were published in an operations manual that
was distributed to the general officers and followed up with training
seminars. It would ensure that the soldiers down to the unit leaders would
know what was expected when they engaged the Russians.
General Rommel worked hard not to show his nervousness in the
days leading up to the offensive. Walter Model’s disastrous attempt to
surround and cut off the Russian army in Poland was still a bitter memory,
and no one wanted a repeat of that failure. And Rommel was using a similar
strategy for this offensive. Once again, Heinz Guderian made sure to keep
the governing council of the nation informed of his plans. He had learned
that if Heinrich Schloss was involved in the discussions and decisions
concerning the attack, he would freely accept responsibility for any failures.
This time, Rommel would refuse to accept failure. A significant
component for success lay in attitude and morale. As far as anyone could
tell, the Wehrmacht was determined to win this one. Still, Rommel could
not quiet the roiling in his stomach as the first units advanced out of
Liegnitz.
 Rommel’s adjutant slipped up next to him. “All is well, so far, Herr
General.”
“Everyone got off all right, then?” he asked.
“Yes, Herr General.” the adjutant replied. “There were no delays,
which, I believe, is a first for us.”
Rommel chuckled. “Maybe Herr Murphy is still in bed.”
“We can hope,” the colonel replied fervently. “Predicting the
Russian reaction is something I have given thought to during the night
hours.”
“Why, Colonel Lehmann, are you telling me that you didn’t sleep
like a baby last night?”
“Did you, Herr General?”
“I believe the answer would fall under command confidentiality.”
Lehmann nodded. “I understand.”
Rommel glanced at his watch in the early morning darkness. The
faint light of the radium treated dial allowed him to see the time,
“I suppose we should begin preparations to move the command post
forward. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the first delay.”
“Of course not.”
The ripping-canvass sound of artillery shells was followed by an
explosion. It seemed nearer than the artillery emplacements.
“It looks like the Ivans were quick off the mark on their counter-
battery,” Rommel commented.
“I should, perhaps, get back to work, then,” Lehmann responded.
“Yes, I think you should, as should I. Enough wool-gathering,
Johann.”
The officers and clerks in the command tent were efficiently
marking positions on the acetate overlay hanging with the map. Privates
and corporals manned a bank of field telephones and quickly routed
messages to the captains and majors who updated the plot. After Erhard
Milch’s inglorious exit, von Rundstedt and Guderian had worked wonders
in quickly restoring efficiency and esprit to the Wehrmacht. And the sense
of optimism was apparent in the tent, and Rommel hoped that optimism was
not misplaced.
 
§§§
  
June 20, 1944; 4 AM
Hirschberg im Riesengebirge
Silesia
 
Vasily Chuikov walked quickly into the command tent and over to
the map. The symbols were maddeningly imprecise.
“What do we have?” he demanded.
Brigadier General Plotnikov moved over to stand next to Chuikov.
“The Germans unleashed a massive artillery barrage to the north of
their positions in Liegnitz. It appears they are driving north again.”
“Back to Breslau?’
“I sent out scouts as soon as we heard of the incursion. We think
they are headed to Poznań.”
“So Schörner has made a mistake,” Chuikov stated. “Get the team
together. I need whoever can get here by 0600. We need to decide whether
this changes our plans.”
“Whether to move towards Prague and cut off their supply lines or
directly attack them?”
“Correct. Start thinking about it, Comrade General. Whatever we
decide, there is not a lot of time to improvise. I don’t think Schörner can
hold Poznań, but if he gets there, he will make a mess of our supply train.”
“I’d better get busy then,” Plotnikov murmured. He walked over to
the plotting table and summoned the couriers. He began issuing orders.
Chuikov studied the map and then walked into his office. The coffee had
been prepared ahead of time and was ready. He poured a cup and sat down
at his desk. He began doodling on a piece of paper. He was not drawing
anything in particular, but pushing a pencil around helped him think.
 
§§§
 
June 20, 1944; 4:30 AM
Frankfurt am Oder
Germany
 
Colonel Obrecht Kuhn stood on a sandbagged parapet and scanned
the Russian position across the Oder River. It was a quiet morning. The
offensive out of Liegnitz probably had kicked off at 4 AM. Rommel was a
stickler for doing things correctly and on time. Kuhn shivered, although the
morning was not that chilly. He half expected the Red Army to flow across
the river into Germany proper, and he had little to stop them.
The colonel was nervous about the strength of his forces since
Rommel had ruthlessly stripped the German assets along the river to bare
minimums to support the offensive in Silesia. And, Guderian had fully
committed the German reserves to the operation. If something went wrong,
there would be nothing to stop the Russians from marching to the Atlantic.
He trusted Guderian and Rommel. And von Rundstedt was a soldier’s
soldier. But the memory of Model’s Polish adventure was still fresh.
 
§§§
 
June 20, 1944; 5:30 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Not being able to sleep, Heinrich Schloss had been in the office
since 4 AM. He had received the message from von Rundstedt that the
offense had begun. Ironically, he had been able to forget about that for a
while as he busied himself with the work on his desk.
He had fortified himself with a cup of coffee before leaving the
house and was just feeling the tendrils of sleepiness that came from getting
up to early. Willem bustled into the office with a carafe and several cups on
a platter. Schloss had been careful with his eating lately and so decided to
reward himself with some Danish. Kirche had made sure to include several
pieces of cheese Danish on the platter.
“Bless you, Willem. I’ll take back all those things I have said about
you.”
“What things would those be, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
“Ahh, Willem,” Schloss waggled a finger, “no need to go into that.
You are here and have made my day.”
“The Military bulletin has not arrived as yet,” the secretary stated.
“I will bring in the morning’s work presently.”
 “If this isn’t the morning’s work, what have I been attacking here on
my desk?”
“That is the remainder from yesterday that you weren’t able to
complete.”
Schloss glared up at Kirche. “I just changed my mind.  You are a
threat to the German state!”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
With that, Kirche turned and glided out of the room. Schloss glared
at him for a moment and then turned to the credenza where the coffee
waited. He began thinking about Rommel’s offensive in Silesia. The risks
were enormous because Germany had committed everything to the battle,
and if they suffered a reverse like Model’s, the war would undoubtedly be
lost.
The floor quivered, and he looked up to see Frau Marsden trundle
into the room.
“You are out early today, Frau Marsden,” he said.
“As are you, Herr Schloss.”
“I feel like we are risking everything with this throw of the dice,”
he said. “I couldn’t sleep, so here I am.”
“And you should know by now not to take counsel in your fears.”
“I would prefer to call it realism, Frau Marsden. If we fail in this
operation, there will not be enough left to stop the Russians from marching
through the country.”
“Do you have confidence in your generals?” she asked.
“I do. But I also had confidence in Walter Model, and look where it
got him.”
“Were you not careful to avoid blaming him for that incident?”
“Well, yes. We made the collective decision to go ahead with that
operation, and it’s as much my fault as anyone’s.”
“And what are your feelings about blame?” she asked.
“Blame is an ugly thing. It paints someone into a corner for taking
the initiative on something everyone else was avoiding. No, I assess
responsibility.”
“Is that just another word for blame?”
“No, it is not. If a soldier fails due to negligence; or as a result of
someone’s negligence, his superior officer takes responsibility. That officer
then investigates and assigns blame, and he also takes responsibility for the
event.”
“Do you expect to be blamed if the operation fails?” the old woman
asked.
“Of course. Although it may not be from something I did, but the
military is my responsibility, as are the things it does. That is the nature of
things.”
“One cannot argue against the nature of things, but you must be
careful not to let that drive you. Germany demands leadership, and that is
what you have been able to provide, despite your struggles.”
“I just get so tired at times, Frau Marsden. I don’t know if this
verdammt war will ever end.”
“It will end, and you will be victorious.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Schloss said.
“Have I not been correct all along?”
“Have you? What about Renate? Did you know she would die?
What about Misty Simpson’s experience in Kabul?
“I cannot predict every aspect of the future, Herr Schloss. No one
can.”
“But you told me Germany would prevail in this war.”
“And so she shall.”
He rose from his desk and turned to face her.
“You have just contradicted yourself,” he said, his voice rising.
“No, you are deliberately misunderstanding me.”
She stepped close to him. For some reason, it always seemed that
she was a head taller than he, but he knew she was shorter.
“Listen well, Herr Schloss. I cannot track all the events in this
world, and I cannot view all of the details of your life. And I am not
permitted to change the course of history on a whim. In truth, history itself
has its own momentum that resists change.”
“But Hitler died in this universe.”
“So, he did. That is part of the history of this world. And the history
shows the Heinrich Schloss overcame terrible odds and saved the nation
and brought a measure of peace to Europe.”
“Peace? Such as the Russians bring?”
 She began poking him in the chest. “Once again, you are
deliberately being obtuse. Have I not told you that Germany would prevail
in this war?”
“But we haven’t won.”
He heard his own voice and noted the whine. What was wrong with
him?
“I did not promise it would be easy,” she said softly. “But, you will
prevail.”
“But the cost is so high.”
“And Germany needs to pay the price for its casual treatment of the
less fortunate and for its abandonment of a fixed morality.”
“I cannot do anything about morality,” he complained.
“You can set the example.”
Schloss stepped back and collapsed into the chair. “It just gets to me
sometimes, Frau Marsden.”
“That is why I came to see you this morning. I believe you need to
rest for a day or so.”
“ You think I am coming unglued again? What is it with you,
anyway?”
Kirche walked into the room and halted when he saw Frau
Marsden.
“I’m sorry. I did not see you come in.”
“Herr Schloss needs to rest for today and tomorrow. Can you call
his car around?”
“Of course, Frau Marsden.”
Ten minutes later, Peter Schreiber accepted a call from Willem
Kirche.
“What news, Willem?”
“Frau Marsden decided the Reich Chancellor needed two days of
rest. I thought I should let you know.”
“Very well,” Peter replied. “I will notify everyone who needs to
know.”
“Thank you, Herr Foreign Minister.”
“Hey, call me Peter. It seems we are all members of one big happy
family.”
 
  
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
 
 
June 21, 1944; 9:00 AM
OKW Field Headquarters
Zeppelin Bunker
Wünsdorf, Germany
 
Although the OKW had regained their building in Berlin after the
Russian rout, communications remained patchy. Therefore, much of the
military leadership gravitated to the central communications nexus that the
army maintained in Wünsdorf. Kilometers of antenna wire were strung
around the town, and the Wehrmacht buildings contained some powerful
transmitters.
Occasionally the radio operators could not deliver crucial messages
because of bad atmospherics or equipment failure. Otherwise, the operation
maintained a web of communications across the Reich. And, when
necessary, around the world.
Heinz Guderian and Gerd von Rundstedt leaned over a table and
studied the photos shot by one of the high-altitude Ju-88 airplanes.
Guderian suddenly grunted and pointed to a section of the collage.
“See that, Herr General?”
Von Rundstedt leaned in further. “I was just going to call that to
your attention. We have a major problem here.”
“Well, at least we now know where Chuikov took his army. He is
right on top of Rommel.”
Von Rundstedt straightened up and placed his hands on his hips.
“The question of the day, Heinz, is whether we should call this a threat or
an opportunity.”
“Chuikov appears to be maneuvering to cut in behind Rommel and
close the salient,” Guderian said as he studied the map. “What do you
suppose would happen if Rommel swung around to the west and cut
Chuikov’s supply lines?”
“That would make for an interesting scenario – both armies cut off
from supplies and battling each other. Who do you think would run out of
supplies first?”
“Oh, I think we would have the advantage there,” Guderian
responded. “But it would also put us into a direct slugging match with the
Russians. That is someone we have avoided to this point.”
“But our forces are close to parity with the Russians, based upon
what we are seeing here, Heinz.”
“True. Do you think we can destroy the Russian force with what we
have?”
“I don’t doubt it. But we would get hurt in the process. But this
might well be the time to do it.”
“There is no time to consult with the Reich Chancellor,” Guderian
stated.
“I will take the responsibility,” von Rundstedt said. “Send orders to
Rommel telling him to guard his left flank and then swing around and slam
the back door on Chuikov. He will know what to do.”
“I will do so. Would you like me to draft the message to Herr
Schloss?”
“Please create the draft, and I will review it.”
“Jawohl, Herr General,” Guderian saluted.
 
§§§
 
June 21, 1944; 9:30 AM
Silesia
 
Rommel stared at the message form and tried to ignore the hollow
pit in his stomach. He wondered if this was how Walter Model felt when the
Russians cut off his salient at Lublin; because he was terrified that the same
thing would happen to him. Yet, Guderian and Von Rundstedt weren’t
panicking, so Rommel needed to keep his wits about him.
He pointed to his adjutant. “Get a message off to Schörner. Tell him
he must hold the salient open at all costs.”
 “At once, Herr General.” And Colonel Lehmann trotted off to send
the radio message.
With the message in hand, Rommel walked over to the map table.
Guderian’s communique was wonderfully imprecise, and it would be hours
before a courier arrived with the details. But Guderian had sent the message
intending that Rommel act immediately. And he needed to. But, Rommel
had acted on a paucity of information in the Libyan desert and had been
successful.
The question before him was what Chuikov intended to do. Odds
were, the Russians would try to cut them off from their supply train and
eventually roll them up as they did to Model. Guderian’s orders were to do
the same thing to the Russians. Rommel liked the idea but was concerned
about the risks. For the first time in the war, the Russians would come to
grips with the Wehrmacht. Rommel instinctively decided that this was the
time and place for the confrontation.
The Germans were well trained, well-rested, and up-to-date on the
maintenance cycles. Most of the armor was fresh from the factory. The
Russian troops were relatively fresh, but they were probably not well
equipped. And because of the constant interdiction of their supply train,
there was probably not enough food, ammunition, and fuel.
As he thought about these things, Colonel Lehmann returned.
“I sent the message and got an acknowledgment.”
“Very well, here is what we are going to do. I want the tip of the
spear to bend around and drive towards the Neisse River. We must quickly
move before Chuikov realizes what we are doing. I expect Chuikov to
attack both flanks. He will be desperate to get out of the sack he is in. And
the Russian forces along the Oder will likely try to break the wall.”
“I understand, Herr General. Do we need to draft a new plan?”
“There is no time, Colonel. Let’s get the orders out and get things
moving. Then we need to sit down and figure out how to slay the beast now
that we have caught him.”
“At once, Herr General.”
Rommel leaned over the map table once again and concentrated on
the situation. He thought Chuikov did not know what he was facing. He
would likely continue driving towards Liegnitz, expecting to cut off
Schörner or smash his four divisions. Rommel’s intention was not to try to
destroy Chuikov’s army as with a hammer but rather to surgically slice
through into his rear and remove his ability to fight. If he could encourage
the Russian General to surrender, it would be a much less expensive
operation.
 
§§§
 
June 22, 1944; 11:30 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Heinrich Schloss tried to calm the furious churning of his stomach.
His first reaction to the news from the front was a desire to call the
members of the government together and discuss the situation. But, Von
Rundstedt and Guderian were in the East supervising the operation and
would not be in attendance. And they had already made the decision. In
fact, they had made the decision yesterday.
He had to trust the generals. They had proven they knew what they
were doing. And he had expressed his trust in them. Now was not the time
to distract them. He just hoped they had made the correct decision.
And Schloss felt rested. He had gone home after his confrontation
with the old woman and gone to bed.
He was reluctant to admit that Frau Marsden was correct. But he
had been on the edge of exhaustion and knew from prior experience that it
affected his judgment. He had slept for an entire day and night. That
seemed to have put him back together. The nation could not afford to have
him out of commission for a week.
Kirche eased into the office. “The Reichsprotektor asked if he might
have a few moments of your time.”
“He’s here?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“Have him come in, please.”
Karl Rainer looked somber when he walked into Schloss's office.
“Are Guderian and the Reichsmarshall getting ready to lose it all
for us, Herr Schloss?”
 “That’s quite the way to start a meeting, Karl.”
“I just assumed you were concerned about this.”
Schloss chuckled sourly. “I’ve been stewing since I got Von
Rundstedt’s message.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Me, Karl? I am going to support the Wehrmacht. Guderian and von
Rundstedt agree on this step, so that means they are confident of success.
Do you really think we could do better?”
“I don’t know, but this seems precisely like what we were doing
when Model got caught.”
“Don’t you suppose they thought about that?” Schloss asked.
Rainer stalked over and plopped down in the chair across from
Schloss. “Okay, but you are concerned about this.”
“I am. It is a risky operation. But it also allows us to shorten the war
dramatically. I think what we are doing is to allow the Russians to come to
grips with us. And they will be in for a big surprise when they discover they
are grappling with far more than Schörner’s four divisions.”
“I am just amazed at your equanimity,” Rainer said. “I was biting
my nails all the way over here.”
“I had another argument with Frau Marsden. She told me to quit
being an idiot.”
“I would love to pull her in for questioning.”
“And we’ve had this conversation before, Karl. No, I will pay the
price for my fretting. But it doesn’t change the fact that we assigned
management of the war to the OKW. Guderian hasn’t made many mistakes,
and he learns from those.”
“There are mistakes, and then there is betting the whole county,
Herr Schloss.”
“Let’s be honest, Karl. We have been betting the whole country
since we formed this government. In many ways, it has gone exceptionally
well. Considering our foe, I think we have also done well in the war. We
just need to get it ended.”
“If Rommel can do what he set out to do, this should help get things
headed in that direction.”
“And I need to put on a happy face when I go home tonight, or Frau
Marsden will have something to say about it.”
 Rainer smiled. “I’m glad I don’t have to face that problem.”
“I’ll be glad when we can move back to Berlin, and she will go
back to Peter’s house.”
“Will Peter thank you?” Rainer asked.
“He gets along with the old lady better than I do. He told me that it
was because he was philosophical about things.”
That caused Rainer to crack a smile. “Misty thinks Frau Marsden is
wonderful. I have learned that there are differences of opinion in a
marriage.”
Schloss laughed. “Isn’t that the truth? Gisela and I do not share the
same opinion of Frau Marsden.”
The two men sat silently in the office for several moments before
Rainer spoke again.
“Have you given thought to when you want to move the seat of
government back to Berlin?”
“I think the outcome of the current battle will determine that. I
assume you have noticed that a lot of the lower-level bureaucrats have
returned. The Reich Chancellery offices have been cleaned, as well as my
apartments. So, I suppose we could go anytime. But, if it’s all the same to
you, Karl, I would prefer not to have to leave under similar circumstances
as before.”
“If something like that happened again, I would enlist Frau
Marsden to help me physically tie you up and carry you from Berlin.”
“I think you would, too,” Schloss murmured.
“Count on it.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
 
 
June 23, 1944; 8 PM
The Queen’s Private Dining Room
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Colin Marty had not been in this part of the palace before. He was
familiar, of course, with the offices where the Queen’s governmental staff
worked. He was also familiar with the public areas where the tourists
visited. Being invited to dinner en famille was a new experience. When she
had said, “Dine with me please, Colin,” he would have been churlish to
refuse even if he had wanted to.
After having worked with Margaret Windsor for the better part of a
year, Colin admired her deeply. She had a sense of duty and honor that was
almost immeasurable in its width and depth. Her level of maturity in
dealing with members of the government belied her comparative youth –
being merely twenty-one. And she was fun. She was adroit at keeping him
from wandering through the dark dungeons of his mind during the day. She
seemed to sense when the moods swept over him.
Marty was not so modest as to argue with those who said he was
good for the Queen. He knew he did well at managing her workload, and he
also was subtly capable of adjusting her black moods so that she wouldn’t
lash out at her ministers in frustration.
“What are you thinking, Colin?” he heard her ask.
“I was woolgathering, I am afraid,” he responded. “It’s quite an
honor to dine privately with you, Ma’am.”
“Well, I didn’t desire to honor you precisely. I simply did not want
to dine alone tonight.”
“Of course, Ma’am.” He wasn’t sure where the conversation was
going and remained carefully non-committal.
“I mean, any number of my cousins and other relatives would be
delighted to break bread with me. The problem is, I have to watch
continually for efforts to manipulate me.  All for my own good, of course.”
The dry sarcasm was evident in her voice.
“I can understand how that would make you weary.”
“Exactly. And I have come to understand that you do not have your
own agenda.”
Colin had picked up the wine glass and set it down again. “I don’t
know if that is entirely accurate, Ma’am. My plan is for you to be
successful, and I will not compromise on that.”
“And yet you are completely honest about it. You don’t try to
manipulate me; you try to convince. And you are loyal as well.”
“I believe that is what I am supposed to be in this position,” he
replied.
“Oh, stop being so careful, Colin. Lighten up. You manage to stay
relaxed in the office. Just relax tonight. This isn’t a state dinner.”
He studied the queen carefully but surreptitiously. He no longer had
Clarice to guide him, and he had to think carefully about things. It hit him,
all of a sudden, that Queen Margaret was a lonely person. Everyone she
dealt with was working an angle. To endure that day in and day out must be
crushing. She was looking for a friend. That wasn’t in his job description,
but he decided that he would have to be a friend for her to succeed.
“Does that make it acceptable for me to dip my tie in the soup,
then?”
She released one of her belly laughs. “I will try not to be critical if
you are gauche.”
“Oh, thank you, Your Majesty. Every day I am terrified of running
afoul of the social register.”
Margaret laughed delightedly. “If that were to occur, I’m sure I
could convince them to make an exception in your case.”
The conversation meandered through current styles and fads in
England. They talked about everything and nothing. For the first time since
he learned of Clarice’s death, Colin felt relaxed. He hoped Margaret took
the opportunity to release herself from her worries, at least for the evening.
They would return all too soon.
“What are your plans for the future, Colin?” the queen asked.
“You mean, what do I want to be when I grow up?”
She grinned and nodded for him to continue.
“I sort of fell into government work. After I took my Masters, at
Oxford, of course, a friend suggested I join him in the PM’s office, and I
applied and was accepted. I spent twelve years there before the PM
seconded me to your office.”
“What was your undergraduate college?”
“I was at Trinity College in Oxford.”
“Do you have good memories of college life?” she asked.
 He shrugged. “I am something of an introvert. I didn’t have much
of a life until I met Clarice.” He smiled to himself at the memory. “She
began including me in the activities around campus – she made sure I
wasn’t hiding in my rooms.”
Margaret wondered if she should change the subject. Was it safe to
allow Colin to wander down these shadowy corridors of time? But she had
never believed in coddling people either.
He visibly shook himself. “She was everything to me, you know. I
understand that I must move on, and I am indeed getting some distance. But
it’s like all the fun went out of life.”
“I haven’t spoken of it much, but I felt much the same way when I
lost my parents and sister. I was always jealous of Lilibet because she was
going to be the queen, and I wasn’t.” She laughed harshly. “It never
occurred to me that my sister would have to die for me to be the queen—
God, what a fool I was. And I had to maintain the stiff upper lip and not let
people know how much I miss them. And we’re getting maudlin.”
“Oh, not at all,” Colin immediately responded. “It’s good to talk
about these things.”
“Occasionally,” the queen replied.
After a lull in the conversation, Colin spoke. “Well, I suppose I
should be getting on. Do you need help with the dishes?”
There was another bark of laughter from the queen. “The kitchen
staff would probably die of a collective heart attack if I stuck my hands in
the dishwater. And thank you, Colin, for a delightful evening. I think we
both needed it.”
Colin stood and bowed. “Your Majesty, the honor was mine.”
After he left, she asked the steward to pour her another cup of
coffee. She sat and sipped it as she pondered the evening. Yes, the dinner
with Colin was satisfactory.
 
§§§
 
June 24, 1944; 2 PM
Prime Minister’s Offices
Tokyo, Japan
 
 Isoroku Yamamoto reminded himself of the law of unintended
consequences. He had succeeded in ending a ruinous war and preserving
the nation. But in so doing, Japan had lost a certain degree of sovereignty.
The Americans were establishing bases across the Japanese home islands
after negotiating favorable terms.
The Americans were polite during the negotiations, but there was
no question of the ultimate conclusion. The military installations were
ostensibly to project American force across the northern Pacific against a
potential Soviet threat. But everyone understood that the American
presence was to prevent Japan from again sallying forth to conquer.
The prime minister was convinced that developing a mercantile
strategy would ultimately benefit Japan far more than military dominance.
And the Americans would essentially pay for the military umbrella they
extended over the country. So he had mixed emotions about the situation.
Yamamoto was somewhat distracted when his secretary marched
into the office.
“What is it, Oye?”
“Four men to see you, Prime Minister.”
Yamamoto looked up quickly. “Who is it? I don’t have anything on
my calendar this afternoon. It was reserved for study.”
“Plans sometimes change, Prime Minister.”
“Very well, give me a minute to finish what I am reading, and then I
will see them.”
“They will see you now.”
Yamamoto nodded. “Very well.”
He slid a desk drawer open as he stood and pulled his Nambu pistol
from the drawer. He then turned and bolted for the bookcase. Unlatching it,
he quickly slipped behind the hidden door and pulled it shut. Behind him,
he heard shouts in the office. It would take them a while to open the door.
But if they knew enough to neutralize his security, they would be waiting at
the bottom of the hidden stairwell.
Most people were not aware of the hidden passageway along this
floor that was accessible from the stairwell. Tactically, he needed to get into
a position to acquire reinforcements. Strategically, he wondered who was
behind the coup attempt. Most likely, it was a group of radicals in the
military, although he was careful not to be wedded to his assumptions.
 Walking across the landing to the other side, he pulled a concealed
lever along the edge of a door and then opened it. After pulling the door
closed, he turned. Low wattage lightbulbs allowed him to see the length of
the corridor. He decided to walk the length of it and exit into the stairwell at
the corner of the building. If he could grab a taxi and get to the Osaka naval
base, he could assure his safety and begin planning a counter to the coup.
The plotters were playing with fire and didn’t know it.
Upon arriving at the door to the next stairwell, Yamamoto stopped
to listen carefully. It was quiet on the other side. Holding his pistol in one
hand, he eased the door open with the other. As he stepped through the
door, a hand clamped down on his right hand and pistol.
“You have brought shame upon the Japanese people, Admiral. It is
time to correct that error.”
The last thing Isoroku Yamamoto saw was the flash of a muzzle.
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
 
 
June 25, 1944; 8 AM
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
“I want to know what is going on in Tokyo,” Harry Truman
demanded. He looked around the Oval Office without allowing his eyes to
settle on any one thing.
“All we know at this point, Mr. President, is that there was a coup
against Yamamoto. We have heard nothing from him, and there seems to be
no government spokesman,” William Donovan explained. “All Americans
have been restricted to either the embassy or where they have docked.”
“No word from the emperor, then?”
“Nothing, Sir.”
 “You told me you were building out your assets in Japan, Director
Donovan. What went wrong?”
“Most of our people in Japan are of European descent,” Donovan
replied. “We understood it would take time to gain the trust of any native
Japanese. And the risk of the radical element trying something like this was
well known.”
“So it was the radicals?”
Donovan raised his hands, palms up. “The only creditable
alternative would be if the Emperor enlisted aid in deposing Yamamoto. We
knew the Prime Minister was calling the shots, and Hirohito was not
necessarily happy about that.”
“So it could be the emperor?” Truman asked.
“It could be, but we rate that as unlikely. While Hirohito engenders
a lot of goodwill among the people, he lacks the organizational structure to
arrange something like this.”
“So, it is likely the Army?”
“That would be our guess. The Navy is largely loyal to Yamamoto -
assuming he is still alive.”
“And you think he is dead?”
“I think so. If he were still alive, we would probably have heard
something.”
“And if the radical element can assume power, then we would
likely be back at war with them. I’m telling you, Director, we can’t afford
that.”
Donovan nodded in agreement. “To be honest, Mr. President, we
should have recognized this as a risk and planned accordingly. The
responsibility is mine.”
“Is this a prelude to you offering your resignation, Mr. Donovan?”
“Well, yes, if you want it.”
“I don’t want it. Falling on one’s sword is a noble endeavor, but it
does little to solve the current problem. And you are wrong. The
responsibility is mine. And there are a few things we can do about it.”
Truman stood and walked to the door and opened it. “I need to send
a message to General Marshall.”
The Army Signal Corps sergeant walked into the room carrying his
notepad and a handful of pencils. Truman waved him to a seat and began
dictating.
“Please send a message to General Marshall as follows,” and the
sergeant began sketching that weird script called shorthand. “Given the
unsettled conditions in Japan at this time, please direct all United States
military units guarding interned Japanese military equipment and ships to
be issued with live ammunition. Furthermore, they are to resist any attempts
by Japanese personnel to resume control of those assets with all necessary
force. Please respond by reporting your actions.”
Truman looked over at Donovan. “Does that cover what we need to
do?”
“I suggest we put the embassy in Tokyo on alert with instructions to
resist any incursions with deadly force. If the Japanese were determined to
seize the embassy, there would be little we could do about it, but I don’t
suggest we roll over for them.”
Truman turned to the sergeant. “Okay, send the message to General
Marshall, and now let’s get one to the Secretary of State.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the sergeant replied, flipping to the next page
in his notebook.
“You know, Mr. Donovan,” Truman continued, “I like working with
the non-commissioned officers. I don’t think they are afraid of anyone
except, maybe, their wives. Isn’t that true, Sergeant.”
“I would not attempt to contradict you, Sir.”
“But you would if it became necessary.”
“I would do it with all possible respect, Sir.”
Truman laughed. “Very well. Let’s get this message together for
Secretary Hull. Mr. Secretary, please put the embassy in Tokyo on alert.
They are authorized to use deadly force to maintain the security of the
facility. Also, put our embassies in the far east on alert for unexpected
events.”
He watched as the sergeant finished. “Okay, dress it up and send it
immediately.”
The sergeant stood. “Of course, Mr. President.”
“What else do we need to think about?” Truman asked after the
stenographer left the Oval Office.
“I have already put all my offices in the Far East on alert.”
 “And I assume Marshall will do so for the military installations
when he gets my message. Most of our military is in or around Japan at the
moment, anyway.”
Truman stood, indicating the meeting with Donovan was over.
“I’m going to get the War Committee in here at ten o’clock this
morning. I would like you back here for that.”
Donovan stood. “Of course, Mr. President.”
After Donovan left, Truman spoke to his appointments secretary. “I
want the War Committee in here at ten o’clock. And I need to squeeze
Vannevar Bush in sometime before then.”
Fifteen minutes later, the secretary opened the door to the Oval
Office.
“Dr. Vannevar Bush, Mr. President.”
Truman stood as the thin man of medium height walked in.
“Dr. Bush, thank you for coming so promptly.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Mr. President.”
“I just have a few moments this morning, but I need to pass a
directive to you. It appears that there has been a coup in Tokyo, and
Yamamoto is out.”
“That bodes ill, Sir.”
“That is exactly the truth. I would like you to press forward with all
due speed on the Manhattan project. Having new weapons in hand may
suddenly become critical to the United States.”
“I understand,” Bush replied. “We are currently working at the
limits of our current budget, but I will make sure that we don’t slow things
down.”
“That will be fine. I will send you a memo to backstop our
conversation. If things get worse in Japan, we will likely look for additional
sources of funding for the project.”
“Yes, Sir. What are we going to do about Japan?”
“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it? We have a treaty with
Japan, and I intend to hold them to it. We interned their fleet and a lot of
their military hardware. I instructed our people to do whatever they need to
do to avoid having it fall back into Japanese hands.”
“That is liable to become bloody if the Japanese push it.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, we will be prepared.”
 “Is there anything else that I might help with to be of further
service, Mr. President?”
Truman put his hand on Bush’s arm. “Not at this time. I have been
pleased with your work, and I know it has been difficult because I have not
clearly defined General Groves’ role.”
“That has not been a problem, Mr. President. General Groves has
been careful and considerate.”
“Good. Thank you, again, for coming on such short notice.”
“You are certainly welcome, Sir.”
 
§§§
 
June 26, 1944; Noon
Hirschberg im Riesengebirge
Silesia
 
“The Germans are holding strong south of Liegnitz,” Brigadier
General Plotnikov stated. “It doesn’t make sense. If Schörner has his four
divisions to the north, there shouldn’t be much to stop us.”
Chuikov stared down at the map and chewed his lip. “And Schörner
keeps pushing north. He must know we can slice him to ribbons anytime we
choose. Unless…”
He turned and looked at Plotnikov. “I think you should try to get
some scouts both south of Liegnitz and around the German advance. What
if the Germans moved some strong forces from along the Oder into
Silesia?”
The other general turned pale. “What would be their objective?”
“They don’t know we’re here… maybe. I would say they want to
drive on to Poznań and hold it.”
“That would be dangerous.”
“Yes, but we represent a danger to them. It might be the time to
crush the German army completely. If we can succeed at that, we will be
able to drive through to Prague or force a crossing of the Oder, and they
won’t be able to stop us.”
“But we must know where they are located,” Plotnikov argued. “If
we can come to grips with them, we can do what the Red Army does best,
and that is to crush them in an embrace.”
“Get the scouts out,” Chuikov ordered. “Now is not the time to be
parsimonious. If the Germans hold  Poznań, it will soon get very hungry for
us.”
“As you wish, Comrade General.”
As Chuikov watched the other general leave the command tent, the
adjutant walked over to him.
“I’m not sure I understand what is happening, Comrade General.”
“I have become convinced that the Germans just made a big
mistake. That being the case, it will put us in a position to roll over all of
Germany in the coming months. We know their reserves are nil, and we will
hit them before they can reconstitute their reserves. That will give us a
chance to end this.”
“Will they just crumble then?”
“No, Comrade Colonel, of course not. It will involve the hardest
fighting we have ever engaged in. But it is also a marvelous opportunity.”
The adjutant nodded. “I understand, Comrade General.”
“I certainly hope you do. We will have to think quickly, decide
quickly, and move quickly. One thing the Nazis will not do is stand around
and wait for us to get ourselves together.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
 
 
July 3, 1944; 8 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Meeting Room
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“I suppose the first item on the agenda is a report on the war,”
Schloss said.
 Kirche looked up in surprise as he usually opened the governing
council meetings and managed the agenda.
“Since the Reichsmarshall is back in town,” Schloss continued,  “I
would ask him to give us a summary so that we can discuss things.”
Von Rundstedt nodded and picked up the typewritten military
summary. “I apologize for not having copies to distribute. We only finished
it this morning, and I will have copies for you by the end of the day. To put
it briefly, our forces are locked in battle with the Russian Army in Silesia.
The Russians are attempting to close our salient into the area, thus far
unsuccessfully. General Rommel has managed to drive a force behind the
Russians, cutting off their supply lines as well as a means of retreat.”
“Chuikov, the Russian general, apparently has decided to gamble
that he can destroy our forces and recover his access to supplies. As you
know, General Guderian and the OKW have agreed that since the Russians
seek a decisive battle, we should give it to them. General Rommel
concurred.”
“And so we are abandoning our cut and thrust strategy?” Rainer
asked.
“Not exactly. We used our blitzkrieg strategy to good effect in
cutting off the Russian line of retreat. And we are trying to avoid direct
head-on situations as much as possible. We are using the schwerpunkt to
punch through and split the Russian lines. The goal is to break their
cohesion so we can apply locally superior forces against the remnants that
refuse to surrender.”
“And what are the Russians doing?” Colonel Gehlen asked. “I no
longer have any sources in Chuikov’s organization.”
“It seems they are using a similar strategy to ours,” the
Reichsmarshall replied. “Chuikov is a clever operator. So far, we seem to
hold the upper hand.”
“And you think we will win this one?” Schloss asked.
“I do. We have the benefit of better reconnaissance. We know
where the Russian forces are concentrated. We know they have limited
supplies and ammunition, and we are forcing them to burn through it
rapidly. And we have control of the air. The Luftwaffe has been
invaluable.”
“So we were able to surprise them?” Peter asked.
 Von Rundstedt cocked his head. “Surprise is an interesting concept.
We are comfortable that they did not realize the size of our forces in the
region. Schörner’s four divisions have been there for quite a while, and
Rommel was able to sneak in quite a bit of augmentation without them
being aware of it, as far as we know.”
“As far as we know,” Schloss repeated.
“Yes,” von Rundstedt replied. “We all try to remember that surprise
works in both directions. But, so far, everything points to the Wehrmacht
having achieved tactical surprise.”
“And your objective is Poznań?” Rainer asked.
“That was our original objective,” the Reichsmarshall stated. “We
have updated our objectives to include destroying the Russian army in
Silesia. If we accomplish this, then the road to Warsaw will be open.”
Schloss looked around the table. “So what we are doing is rolling
the dice, correct?”
Von Rundstedt leaned forward and placed his arms on the table.
“This throw of the dice will likely be the gambit that wins the war for us.”
Schloss rubbed the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he
considered the Reichmarshall’s answer. “Will there be any further questions
for the Reichsmarshall?”
No one answered. “Fine. Thank you for your report, Herr
Reichsmarshall.”
Schloss looked over at Kirche. “Next item, Willem?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. The Commerce Minister asked that
we discuss the Breton Woods conference for financial exchange rates.”
“Thank you. Go ahead, Joachim,” Schloss directed. “You will
probably have to put this on a sixth-grade level for us.”
Ribbentrop chuckled nervously. “That would be about the level of
my understanding, Herr Reich Chancellor. A conference started this week at
Bretton Woods in the United States. People are attending from all the major
powers. I was not able to attend, but I sent one of our monetary specialists
to participate. The goal is to develop a mechanism for currency exchange
and financial settlements.”
“That sounds laudable,” Rainer said.
“The catch is that we have to agree to manage our money supply to
avoid wild fluctuations in value. The Americans want to peg the currencies
to gold. That can both work for us and against us. But it would discourage
us from devaluing the currency.”
“As happened to the Weimar Republic,” Schloss said. “That nearly
destroyed Germany.”
“Correct,” Ribbentrop replied. “No one is sure any agreement the
attendees will reach, if any. The English and the Americans are sharply
divided on the approach. In general, however, This will encourage free
trade and boost the economies of the participating countries. And the
Americans would like Germany to participate.”
“That makes sense,” Schloss commented. “I think the American
economy is in turmoil because they are demobilizing, and they are
struggling with their cleanup operation. What are your recommendations,
then, Herr Commerce Minister?”
“Only that we study the proposals carefully. We have our own
challenges at the moment.”
Ribbentrop paused as the group chuckled at his comment.
“I do not think we should rush into something just at the urging of
the Americans. They are not hostile towards us, but they obviously will
serve themselves first. But, I think we may find it useful.”
“Thank you,” Schloss said. “I expect some lively discussion when
we finally see the entire package. What’s next, Kirche?”
“Herr Schreiber.”
Peter looked up. “Just an update on the situation in Japan. We have
learned that the group that engineered the coup appointed Fumimaro Konoe
as the Prime Minister. That is at odds with the extreme nationalism we
assumed was behind the coup. Konoe is considered a moderate.”
“Any thoughts on what might be happening, Peter?” Schloss asked.
“We just recently reopened the Consular Office in Tokyo, and our
Chargé d'Affaires has yet to arrive. So we are almost completely in the
dark.”
“I thought we already had an embassy there,” Schloss commented.
“We do, but we downgraded it to a mission after the Japanese began
their war. They were unhappy with us.”
Schloss nodded and then looked over at Gehlen. “Anything you
have been able to pick up, Reinhard?”
 “Only that there is some speculation in our shop that the emperor
had insisted on Konoe. If that is the case, then whoever planned this thing
got a big surprise when Hirohito took it in a different direction.”
“Does anyone care to predict whether they will continue to repair
relations with Germany?”
No one said anything. After a moment, Schloss spoke.
“I don’t either. Fortunately, this is not something critical to
Germany, so I think we can afford to sit back and watch things develop.
Kirche?”
The group worked through the rest of the extensive list of items
before it adjourned. Schloss was glad to get through before dinner time.
 
§§§
 
July 4, 1944; 10 AM
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
“We have a problem with the Red Army, Sergei,” Stalin quietly said
as he puffed industriously on his pipe. “They seem to get themselves
trapped and know not what to do.”
Sergei Kruglov shifted uneasily in his seat. That Chuikov had
managed the same feat that Smirnoff had recently achieved was simply
unbelievable. The NKVD head was convinced that Stalin was going to
order him to do something about it. And there was little to be done.
Malenkov sat across the table and worried about his problems.
Production of war materials was never enough. As usual, Stalin demanded
the impossible.
“Once again, they are cut off from contact with Moscow, other than
radio,” Kruglov volunteered.
“Certainly, they could get an airplane in,” Stalin argued. “The pilots
have bragged to me about the Po-2. They say they can land it on a postage
stamp. Perhaps, you could instruct one of the political officers to arrest
Chuikov and strap him into a Po-2.”
Kruglov was surprised. That had not occurred to him.
“We could do that,” Kruglov admitted.
 “Then let us fly in a replacement officer. Someone with more sense,
and perhaps he can rescue the situation.”
“Rokossovky,” Malenkov immediately said.
“The Pole?” Stalin asked.
“Well, yes, Comrade. But he has proven himself in this war.”
Stalin looked at Kruglov and raised an eyebrow.
“Is he someone we can sacrifice?” the head of the NKVD asked.
“I need somebody to win!” Stalin stated sharply.
Kruglov was more nervous now. Stalin rarely raised his voice.
Things were now at a dangerous stage. Chuikov was working hard to avoid
surrender. And the Red Army had yet to lose this battle. Replacing the
leadership of that army group was fraught with peril. By the time a new
general got his arms around the situation, the Germans could well have cut
them to pieces.
“I think Chuikov remains our best chance of victory,” Kruglov said.
“Anything else would seal the fate of that operation. If he wins, we can
bring him back to Moscow, pin a medal on him and shoot him. If he loses,
he has more worries than the NKVD.”
Stalin laid his pipe down and stared at Kruglov. The NKVD chief
held his breath but stared levelly back at Stalin. Out of the corner of his eye,
Kruglov saw the sweep-second hand moving around the face of the clock
on the wall. After a full minute, Stalin picked up his pipe again and began
filling it.
“Very well, Sergei. We will do nothing for now.”
The unquestioned ruler of the Soviet people hummed tunelessly to
himself as he filled his pipe. Once he had it alight, he puffed great clouds of
noxious smoke into the room. Then he waved a hand to dismiss his key
lieutenants.
 

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
 
  
July 7, 1944; 10 AM
Imperial Palace
Tokyo, Japan
 
The new prime minister of Japan stood in the Emperor’s Audience
Chamber and sweated in the heat. The land of the cherry blossoms was not
widely known to be hot during the summer months, but Fumimaro Konoe
was miserable. It was all of thirty degrees Celsius outside, and it had to be
thirty-five here in the Audience Chamber. And Konoe dare not comment on
or react to the oven-like heat.
The emperor looked comfortable as he sat on his throne, wearing a
formal suit. Konoe wondered if the man had ice water in his veins. Konoe
had presented the government’s plan during the imperial audience, and now
one of the prefect governors was droning on about infrastructure
improvements. The emperor had never kept Konoe waiting during his
previous terms as prime minister. He wondered if Hirohito used this as a
way to express displeasure. The man was hard to read.
Finally, the emperor spoke. “We have received the reports from the
Imperial Government and the prefectures. We will consider the matters
before expressing a decision.”
What in the great Buddha’s name was the emperor playing at?
Konoe wondered. One of the nameless functionaries bowed before him and
indicated he should follow as he left the audience chamber. The labyrinth of
hallways and corridors reminded him of his days before the war when he
was the prime minister and was accorded great respect. Now he seemed to
be treated as an errand boy.
Once conducted into the emperor’s office, Hirohito kept him
standing. Furthermore, four enormous guards stood, two flanking the door
and two behind the emperor. This was decidedly different, Konoe thought. 
During his prior regime he was… well, not a friend of Hirohito, but on a
conversational basis. Things now seemed hostile.
The emperor spoke. “Why have you disgraced our nation and our
people?”
Surprise and shock rippled through the prime minister. Never had
he heard of the emperor being so forthright. Konoe almost missed
Hirohito’s following statement.
“You are an accomplice in the murder of a courageous man. He was
murdered though he strove to accomplish the policies as I directed.”
“Majesty! I abase myself.” Konoe dropped to his knees and bowed
his face to the floor. “If you give your permission, I will depart to join my
ancestors.”
“And you will take the coward’s way out? You shame me, Prime
Minister. Now arise.”
Konoe dragged himself to his feet in complete confusion. What was
Hirohito trying to say?
“You left the government because you could not countenance the
activities of the militarists. Yet, now you are serving them again. How can
these things be?”
“Majesty, I was called back by the House of Representatives and
the Councilors. I believe Yamamoto’s murder was a shameful act.”
“I do not believe you.”
Konoe was now at a complete halt. There was nothing in protocol
that guided someone when the emperor called him a liar.
“You spoke with no one other than the two houses?”
“I spoke with several close friends after I was invited to form a
government,” Konoe replied. “I needed advice.”
“And what did your friends tell you?” the emperor asked softly.
“That the nation needed me. Yamamoto saved the nation, and we
could not allow his efforts to be in vain.”
“Very well,” Hirohito sighed. “And I must not allow his efforts to
fail. If we were to abrogate the treaty, the Americans could destroy our
economy, if not the whole country. I know from your previous regime that
you have been honorable and honest. Can you promise me you will
continue?”
“Of course, Majesty. I am willing to do anything for you, even to
die.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Hirohito said dryly. “We
generally are more effective when we are alive.”
“Of course, Majesty. Thank you.”
“I have given this careful thought,” the emperor said. “I will call a
conference of the major people in the government and the military. I will
then lay out my thoughts and expectations. Those who refuse to participate
or agree, I will deal with.”
Konoe shivered despite the heat. He had never heard the emperor
speak in such a manner. Historically, the throne had moved behind the
scenes with obscure directives. Hirohito’s actions would severely shake the
government and the military.
“You will contact the American ambassador and beg him to
communicate to his government the need for patience so that we can
untangle the skeins. The key to our survival is the supply of oil that the
Americans have promised. That is what drove my agreement to the treaty. If
they stop shipping oil to Japan, we will be in a terrible position. You and I
will likely die in the resulting unrest. And the nation will be destroyed.”
“I will so communicate that to the ambassador.”
“I am working to gather a loyal group of military personnel. Part of
what we will task them with is to protect the Imperial presence and your
government. We will also direct them to provide additional protection to the
Americans in our land. If we allow them to be harmed, their President
Truman may go back to war with us. In our current position, they would
smash us.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. And I must ask you, Fumimaro Konoe, are you with
me?”
“I am with you, Majesty. Body and soul.”
“Thank you.” Hirohito stood. “We have much to do. If you detect
new threats, please communicate with me immediately.”
“I will do so.”
After bowing deeply, Konoe left the emperor’s private office. If
there was any doubt in his mind where the emperor stood, the answer was
blindingly clear.
 
§§§
 
July 8, 1944; 2 PM
The Queen’s Private Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Colin Marty sat in the room to take notes during the weekly
meeting between the queen and the prime minister. Over the past several
weeks, he noticed the relationship between the two unraveling and
wondered what to do about it. And he pondered whether he should even
attempt to salvage it.
“I dare say, Your Majesty,”  Clement Atlee said, “that the situation
in Japan and the Far East should concern us less than matters close to
home.”
“I suppose you are correct in theory, Prime Minister. However, we
are still recovering from a major war in the Far East, and our subjects there
depend upon the fleet to protect them from new aggression, which, as you
may remember, we did not do well recently. We need to direct our attention
on the recent change of government in Japan and work to assure everyone
that we won’t see a repeat of the past twenty years.”
“But, what could the Japanese possibly do, Ma’am? We have
interned their fleet and demobilized their army. The Americans have shown
no inclination to march off and set the Japanese loose again.”
“If you might remember, Mr. Attlee, that we are an ally with the
United States and share the responsibility for the treaty with Japan. It is not
something we can dispose of lightly. We are still engaged in helping the
Australians rebuild their country. Things are unsettled in Singapore, not to
mention India.”
“I believe you are exaggerating the risks in the Far East, Ma’am,”
Atlee responded. “And we have urgent needs at home. The party is pushing
me to allow the Health Care initiative to move forward, and this is
something our people need.”
“And I do not object to Labour pushing its initiatives. What I object
to is making major changes to public policy when we have not had an
election in five years.”
“But, this is a popular initiative, and I believe the people support
it.”
“I do not gainsay you, Prime Minister. But I refuse to allow
accusations of ruling by fiat. We need an election first.”
“Then let’s hold the damned election, Ma’am. The wars are over for
Britain. We are at peace. We are cutting our defense spending, and we can
afford to do this.”
“And what if Labour doesn’t gain a majority?”
“Oh, I feel certain we will win, Ma’am,” Atlee said confidently.
“You are aware, of course, that Winston has maneuvered himself
into standing for the safe seat in East Ham?”
“That murderer? Yes, I was aware of it, and I would think the house
would refuse to seat him.”
“And what if the Tories win the election. Do you suppose they
might maneuver to hand the premiership to Winston again?”
“Ma’am, that will never happen!” Attlee insisted. “The Tories may
be fools, but even they would not allow something like that.”
“They won’t? We are walking a tightrope here, Clement. Winston is
still popular with the people, and his involvement in the Wallace
assassination is not public knowledge. There are several ways we do not
want this to go. If Churchill’s actions become public knowledge, then it will
become public knowledge in the United States. At that point, we are risking
our relationship with the Americans and the stability of our government.
There is no telling how the American people will react. Don’t you
understand why we can’t push forward?”
“Ma’am, you are jumping at shadows,” Attlee said hotly. “Winston
Churchill is a political non-entity. I agree; he may have found a way to
regain a seat in the Commons. But the Tories as a group are skittish around
him, never mind Labour.”
Margaret rose to her feet and pointed at him. “Are you willing to
bet your service to the nation on that, Prime Minister, because that is what
you are doing. I am trying to safeguard the nation.”
“And do you recognize the risks of continually postponing the
election?” Attlee was now on his feet. “Parliament has risen against rulers
who forgot where supremacy lies. They have become a byword in our
history. You must call an election, Ma’am, and it must be soon.”
“Very well, Prime Minister,” she said hotly, “you have made your
point. Now was there anything else today?”
Attlee shook his head. “I think not. Good day, Your Majesty.”
With that, he turned and walked quickly from the office. Margaret
sat down heavily with a sigh.
 “I suppose you are going to tell me I did not comport myself well,
Colin.”
“I think you handled yourself about as well as was possible,
Ma’am, given the way he was prodding you.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Clement is correct. The
longer I wait to call an election, the more dangerous the situation becomes.
But I very much fear the consequences if we allow Winston a voice in the
government again. We narrowly dodged a disaster before, and I somehow
don’t think the Almighty will be as gracious next time. But Clement is
playing the fool, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Would Halifax talk to him?” Colin asked.
“I don’t know. But, if I go around Clement to talk to Halifax, the
prime minister would be fully justified in resigning.”
“This could get very bad, Ma’am,” Colin said somberly. “I would
like to help, but I am not sure what to do.”
“That is just the problem. Things are going from bad to worse, and I
haven’t the faintest idea how to approach it. I don’t know what is driving
Clement, and he is usually level-headed. With Churchill’s actions, this is
backing me into a corner.”
She leaned back in her chair and used her pencil to scratch her head.
“I don’t know, Colin. We are going to have to take things as they
come.”
Marty stood. “Very well, Ma’am. Let me get the notes typed up.”
As he walked out of the office, she called out to him.
“Colin?”
He turned. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“Join me for dinner tonight?”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY
 
  
July 8, 1944; 4 PM
Near Dittersdorf
Silesia
 
Irwin Rommel stepped away from the map and looked at his field
commanders.
“One straight push, meine Herren, and I think we will sunder the
Russian army into two. Push hard, and you may capture their command
center provided Chuikov doesn’t move quickly. You have done well so far.
Any further questions?”
No one spoke.
“Very well, then, dismissed.”
The group filed out of the command tent, and Rommel studied the
map again. After the Russians had pushed the German army over the Oder
River, they resettled hundreds of thousands of Poles into what was once
German territory. The immigrant Poles had industriously changed the
names of the towns, cities, and geographic features. All of the signage was
now in Polish, and they were now calling this town Dziećmiarowice.
Rommel wondered what had become of the Germans who lived in the
German territory to the east of the Oder River.
It was no wonder the Russian logistics were so confused. They had
busily moved people around the map and seemed to have not considered the
needs of the Red Army. Assuming the Germans retook the area, Rommel
thought about what Schloss would do about the Poles who would be
squatters on German property. Stalin had been clever about this. It was
possible the mad Russian had planned on getting pushed back and decided
to leave a little gift for the Germans.
Rommel walked out of the command tent to observe the army going
into action. He heard the snort of the Maybach engines in the Tiger A and
Tiger B tanks as the drivers fired them up. The general once again wished
that the diesel engines were available. Diesels would likely power the
following variant of the Tiger, but they would have to make do with the
gasoline-powered Maybachs for the present. And adding diesel fuel into the
logistics mix would complicate things. Perhaps it was better to leave well
enough alone in this case.
 Several dozen of the tanks were within Rommel’s sight, and he
watched them move forward. The rocketing sound of shells flying overhead
indicated the Time on Target strategy of the Germans. The 88-millimeter
guns on the tanks belched flame as they sent their payload of death to the
Russians.
The infantry moved forward, too. Their job was to protect the
flanks of the armored weapons, and it was a dangerous environment for
human flesh. Bullets and shrapnel simply did not slow down much when it
encountered a soldier.
As the Russian counter-battery began to fall, Rommel ducked into
his armored car. The six-wheeled Panzerspähwagen was fast and heavily
armored. The general had used them extensively in the desert and kept one
for his personal use. The driver pulled back to avoid the chance impact of
the Russian shell that would end everything for Rommel and the crew.
The Russian soldiers lacked time to dig in properly and were faced
with the choice of pulling back or getting run over. They were well-
disciplined and did not break, but they could not hold the line. Chuikov
followed the battle from his mobile command post. This was a small cabin
mounted on the bed of a one-ton truck. As he studied the map, he struggled
to think of a countermove that would salvage the situation. The Germans
had moved too quickly and were in greater force than expected. Hearing a
disturbance, he turned to face the door when it opened, and the Commissar
stepped up into the small cabin.
“Comrade General, I am instructed to place you under arrest and
put you on a plane to Moscow. I am very sorry.”
Chuikov’s shoulders dropped. Not only had he lost against the
Germans, but he was now getting ready to lose against Stalin.
“Very well, Comrade,” he said heavily. “Let’s get this done.”
Chuikov’s entire staff was lined up outside the command cabin and
silently watched as he walked down the steps. A half-track waited, the
engine idling. They bumped along the countryside until they came to a
stretch of straight road where a Polikarpov Po-2 had landed. The pilots of
the biplanes were considered insane because of their unique flying skills. In
this case, setting the plane down on the stretch of road presented no
particular challenge. Flying in and out of the combat zone during daylight
was a different story.
 “Comrade General, I am instructed to fly you to Poznań.”
“Very well, Corporal. How will we do this?”
“If you will climb into the front cockpit, I will fly from the back.”
The commissar helped Chuikov into the small plane and was
probably there to foil any escape attempt. Once buckled in, the general
looked around and noted that the control stick had been removed, and he
guessed that didn’t matter since he didn’t know how to fly anyway.
A couple of soldiers from Chuikov’s staff spun the propeller to start
the engine. When the pilot turned the craft around, he saw that the soldiers
were holding a salute. He snapped off the crispest salute he could manage
from his position as the pilot gunned the engine.
The small aircraft leaped into the air and swooped up over the trees.
The pilot flew very low, apparently judging the risk from other aircraft was
greater than people on the ground shooting at them.
After they had been in the air for fifteen minutes, the shock of the
arrest had worn off, and Chuikov began to relax and enjoy the flight. The
open cockpit was a new experience for him, and it was interesting. He
reflected on what was left of his future. He was under no illusions about
what he would experience in Moscow. People who disappointed Stalin
rarely survived the experience. But the general was enough of a fatalist that
he never considered escaping.
He was surprised, then, when the pilot suddenly whipped the plane
into a tight turn. Looking around wildly, he saw that a German Fiesler
Storch had engaged them. The Storch was a light observation plane that was
highly maneuverable. The Germans had begun arming the aircraft with a
pair of 30-caliber machine guns, and the pilot of the Polikarpov struggled to
evade the German.
Chuikov saw a line of bullet holes rip across the wing and into the
fuselage, and the biplane began tumbling. As he saw the ground rushing
towards him, the general decided that Stalin would be disappointed.
 
§§§
 
June 10,1944; 10 AM
Grandview, Washington, USA
 
 “Dr. Bush and the president wanted me to communicate to you their
satisfaction at your efforts, Gentlemen. Things are going far better than we
anticipated.”
“Thank you, General,” Mark Clark said. “Giving credit where it is
due, the civilian employees of the Manhattan District have largely managed
the on-site cleanup, and they have done a lot of work on projecting the
scope of the cleanup across the Northwest.”
General Groves nodded. “As an experienced administrator, you
have certainly provided the right type of guidance to the operation. And I
have heard good things about Colonel Clarke.”
Colonel Kent Clarke blushed and looked down at the floor. “Thank
you, Sir. But we have a job to do here, and I want to make sure nothing
interferes with getting it done. And we are beginning to think we may be
able to complete the work.”
“That was one of the things Dr. Bush wanted me to discuss,”
Groves replied. “Some of the reports from the civilian team indicate that the
quarantined areas farthest from Hanford may already be inhabitable. If we
can take some of the pressure off the resettlement camps, it would be to
everyone’s benefit.”
General Clark picked up a binder. “I have a proposal here to begin
resettlement of areas east of the Missouri River along a line north and south
of Three Forks, Montana. That would allow us to get people back into
Bozeman among other places.”
“But not Butte or Helena, correct?” Groves asked.
“Correct. It has been a wet summer, and the dust has gone through
the watersheds and into the water systems. East of the Missouri, the
radiation is now at normal background levels.”
“What have we done to the water systems, then?”
Clark looked at Clarke, who spoke. “As I understand it, even the
Plutonium has diluted to the point where it poses no danger. It will
eventually wash down the Missouri and Mississippi rivers in the gulf. End
of story.”
“And we don’t worry about it getting into the aquatic life?” Groves
asked.
“I wouldn’t eat fish taken from the Missouri for a few years,”
Colonel Clarke responded. “However, it seems no worse than anything else
we are pouring into the rivers.”
“That’s kind of sad,” Groves said. “Perhaps this will spur the
country to pay more attention to things like that. There are a lot of rivers out
east where I would not want to go swimming.”
“As per Dr. Bush’s directives, we are getting ready to restart work
on two new atomic piles. Can you address that, General, with more
specificity?”
Grove took a breath. “Because of the unsettled situation in Europe
and particularly Japan, the president desires that we increase the tempo of
work towards building an atomic weapon. The theoretical work is complete.
What remains is gathering the necessary fissionable materials and doing the
engineering on the weapon itself.”
“God, I hope we never have to use something like that,” Clark
commented. “Hanford is a lesson on the mess this stuff can cause.”
“I would second that, Mark,” Groves said. “The only reason we are
doing this is because other countries are doing it, and the security of the
United States demands it.”
“And that’s kind of sad,” Colonel Clarke said.
“It is what it is,” Groves said. “Which brings us to the next topic.
The German observer.”
“What happened there, anyway?” General Clark asked.
“Out of school, the master sergeant who managed the documents
got careless. The German saw some things he wasn’t supposed to see. Both
are now under arrest.”
Colonel Clarke whistled. “What were the Germans thinking?”
“This guy was working for one of the radical Nazi factions that
Schloss has been fighting for years. I don’t know what the observer thought
he would do with the information, but we caught him photographing the
pages. About all he accomplished was giving himself an appointment with
the electric chair and embarrassing Schloss and the German ambassador.”
“So we’re going to follow through on prosecution?” General Clark
asked.
“Yes. We probably would have quietly shipped him back to let
Schloss deal with him if he had been cooperative. But he refused to talk. So
we were pretty much forced to drop it into the American legal system.”
“That causes security problems as well,” Colonel Clarke stated.
 “True, although, the Manhattan Project is pretty much public
knowledge, now, anyway. There is not much that would come out in the
trial that would compromise us. But the president has agreed to allow the
Germans to send someone else.”
“That’s crazy,” Colonel Clarke protested.
“No, it’s politics,” Groves responded. “As a practical matter, if we
can help other people avoid the kind of accidents like we had here, it’s a
good investment.”
“However,” Groves continued, holding up a finger, “whoever they
send will eventually come out here to look at things. And you have got to
keep a lid on things. I want you two to put together a set of rules to guide
what the observer can see and what he cannot be allowed to see. It must be
leak-proof. I had enough splattered on me from the mess in DC, and I don’t
need it to happen again out here. I don’t like the president questioning my
competence.”
“Message received, General,” General Clark said. “We’ll get this
done.”
“Thank you, Mark. I know you will. Now let’s review the cleanup
operations. I’d like to see estimates on the progress for the two new piles.”
“We have a briefing prepared, Sir,” Colonel Clarke said. “It
shouldn’t take more than six or eight hours.”
Groves looked at General Clark. “I suppose you could find some
privies for the colonel to shovel out.”
“I’ll look into it immediately, Sir.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
 
 
July 11,1944; 10 PM
Stalin’s Dacha
Kuntsevo District
Moscow, USSR
 
Kruglov took a small sip of his wine as Stalin lectured about the
inevitability of socialist rule worldwide. It was late, and he forced himself
to keep his eyes open. He looked across the table at Malenkov. The other
man had eaten a hearty dinner earlier in the evening and was now paying
for it by struggling to remain awake. Kruglov had suspected this was going
to be a long evening and had eaten lightly in anticipation. The dining room
in Stalin’s dacha now resembled a prison.
“And so, Comrades, what shall we do about our armies trapped in
Germany and Silesia?” Stalin asked.
Kruglov quickly analyzed the question to determine whether it was
rhetorical or if Stalin was indeed looking for an answer. There was a long
pause, so the master of the NKVD decided he needed to speak.
“Communications have failed, and what we heard before that was
chaotic. We can only assume the army group has lost coherence.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear,” Stalin growled.
“None of us wanted to hear that,” Malenkov added. “But, I don’t
think we can deny what has happened.”
Kruglov thought Malenkov showed courage by speaking. On the
other hand, Stalin seemed to lack confidence in the Politburo; else, he
would have selected several members to fill the depleted inner circle. It
probably resulted in some security for Kruglov and Malenkov, but it also
gave them more visibility to Stalin than they desired. Kruglov mentally
snorted at the irony.
“Is something amusing, Sergei?”
Kruglov skidded to a mental halt. I cannot afford to forget how well
Stalin reads people. He is a dangerous, dangerous man.
“It’s ironic, Comrade Party Secretary, that we have gone from a
commanding position in the war to where we are now in a matter of
weeks.”
“It is disastrous,” Malenkov commented. “I cannot understand how
the Red Army has failed the revolution.”
“And Chuikov escaped our grasp,” Stalin said. “However, we must
plan for how to move forward. We cannot allow the Nazis to take the
initiative.”
 That was the absolute truth as far as Kruglov was concerned. The
Soviet Union had lost two armies in western Poland and Germany in as
many months. There was no problem finding more manpower, but
replenishing the equipment and ammunition would take time, as would the
training.
“When can we retake the offensive?” Stalin asked.
He wasn’t playing with his pipe, which Kruglov took as an ominous
sign.
“At our current rates of production,” Malenkov said, “it will take a
year to rebuild our equipment inventory.”
“And it will take all of that time to train the recruits to a sufficient
level,” Kruglov added.
Perhaps if we double-team him, Kruglov thought, we can avoid
eating a bullet.
The General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union
glared at the two men during one of his famous long pauses. He then picked
up his pipe and began filling it from the tobacco bag. The tension eased out
of the room.
“Has the Politburo suggested a replacement for Chuikov?” Stalin
asked.
“They have not done so,” Kruglov replied.
“We will rebuild our armies, of course,” Stalin said as he lit his
pipe. “Sergei, you will let me know when the Politburo suggests a new
general.”
“Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Tomorrow.”
Kruglov nodded. “Of course.”
After puffing on his pipe for a few minutes, Stalin waved them out
of the room, indicating the meeting was at a close. The two men stood and
walked out quietly as Stalin studied them. The war was not going well, and
the General Secretary was rightly frustrated.
As Kruglov and Malenkov walked into the summer night, they had
moved some distance from the guards.
“We need a private conversation,” Malenkov whispered.
Kruglov nodded as they got into their respective Chaika limousines.
Kruglov knew what they needed to discuss. They were going to have to do
something about Stalin. Yet, Kruglov did not trust Malenkov. The man
spoke boldly but consistently failed to deliver. Of course, that seemed to be
the curse of anyone in that position. The Soviet productivity levels were
nowhere near what the Germans achieved, let alone the rest of the western
world.
The Soviet Union had geared up a war economy and was producing
vast amounts of armaments but at the cost of impoverishing an already
hungry people. The conflict was more prolonged than anyone expected, and
the Germans had not proven to be the easy conquest Stalin predicted. It
threatened not just the legitimacy of the Soviet government but its very
survival.
The only potential ally that Kruglov had any confidence in was
Khrushchev, and that man was now a tool of the Nazis. To be honest, he
thought, Stalin had put the man into an impossible situation. When The
Berlin debacle forced Smirnoff to do the honorable thing and surrender,
Khrushchev had taken full advantage of the opportunity. Kruglov wondered
what the bald man was doing right now.
§§§
 
July 11,1944; 11 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Residence
Nordend-Ost
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“Have we won the war, Hennie?” Gisela asked.
They had retreated to the bedroom with two glasses and a bottle of
brandy. Peter was pacing the lower floor with Gratia, and they had decided
to give him his privacy.
“Unfortunately, we won’t win the war until Stalin decides the game
is not worth the candle. But I am optimistic the way will be clear to occupy
Silesia, the Polish territory, and East Prussia. I have pressed Guderian to
determine whether we could hold it afterward.”
“Has he said, either way?” she asked.
“He thinks we need to move quickly before the Russians can
recover after two major defeats. They have not only lost two armies but also
their equipment. If we can get to a defensible position in the east, then we
may be able to prepare for a general offensive into Ukraine.”
“Is that where you will use Smirnoff's army?”
“That is my thought,” Schloss replied. “It is currently a matter of
debate within the OKW. We have teams collecting Russian equipment from
the battlefields, and we will need whatever we can find to equip Smirnoff.”
“And the OKW will debate it to death before moving?”
Schloss chuckled. “No, I won’t let them do that. Rommel has given
us an enormous gift, and I want to take advantage of it.”
“When will we win this thing?”
“I don’t know. And I’m tired, Schatzi. This is our time tonight.”
He took her glass and set it with his on the nightstand so they could
embrace. Schloss had concluded they spent little enough time together and
determined that tonight offered an opportunity. Later, when they pulled
apart, they could hear Peter downstairs singing to the baby.
“Peter is in for a long night, I’m afraid,” Gisela commented. “I have
discovered with Erich that when they catch a cold and can’t breathe, all you
can do is hold them upright and soothe them.”
“He has a good voice,” Schloss commented. “I wish I could sing.”
“I wish you could too. What is Peter going to do, Darling?”
“You mean about Gratia?”
“Yes. I mean, between Frau Marsden and us, we are caring for the
child. But, she needs a mother.”
“I suspect Peter would not appreciate you interfering in his life,
Gisela. You give her plenty of love, so I don’t think she will grow up
neglected.”
“Yes, but do you think Peter will ever remarry?”
“As you and I did?” Schloss asked.
“Well, yes.”
“Remember that you and I weren’t looking for it. It just happened—
the same with Karl. I don’t want to sound like some torrid romance novel,
but Peter will be surprised by it if it happens. Right now, though he is still
grieving.”
“I know some very nice ladies who would be good for Peter.”
Schloss grinned broadly.
“What?”
 “Renate used to do that to me. She thought it was time for me to
marry and kept introducing me to what she thought of as the perfect
woman. I was nearly thirty when I married Hannalore.”
“Did Renate introduce Hannalore to you?”
Okay, Hennie,  you have driven yourself into this corner. All of
those events occurred before you landed in this land and your only
knowledge of prior events in your family came from Renate’s elliptical
comments.
“You know, I really don’t remember the first time I met Hannalore.
But things came together for us rather quickly.”
“Do you miss her, Hennie?” Gisela asked softly.
“I think I have now known you as long as I knew Hannalore. I
won’t forget her, but time fades things. And I have discovered that my love
for you continues to grow.”
She leaned over to give him an extended kiss. “You are sweet,
Hennie. But you did change the subject.”
“About Peter?” He shrugged. “You are going to do whatever you
decide to do. Peter will be gracious about it, but he probably won’t be
pleased.”
“Sometimes men have to be managed.”
“Is that what you do for me?”
“Of course, Darling. Between Frau Marsden and me, we somehow
keep you on track.”
“It’s a good thing the people of the Reich don’t realize who runs the
country.”
“Hush, Hennie!” She elbowed him the ribs. “You are not funny,
sometimes.”
“I stand corrected.”
She snuggled in closer to him. “That’s what I love about you. You
are easy to convince.”
He rolled his eyes but decided to say nothing further. He wanted to
enjoy the closeness.
 

 
  
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
 
 
July 14,1944; 8 PM
Great Horn Bay
Vladivostok, USSR
 
“Steady as she goes,” Captain Alan Carper ordered. “Turns for
three knots.”
The men on the diving controls acknowledged the orders and
signaled the engine room. The muted bell of the engine room semaphore
seemed loud in the hushed environment of the U.S.S. Essen. The crew
seemed to collectively hold its breath. No one wanted to be discovered in
Soviet territorial waters. The Russians were unsympathetic to spying, which
is what they were doing.
Carper walked over to where Greg Rogers stood. “We should be
well into the harbor, Jolly. I want to take a peek to localize our position. I
have no idea what the current is doing.”
“Very well, Sir.” Rogers pointed to the rating who controlled the
periscope.
Since they were well above periscope depth, raising the mast would
have to be done carefully. The submarine’s sail was barely underwater.
“The way we will do this,” Carper said conversationally, “is that we
will listen carefully for a bit. If nothing is around us, we’ll raise the radio
whip and get a sniff at what’s going on. Then we’ll ease the periscope up.”
“It’s going to have to go up quite a way for the eyepiece to clear the
well,” Jolly commented.
“That’s why we picked this time of day,” Carper answered. “It is
somewhat less likely that anyone will see the mast during the twilight.”
Jolly used a knuckle to knock on the side of his head. Carper
grinned. “As soon as it clears the well, get the camera attached to the mast.”
Carper looked around the control room. “Are we ready? Okay,
Jolly, bring us down to turns for one knot. This time of the summer, I’m
betting there isn’t a lot of current here.”
“Turns for one knot,” Rogers ordered.
Carper walked over to where the acoustics operator was glued to his
headphones. He looked over the operator's shoulder at the screen, picked up
the spare phones, and held one can to his ear. After a few moments, the
operator spoke.
“I think we’re golden, Sir. Nothing is moving in the harbor. It’s
quiet as the grave.”
Carper decided to say nothing about the operator’s taste in language
as he walked back over to the periscope station. He sat on the raised
platform and faced the periscope mast.
“Raise the radio mast, Exec.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Radio mast going up.”
Behind them, they hear the whine of hydraulics as the whip antenna
went up. Because the boat was just below the surface, there was no outside
pressure to speak of, and the equipment did not labor.
Rogers looked over at the radio operator. “What do you have,
Sparks?”
“Usual traffic, Sir. Same as we’ve heard for the past couple of
days.”
“Look alive then.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“Let’s start bringing up the periscope,” Carper ordered.
Rogers nodded at the rating who controlled the periscope mast. The
periscope mast eased out of the well. When the camera connector cleared
the floor, another rating quickly connected the camera and handed the
shutter button to Carper. Once the viewer was at eye level, Carper began
scanning the harbor. He scooted around the platform on his seat to make
sure he was seeing everything. He would occasionally halt and press the
shutter control, and the sound of the camera shutter clicking was loud in the
control room. He halted at one position.
“Mark Beacon A,” he said.
Rogers looked at the indicator on the periscope housing. “Confirm
Beacon A.”
Carper scooted around again and stopped. “Okay, mark Beacon B.”
Rogers read the dial on the scope. “Confirm Beacon B.”
 “This is undignified of a Naval captain,” Carper said as he slid
around again. “Okay, mark Beacon C.”
“Confirm Beacon C.”
“Can you localize, Jolly?” Carper asked.
Rogers quickly used the protractor to pinpoint the Essen’s location.
“Sir, we are 200 yards west of where we thought.”
“Not bad for dead reckoning,” Carper muttered as he swung the
scope around and tripped the camera shutter. There’s a lot of hardware in
the harbor, but nothing has steam up as far as I can see.”
He slid back from the scope. “Disconnect the camera and then drop
the scope,” he ordered.
“Aye,  aye, Sir.”
“Jolly, maintain course and give us turns for three knots.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
The Essen crept further into the harbor where the Soviet Pacific
Fleet rested. The lack of any sense of awareness amazed Carper. It was like
everyone was asleep. This time of day, probably the sailors were all
drinking themselves senseless, he thought. Nobody was at war with the
Soviets in the Pacific, and it was apparent their alert levels were deficient.
An hour later, Carper took another look at the harbor. They were
deep into the anchorage now, and the deepening shadows of the evening
made it difficult to see much.
“Change out the film on the camera,” Carper ordered. “Use the
night film.”
The Navy had provided the best Kodak film for the mission. The
periscope optics and the camera optics were designed for light gathering
capability. Hopefully, the film would resolve what Carper looked at through
his viewfinder.
“Skipper,” the Acoustic rating called out. “I have a small craft at
zero-seventy-five.”
Carper quickly spun the scope around. “Looks like an admiral’s
launch. Down Scope.”
The rating quickly removed the camera as the shaft of the periscope
disappeared into the well.
“Quiet on the boat,” Carper said. “All stop.”
 They were already rigged for silent running. “All stop, Aye, Sir,”
Rogers replied.
“Give me the plot on that small craft.”
“Seems to be coming from shore, Skipper,” Rogers said. “He’s
heading directly towards amidships.”
“Crap,” Carper said. “We’re going to have to keep the boat steady
and take our chances, Jolly.”
If they tried to dive deeper, it would elevate the stern and possibly
broach. There was also the risk of driving the bow into the mud. All eyes in
the control room looked up as the thrumming of the small engine and
propeller carried into the boat. It grew louder, and then there was a clang
and a scraping noise. The Essen lurched slightly and then straightened.
Rogers swore. A trickle of water began dripping down the trunk to
the conning tower.
“Sir,” the Acoustic Operator called, “I think the bogie is taking on
water.”
Carper shook his head and sighed. “Okay, Jolly, take us ahead one-
third and bring us around one-eighty relative.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
Carper watched the compass repeater as the Essen swung around.
The Chief Engineer slipped into the control room and climbed up the ladder
into the Conning Tower. Jolly eased over next to Carper.
“What just happened, Skipper?”
“I think we just sank an admiral’s launch.”
“God, Sir, what do we do now?”
Carper pointed up at the water dripping into the boat. “First thing is
to get us out to open sea so we can take a look at the damage. I hope that
it’ll be a while before they start wondering what they hit in the confusion
topside. If we happen to drown an admiral, it’ll take them some time to sort
things out. They will probably think that the launch either hit some debris in
the water or the coxswain was screwing around and capsized the boat.”
The Chief Engineer dropped down the ladder and turned to Carper
and Rogers.
“We got problems, Sirs. I think we took the hit on the periscope
mast. We’re leaking around the packing where it goes through the top of the
tower. I wouldn’t use anything in the tower until we can get a look at it.”
 “Gotcha, Chief. How’s the rest of the boat?”
“Nominal, Skipper. The Krauts really know how to put these things
together.”
“Okay, thanks, Chief. How’s the battery?”
“About sixty percent, Skipper.”
Carper turned to Jolly. “Think we can dead reckon out of the
harbor?”
“Do we have a choice?”
“We can’t raise the scope, and we probably can’t raise the snorkel,
either. Let’s see where we are at midnight. If we are deeper in the bay, I
think we can risk surfacing the boat. We can get a look at the masts and add
a bit of charge at the same time.”
“Gotcha, Skipper. I’ll start working on the course.”
“Don’t take us any deeper. And keep a good sonar watch. I don’t
want to bump into anybody else tonight.”
“Oh, for sure, Skipper.”
Two hours later, Carper stood on the bridge and scanned the horizon
with his binoculars. The sound of metal tools clanking above him was in
counterpoint to the muted thunder of the diesels. He heard the thud of the
feet hitting the deck beside him. He turned to face the Chief Engineer.
“We’re going to need a shipyard, Skipper.”
“How bad is it?”
“You’d better not use anything topside,” the Cheng replied. “The
periscope and the snorkel are wrecked.”
“What about the radio mast?” Carper asked.
“If you can get it up, it will probably stay up.”
“That will give us problems when we submerge,” Carper
commented.
“I don’t think you want to submerge the boat. If you lose the
packing around the scope, we will likely flood the control room.”
“Are you always this full of cheer, Chief?” Carper asked.
“We’re still alive, Sir. We still have the propulsion.”
“Right. It looks like we’re going to have to make an extended
surface run.”
Carper opened the watertight box and pulled out the phone.
 “Jolly, we can’t submerge, and we need to get outside of the Soviet
waters by daybreak. Let’s go all ahead flank on this course for the moment.
Once we clear the cape, we can go east-southeast.”
A moment later, dark smoke belched from the exhaust vents on the
desk, and the mutter of the diesels crescendoed to a roar. Carper hoped the
Soviet Navy had nothing out on patrol tonight. His orders were clear. He
would scuttle the Essen before allowing the Russians to capture it.
He now needed to think about what port to steer towards. Pearl
Harbor was out of the question. If they encountered any weather on the trip,
they would be in trouble. And they were well into typhoon season. The
situation in Japan was up in the air with the change of government. They
might have to make for Subic Bay and take their chances on the weather.
Carper put his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon again.
The weather was good, which made it easy to navigate. It also made it
easier for the Russians to see the Essen. Anybody that was looking would
spot their boiling wake.
The Essen drove through the Soviet waters with a bone in her teeth.
The Cheng was correct, Carper thought; this was a fine boat. Now they just
had to survive to get into international waters again.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
 
 
July 18,1944; 8 PM
The Private Dining Room
Sandringham House
Sandringham, Norfolk, UK
 
Dinner was convivial and relaxing. The queen had decided to spend
a week at Sandringham in Norfolk. Her father and grandfather had
developed the estate and loved it. She preferred Balmoral, but the house at
Sandringham was comfortable, and the surrounding lands were lovely.
At Colin’s suggestion, Margaret had invited Clement Attlee to
spend a couple of days at the estate along with John Anderson, a cabinet
member. Anderson was not a member of the major parties in the
government but represented the Scottish universities. He was widely
respected and trusted in the government. As a measure of that respect, he
was in charge of the Tube Alloys project, which comprised the British
atomic research.
Attlee was more relaxed than he usually was in the presence of the
queen. And Margaret seemed to unbend a bit, at least in Colin’s opinion.
“The Stalinist influence in Oxbridge seems to have diminished a bit
over the past year or so,” Anderson commented. “They have not recently
succeeded in any organizational achievements in Scotland, either.”
“Stalin’s missteps certainly have not helped his reputation with the
British people,” Attlee remarked. “At least they have stopped attempting to
portray themselves as the ideological brothers of the Labour Party.”
“I have never recognized any affinity between the Labour PMs and
the Communists,” Margaret said. “Stalin’s actions put paid to any
comparison between Soviet Communism and our home-grown socialism.
Stalin has tried to hide his fist within socialism’s glove, but that is
increasingly threadbare.”
“I like to think of our socialists as being well-meaning,” Attlee
commented.
“I would never accuse them of being anything but patriotic,”
Margaret responded. “They genuinely care for the people, and they are
addressing legitimate issues.”
“While I am sympathetic to Labour’s aims, I prefer we not get
carried away,” Anderson murmured as he picked up his wine for a sip.
Margaret chuckled. “Minister Anderson interjects a note of sanity.”
“Then there are the Germans,” Colin said, attempting to change the
subject.
“It looks as though Schloss may have turned this one around,”
Margaret stated.
“Our best intelligence indicates the Soviets no longer have a
coherent force in Silesia and maybe Poland,” Attlee explained. “But Stalin
has given no indication he is ready to throw in the towel.”
“And Schloss is faced with supporting at least a half-million
prisoners of war,” Anderson said. “That has got to be expensive.”
“Considering the alternative, I don’t think Herr Schloss is disposed
to complain,” Colin commented.
“Rommel seems to know what he is doing,” Attlee said. “He has
performed brilliantly of late. Cornering Smirnoff in Berlin was a
masterstroke. It changed the course of the war. Now, if we could just figure
out what’s going on in Tokyo.”
Margaret decided her verbal spanking of the prime minister had
achieved something. At least Attlee was somewhat interested in Far Eastern
events.
“Konoe has a history of being a moderate,” Attlee continued. “This
is at odds with our belief that the radicals are driving events. The public
affirmation of confidence by the emperor further heightened the confusion.”
“Halifax thinks the Americans are confused about Japan as well,”
Anderson said. “Truman is unyielding about Japan’s adherence to the treaty,
but he is not raising the temperature of things.”
“Truman is an interesting character,” Colin said. “Apparently, he
really is what he says he is.”
Anderson set his glass on the table. “A lot of people don’t like him,
but everyone respects him. He doesn’t equivocate. And he is plain-spoken
to a fault.”
“I think I would like Mr. Truman if I met him,” Margaret said.
“And here I always thought opposites attracted,” Colin slipped in.
Attlee was in the process of drinking his after-dinner coffee and
sputtered. “That was lèse-majesté if I ever heard it.”
“Of course not, Prime Minister,” Colin rejoined, “I was speaking of
one of the finer qualities of our monarch.”
“Of course you were, Colin,” Margaret replied. “You have become
skilled at those so-called compliments.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. I do try to contribute to the conversations.”
“Moving on, we have our problems in India,” Attlee stated, steering
the conversation back to serious matters. “I suppose we are going to have to
make some decisions about that.”
 “Our world is changing,” Anderson said. “We must learn how to
change with it. What do you think Britain will look like in fifty years?”
“That is something we must think about. If we must change our
relationship with our dominions and colonies, we should be thinking about
how the end result will look,” Attlee said.
“True,” the queen replied. “We must have some conversations about
that.”
“And what will the continent look like in fifty years?” Colin asked.
“Indeed!” Attlee said with raised eyebrows. “We have achieved
peace with the Nazis, but Schloss shows no indication of releasing the
territories they have conquered.”
“It looks to me like Schloss is trying to hammer together a unified
economic entity,” Anderson said. “They wish to trade with us on attractive
terms. And the Germans seem to be exercising a light touch on the
commerce in their possessions.”
“And I wonder if that will impede our plans to implement the
Beveridge Plan,” Attlee said.
William Beveridge, a progressive member of the Liberal Party, had
promulgated a plan to implement a welfare state in the kingdom. Most of
the people and the government were supportive of it.
“How will that interfere?” Margaret asked.
“Our ideals are to curb the worst characteristics of the market, and
if our businesspeople can easily move operations into Germany where they
can work under fewer restrictions, we may price ourselves out of the
market.”
“In my opinion,” Anderson opined, “the market is always efficient.
If we are going to introduce these measures, we must find a way to maintain
our competitiveness.”
“I understand that, of course,” Attlee responded. “This is still early
in the game, though.”
Later, after the dinner concluded, Margaret spoke to Colin.
“That was a good idea to invite them tonight, Colin.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. I didn’t want to impose upon you, but I
thought it might settle things down with the PM.”
“I certainly hope so. Things have been tense lately. I hope this
evening’s mood continues for the meetings tomorrow. I’m counting on
Clement to be his usual pragmatic self.”
“We may have reached his limits, Ma’am.”
“I hope not,” she replied. “He is getting insistent on holding
elections, and I can’t allow that until Winston is out of the way.”
“I suggest that you may be in error in that regard, Ma’am.”
She glared at him for a few moments and then softened. “I try not to
shoot the messenger. Particularly not if it is you.” She touched his face.
“Good night, Colin.”
 
§§§
 
July 19,1944; 10 AM
The Queen’s Office
Sandringham House
Sandringham, Norfolk, UK
 
John Anderson had the first meeting with the Queen that morning.
As the Chancellor of the Exchequer, he worked hard to stabilize the
government's finances without wrecking the economy. It was no mean feat
as the war with Germany had pillaged the treasury. Although the peace
treaty encouraged commerce between Britain and the German Reich, a
return to the prosperity of the 1920s was at some remove.
“What have you today, Minister Anderson?” Margaret asked
pleasantly.
Colin sat in his usual chair to the side and took careful notes.
“We have a proposal from Rolls-Royce. They wish to form a
consortium with Westinghouse in the United States and Junkers in Germany
to develop a new generation of turbine engines for aircraft. They make the
point that each company brings strengths to the concord, that the companies
could not achieve individually.”
“That is very interesting,” she commented. “Would this be for
military or civilian applications, Mr. Anderson?”
“Rolls is largely focused on the civil aviation market. DeHavilland
is in the early stages of designing a jet-powered airliner. The Americans
will focus on civil aviation to my thinking. Germany, almost certainly, has
military applications in mind.”
 “We could adapt this to our military aircraft, could we not?” she
asked.
“Oh, yes. The RAF are nosing around the project, although they
have no funding at this point. We have drawn down our military
expenditures dramatically, as you know.”
“Yes, I know that, Minister Anderson. I am not convinced that is
necessarily wise, but I also recognize the perilous state of the treasury. Does
the government have an opinion on this consortium?”
“In general, the Exchequer is in favor, as is Whitehall. But, some
voices in the Commons feel we should nationalize our aircraft industry and
go it alone.”
“Really? I had not heard that.”
“I expect that we will at some point nationalize our healthcare
establishment, as well as heavy industry.  I don’t believe we would be able
to afford to do the same with aeronautics at this time.”
“So you would allow Rolls-Royce to move forward with this?”
“I would. We understand this will bring direct benefits to both the
Americans and Germans. But, we will realize a net gain as well.”
“Very well,” Margaret said. “I like the idea of the project, too.”
After Anderson left, Margaret looked at Colin. “That meeting didn’t
go as long as I expected. If the Prime Minister is here, send him in.
Otherwise, I’ll start looking at the morning dispatch box from London.”
A half-hour later, Colin brought the prime minister into the room.
Once again, Colin took the chair to the side of the room while Attlee took
the seat across from the queen’s desk. Attlee cleared his throat and spoke
first.
“I thank you for your invitation to Sandringham, Your Majesty. It
has been a relaxing stay, and it was good to get away from Downing Street
for a time. And thank you for inviting Violet, as well. She was very honored
to be a guest here.”
“You are certainly welcome, Prime Minister. And tell your wife that
I am delighted she was able to travel with you. Too many times, I think the
wives get left out of government activities, and that is our loss.”
“You are considerate, Ma’am.”
“Yes, well, down to business. We had a productive meeting with
Minister Anderson earlier.”
 Attlee quirked an eyebrow. “He did not inform me of the agenda of
his meeting.”
“Is that so?” the queen asked. “I apologize if you were left out of
the information loop. I assumed he would have consulted with you before
the meeting.”
“What did he discuss, Ma’am, if I might ask?”
“The proposed consortium for the turbine engines.”
The prime minister blushed slightly. “Mr. Anderson sometimes
feels he need not answer to me, and unfortunately, I am not in a position to
sack him just yet.”
“Is this a regular occurrence, then?”
“No, but when it happens, he is unapologetic.”
“Would it help if I spoke to him?” she asked.
“The damage is done, I’m afraid.”
“Excuse me?”
Attlee put his hand to his forehead. “Please forgive me, Your
Majesty. I did not intend to cast blame upon you. What I was saying was
that if you give him the slightest bit of encouragement in conversation, he
will treat the matter as approved.”
“I told him that I liked the idea but tried to infer that this was a
decision that should be made within the government. I cannot and should
not micromanage to that level.”
“You should have cut him off when he began with the proposal,
Ma’am.”
“If I had known he had not talked to you ahead of time, I would
have.”
While Attlee was polite, it was clear he was seething. Colin studied
him for a moment and then looked at Margaret. She looked bewildered.
Things were starting to go downhill again.
“If it would help,” the queen said, “I can speak to him.”
Attlee took a deep breath as if visibly trying to control himself.
“Thank you, Ma’am, but I can speak to him about this.”
“Very well. Do you have any recent news from Germany?”
“I expect my dispatch box said much the same as yours today,
Ma’am. It looks to me, though, that Schloss now has the upper hand over
the Soviets. I trust the Germans will not become overconfident, though.”
 “That was my thought. It is nice that Herr Schloss has regained his
footing, though.”
“Indeed.” the prime minister paused. “I would like to begin
introducing legislation to implement the Beveridge Plan, Your Majesty.”
“As I mentioned, I would like something like that after elections.
The plan will transform the nation, and I believe you should have a clear
mandate for that.”
Attlee sat quietly for a few moments before speaking again. “Very
well, Your Majesty. I will announce elections for October.”
The air shivered like brittle glass. Margaret looked at Colin and
then back at Attlee.
“Excuse me?”
“I am going to call for elections, Ma’am. It is long past time it was
done.”
“Did you not understand when I explained to you before the risk of
doing that right now. The Tories are going to be bent on winning this
election, and they will put Churchill back into Downing Street.”
“I believe that is a small risk, even if the Tories win, which I believe
they won’t. Churchill has support from a rump group of backbenchers, and
he is not widely liked in the Commons, let alone among the people.”
“I forbid you to do this, Clement. It may destroy everything we
have worked for.”
He shook his head. “It is time to face reality, Your Majesty. The
other risk is that if you do not quickly hold elections, we may face an
unstoppable slide to a republican government, and I don’t think any of us
want that.”
“Are you threatening me, Clement?”
“No, Ma’am. I am simply giving you the best advice I can. We have
got to move forward.”
“Very well, Prime Minister. I believe we are done for today.”
After Attlee walked from the room, she turned to face Colin. “I
suppose you are going to tell me I didn’t handle that well.”
“I think you handled it about as well as you could.”
“But you agree with Clement?”
Colin frowned as he twisted his head around. “Not entirely. I think
he does have a point. Winston is not going away. So postponing elections
will not solve that problem. As far as a republican challenge is concerned, I
don’t think that has legs.”
“So what should I do. My only recourse at this point is to dismiss
Clement. And that would generate a constitutional crisis.”
“It would. I would say that you have to let events take their course.
You will need to smile and be supportive. There is a deep reservoir of
approval and affection for you among the people. If we go forward with the
election and things come apart, you will be in a much stronger position to
do something about it.”
“Very well, Colin. I agree. I don’t like it, but I agree.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
 
 
July 21,1944; 2 PM
The Emperor’s Meeting Room
Imperial Palace
Tokyo, Japan
 
The emperor’s conference room was sweltering in the midsummer
heat. The room was located in the center of the imperial palace and had no
windows or discernible ventilation. As usual, Hirohito was dressed in his
pinstriped business suit and wore a top hat. He seemed perfectly
comfortable while those in attendance at the meeting tried to ignore the
rivulets of sweat.
The emperor had called this meeting of the civil government leaders
and the military. As usual, he gave no advance information about the
agenda. Fumimaro Konoe sat at the end of the table opposite the emperor.
To Kanoe’s right sat Mamoru Shigemitsu, the Foreign Minister. Along the
other side sat Jo limura, Commander of the Tokyo Defense Army, Admiral
Koshiro Oikawa, the Navy Minister, and Yoshijiro Umezu, the Army Chief
of Staff.
“Today, we shall discuss our relationship with the Americans and
the management of our treaty obligations,” Hirohito began. “I wish to know
your views and suggestions on how to proceed.”
“I believe we should not give other than lip-service to the treaty,”
Umezu began, “and work towards rebuilding our army and navy so we can
abrogate the treaty at our earliest opportunity.”
limura nodded emphatically. “The treaty is shameful and must be
disposed of as soon as is practical.”
Shigemitsu raised a finger, and the emperor recognized him.
“We might be wise to consider how the world has changed in recent
months. The Americans now supply us with all the oil we need. We are not
straining the treasury to pay for armaments and huge armies. Because we
cooperate with the Australians and the British, the Australians are selling us
raw materials. We no longer have armies tied down in China to no effect.
We have achieved several of the key aims that drove us to war in the first
place. And we have an opportunity for power and influence without having
to do it over the barrel of a gun.”
“Bah!” Umezu spat. “We took the coward’s way out, and we threw
away everything we had gained during the war because of a couple of
reverses.”
“Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, we were on our way to
losing.”
“One does not lose when he has the will to win!” Umezu shouted.
“Yamamoto brought dishonor upon our nation, and you facilitated it. You
should have died with him.”
“By surrendering our fleet,” limura interjected, “it has become
much more difficult for us, but we had the gaijin fleeing from us before. We
can do it again.”
“And what would we accomplish?” Konoe asked.
“We would recover our honor,” Umezu responded. “Surely that is
enough.”
“What honor is there in betraying a nation that has reached out in
forgiveness and friendship?” the emperor asked quietly.
“There is no honor in treating with barbarians.”
 Hirohito stared at Umezu, who glared back. The others held their
breath to see what would happen.
“No?” the emperor asked. “We slay women and children in our
conquered territories, and we call ourselves civilized?”
“They were round-eyes. They were sub-human.”
“And what of those of our people who lived in Hawaii? Did we not
slay them also?”
“They supported the enemy. They were traitors to our race.”
Hirohito frowned and looked down at the table. He used an index
finger to trace the elaborate inlay in the walnut. Finally, he looked up at
Umezu.
“You do not represent the will of the people, and you do not
represent the wishes of the throne.”
The general stood. “Then you do not legitimately belong on the
throne.”
Umezu walked over to the double doors and pulled them open. He
looked in surprise at the imperial guards who stood in front of him. He
turned back to Hirohito.
“What have you done with my guards?”
“Your guards were not invited to this meeting, Yoshijiro-san. Our
Imperial Guards are sufficient to place you under arrest for treason.”
“I think not.”
Umezu pulled his Nambu pistol from its holster and aimed it
towards the emperor. There was a whistle of a blade, and the gun and his
hand dropped to the floor. The general stared dumbly at the blood spurting
from the stump of his arm.
“See to his arm,” Hirohito ordered. “We need him alive and well for
the trial.”
The emperor turned to Jo limura. “Where does your allegiance lie,
General?”
limura stood and faced the emperor. He then bowed low. “I serve
the emperor.”
“You are a wise man. Please deliver a message to those who
followed General Umezu. The policies enacted by Prime Minister
Yamamoto and Foreign Minister Shigemitsu were accomplished at Our
direction, and Prime Minister Konoe serves at Our pleasure. We take no
pleasure in having to discipline those who are misinformed or misdirected.
But, Our will is to be obeyed.”
Limura bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will make sure
the message is delivered.”
“Minister Oikawa, how stands the Navy?”
The Navy Minister immediately jumped to his feet. “Your Majesty,
the Navy stands behind you without question.”
“Thank you. Please be seated again. We have much to accomplish
today.”
The group in the room now paid close attention to Hirohito. Before
the meeting, there was speculation in the government as to where precisely
the emperor stood concerning the treaty with the Americans. There was no
question, now, and word would spread rapidly around Tokyo.
“What are the immediate problems we must solve?” the emperor
asked.
“An American submarine was damaged in a collision and sought to
dock in Sasebo for repairs, and the military commander refused them.”
“Can we reverse that decision?” Hirohito asked.
“They have already sailed, presumably for Subic Bay in the
Philippines,” Konoe responded.
“Then Minister Shigemitsu must meet with the Americans as soon
as possible and abase himself. We will not describe it as anything other than
someone representing a renegade group of officers who we are now dealing
with.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Shigemitsu immediately replied.
“What else presents a burning need?” Hirohito asked.
“All Americans representing their government in Japan have been
confined to their quarters.”
“Have there been attempts to release the interned fleet back to the
Navy?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Oikawa replied. The Navy has been supporting
the government and its commitments.”
“That is good. Now we must discuss how to release the Americans
to their tasks, with appropriate apologies, of course.”
“Many of these installations are currently guarded by army people,”
Konoe stated. “Perhaps we should use the Navy Shore Patrol to ensure
things go smoothly.”
“If I may suggest an alternative,” limura spoke. “If we send Naval
personnel in, the Army may treat it as a challenge. Please allow me to select
a group of Army officers that are loyal to the throne, and they will be able
to accomplish this task without conflict.”
“I assume you know who those officers would be?” Hirohito asked
dryly.
Limura blushed. “We know who they are. Let me correct that. I
know who they are. After all, I am now a part of that group.”
“I am gratified that you understand,” the emperor said. “Please
make it so. If we cause the Americans to lose trust in us, they may well go
back to war, and it would be the end of our nation.”
The meeting continued as Hirohito worked through items with
which he was personally concerned. Finally, he adjourned the meeting.
“Prime Minister Konoe, please remain behind.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
After the others left, Hirohito rose from his chair and walked over
to Konoe.
“We are forced to take a much more active role than we prefer,” the
emperor began.
“I understand, Your Majesty.”
“Please do not interpret this as any lack of confidence in you, Prime
Minister. But, things are balanced on a knife-edge. We have come a great
distance and sacrificed much to arrive at our current position, and we
cannot allow things to become disordered. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“The people and the Army, in particular, must understand that you
speak for Us. We have allowed too much diversity of opinion in the past.
That must stop. The military must submit itself to its civilian masters. And
the civilian government must be responsible to the House of
Representatives. And the emperor must safeguard the government.”
“What would you desire, Majesty?” Konoe asked.
“You must take a firm hand to ensure the government functions as
intended. You must ruthlessly suppress those who rebel against our
direction. I believe if you act quickly and decisively, we can eliminate those
in the military who seek to impose their will over the country.”
 “I will do my best, Majesty.”
“I know you will. And you must succeed.”
 
§§§
 
July 22,1944; 8 PM
Rainer Apartment
3 Rheinstrasse
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“And how was your day, My Dear,” Karl Rainer asked.
“Working for a business is different than working in the
government,” Misty Rainer said. “Although the politics do not differ
much.”
“You have politics already? Your father opened the offices here
only last month.”
“It’s the people who constantly try to pit me against Cliff that raise
my blood pressure.”
“But, why should that be?” he asked. “Clifford Pence is the
managing director of the organization.”
“That is correct,” she said with a smile. “But I am the daughter of
the owner and am married to the Reichsprotektor, and they believe that
trumps Cliff’s authority.”
“Was it a mistake for you to go to work for your father’s firm?”
“There was little else I could have done,” she replied. “We know
why I couldn’t remain in the embassy. And working for the Reich
government was out of the question, too. Plus, the family business will fall
to me in perhaps thirty or forty years if we are fortunate and Daddy lives a
long time.”
“What will you do when we move back to Berlin?”
“We will open an office there. Pence will move to Berlin and
appoint a staff to maintain this office.”
“Is there enough business to support two offices?” Rainer asked.
“Daddy thinks so. The German economy has remained strong
despite the war. So there is a need for investment banking services. The
office in London has been suffering, though.”
 “Will he close that office?”
“I doubt it. No offense, Karl, but London will likely remain the
center for banking in Europe. Frankfurt shows surprising strength, but
there’s a long tradition in the City of London.”
They sat together on the sofa in the small living room. After the
desperate move from Berlin to Frankfurt, Karl had leased two adjoining
apartments because of his housing staff. A two-bedroom flat wasn’t
sufficient for the Reichsprotektor, though that was all that was available
during those harried days. Businesses and parts of the government were
migrating back to Berlin now, so more housing was on the market. But,
Rainer believed he and Misty would be moving to his house in Berlin by
the first of the year, so there was no point in looking for something else
right now.
“That was an enjoyable dinner, Misty,” he said. “I have no idea how
you were able to work today and still come home and put it together.”
“Careful planning,” she said with a smile. “I enjoy having the SS
staff prepare our meals, but sometimes a girl has got to show off for her
man.”
“And you do it so well. I think I like American food.”
“As in food cooked by an American, correct?”
He laughed. “Are you telling me that I wouldn’t find food like that
in America? Let me correct that. Not of that quality.”
“Very wise, mein Herr,” she said, arching her eyebrows. “I think
I’m a pretty good cook, but where I grew up, there were a lot of good
cooks, and Mama could outdo me without any trouble at all.”
“I wish I could have met your mother. She must’ve been quite a
lady.”
“I miss her. She was only forty when she passed, and Daddy was
devastated.”
“And he hasn’t remarried.”
Misty nodded sadly. “He told me he still compares any woman he
meets with Mama, and none come close. He claims he’s happier with his
memories of her.”
“What was she like?”
“You would have liked her. She was almost German in her manner
and very no-nonsense.”
 “But you are said to be like your father,” he commented.
“I am. I am the one with business sense. Mama raised me. I had no
brothers, so I decided to follow Daddy.”
“But how did you end up in government?”
“I was recruited from Columbia University when I graduated. I
didn’t know it at the time, but Director Donovan knew Daddy and arranged
things. Donovan swears I made it on my own. He just provided the
introductions.”
“I somehow suspect you did make it on your own,” Karl
commented. “You are formidable.”
“At least I don’t have to put up with Gordie Smoke anymore.”
“Was that the only reason you married me?”
“Of course not. But it was a factor.”
He saw the glint in her eye before he started to react, fortunately.
So, he shook his fist at her.
“And how was your day, Darling?” she asked sweetly.
He laughed. “About what you would expect. Germans who expect
me to tell them exactly what to do and how to do it. And the ones who
finally understand that they need to make decisions on their own are the
ones I wouldn’t trust to fly a single plane Luftwaffe formation.”
“I guess you have the equivalent of non-commissioned officers in
the SS,” She commented.
“Oh, yes,” he exclaimed, “they are the ones who keep the
organization running.”
“Put some of them in charge,” she suggested.
“Then the senior people would quit. It would be unmoglich.”
“Daddy told me one time that nobody is irreplaceable. The pain of
getting rid of somebody is less than putting up with them for months or
years.”
Karl sighed. “Maybe I should hire your father.”
She laughed. “That would be interesting.”
The conversation continued for a while and then turned serious.
“When will we return to Berlin?”
“Rommel has almost completely destroyed the Russian forces in
Silesia. It looks like Stalin is trying to gather another army, but it will be
months before it will be of consequence. We are working to prevent it from
ever mattering.”
“When will he give it up?” she asked.
“When he is dead, I suppose. Nothing else makes any sense. I’ve
been hoping that somebody smart in the Kremlin will take care of the
problem for us. So far that doesn’t seem to have happened.”
“It may be too bad that we have Khrushchev,” she said. “He seemed
to have the necessary chutzpah to take out Stalin. He disposed of Beria.”
“We are getting ready to release Khrushchev and Smirnoff in the
East. If they can turn Ukraine into a buffer between Russians and us, it may
solve our problems for a generation.”
“Not more?”
“Who knows what the world will look like in forty years?”
“There is that,” she commented.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
 
 
July 26, 1944; 8 AM
United States Naval Base
Subic Bay
Philippine Islands
 
Captain Alan Carper watched from the conning tower of the USS
Essen as the submarine glided into the harbor. As they came around the
point, the superstructure of the sub tender, USS Fulton, came into view.
Carper thought it was the sweetest sight he had encountered. It meant he
could now fly his flag as the Station Commander (Submarines) in the
Philippines, but also that they could effect repairs on the conning tower and
masts of the Essen.
 The weather had remained good during the entire voyage from
Sasebo, so it wasn’t particularly perilous. But the crews of the new-build U-
Boats preferred to spend as little time as possible on the surface. They had
succeeded in their mission to explore Vladivostok's inner harbor, despite the
collision with an admiral’s barge.
It looked like the docks were intact, so the Essen didn’t have to use
a mooring buoy. The sailors on the pier looked crisp and efficient as they
handled the lines. Carper signaled done with engines. He climbed down to
the control room where Jolly had prepared the logs.
“How do things look onshore?” Rogers asked.
“The docks are still there. The Fulton’s there, and I need to get over
and read myself in. You probably should go through normal channels to get
your repairs started. Oh, and as of this moment, you are in command of the
Essen.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. We need to announce it to the boat.”
“Of course.”
The United States Navy not only floated on a sea of paper, but it
was also armored with tradition. Carper could not simply go aboard the
Fulton and say, “Here I am.” He had to verbally read his orders and assume
command of the station formally. Once the crews were informed of the
command changes, the clerks got busy with the paperwork so that
everything would be in order. Carper thought that the Germans had nothing
over the Americans in that regard.
Commander Les Aspin skippered the Fulton. Given the
circumstances, he would be addressed as Captain, and Carper would be
addressed as Commodore.
“I’ve got a crew headed over to the Essen as we speak,” Aspin said.
“We need to find out if we can make repairs from the ship’s resources. We
don’t have much otherwise here.”
“The Japs clean us out?”
“Not intentionally, Sir. But they did a lot of repair work. The
facilities are in decent shape, but there is honestly not much to work with.”
“Whatever you can do, Rogers will appreciate it.”
“What are your instructions for me, Sir?” Aspin asked.
“I’ll need a briefing on your activities here and what you have done
to support submarine operations out of Subic. Then I will want to inspect
the ship and your shops.”
“Of course, Sir. One of my aggressive young lieutenants has put
together the briefing, and he is dying to perform for you.”
Carper rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Is there a lesson you would
like me to teach him, Les?”
“I think you’ll figure it out pretty soon.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“The briefing should have all the information you need, though. If I
might ask, what happened in Japan?”
“As you know, Yamamoto is dead, and they have a new
government. We tried to go into Sasebo for repairs, but the Japanese
wouldn’t let us port. I decided to go ahead and make for Subic since that’s
where we were headed anyway. We were a day out, and I got a radio
message that the Japs had changed their minds. I didn’t feel like going
back.”
“Coming down here on the surface was risky, Sir.”
“Don’t I know it,” Carper replied. “I was terrified we’d get run over
by a typhoon. But we were out of choices, and I wasn’t sure what to expect
if we went back to Japan. We could have been stuck there for months
waiting for parts, and the Admiral wanted me here. How’s your crew?”
“I’ve got the best sub tender in the fleet, and I’m being honest, Sir.
If they can figure out a way to repair the Essen, they’ll get it done.”
“That’s good,” Carper commented. “Are we going to have to
rebuild all the shops here along with everything else?”
Aspin nodded. “I made a walking inspection of our command area.
The Japs didn’t trash it when they left, but they didn’t take care of it while
they were here, either. They didn’t seem to try to murder everybody in
Olongapo for some reason, so a lot of our native labor is showing up again.
And the Flips are as good as anybody in the Navy. I think we’ll be back in
business a lot faster than anybody expects.”
“That’s good news, then. Because if we don’t get things under
control in Tokyo, we’re going to need this base.”
“What are your expectations, Sir?”
Carper thought for a moment. “Let’s get the briefing and the
inspection out of the way and then we’ll sit down and talk. Have you met
Admiral Lockwood?”
 “No, Sir. He has a reputation, though.”
“And it’s well earned. To put it simply, our job out here is to make
the admiral happy.”
“That means we have to make the sub drivers happy.”
“You got it.”
 
§§§
 
 
July 27, 1944; 9 AM
Stalin’s Meeting Room
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
“Who can tell me what is happening in Silesia and Poland?” Stalin
demanded.
Kruglov and Malenkov said nothing. Vyacheslav Molotov was
present today. He had fallen from favor in early 1942, but Stalin had
decided to rehabilitate him. Kruglov was glad the man was back, but the
aggressive confidence Molotov had displayed before was now much more
subdued.
“It appears our glorious army has failed us,” Molotov commented.
“And what should we do about it?” Comrade Molotov.
“We should punish any of the leaders we can retrieve from the field.
Since we must build a new army, we must do better at teaching them
socialist ideals. Their failure is due to their recidivism, and they wish to
return to the old ways. The failed ways.”
“That is a good speech, Vyacheslav,” Stalin commented. “But what
would you do to accomplish this?”
Molotov was speechless. He wasn’t expecting an attack
immediately after Stalin invited him back into the inner circle. Stalin
continued puffing on his pipe and studied everyone in the room. Molotov
concluded he wasn’t necessarily the primary target.
“What is Schloss trying to accomplish?” Stalin now asked.
“He is convinced the only way to stop you is to destroy you,”
Kruglov said. “Perhaps we ought to investigate whether the Nazis would
accept a negotiated settlement.”
 “Perhaps you should investigate whether the party and the Narod
would accept a negotiated settlement,” Stalin fired back. “It may come
down to whether some nameless kulak puts a bullet in your head or if I do.”
“I am giving you the best information I have, Comrade General
Secretary.”
“And that concerns me, Sergei. You have shown great promise, but
all I seem to hear from you now is excuses. And you, Georgy, are no help,
either. Where is my propeller-less fighter you promised?”
“The new fighter is on track to meet the dates we set for operations.
Nothing has changed there, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Bah. I am surrounded by incompetents. Get out of here, all of you.
You will all return tomorrow with a plan for turning this war around. Come
prepared to live or die.”
Malenkov was shaking as they walked out of the meeting room.
Kruglov was shaken but thought that he had retained his wits, and Molotov
seemed unfazed.
“What are we going to do, Sergei?” Malenkov stammered. “He’s
getting ready to feed us to the fire.”
“He is not going to have us liquidated,” Kruglov replied. “Have you
noticed how he has isolated himself from the Politburo? They are concerned
about that. Without us, he has no line of communication with them. We do
the communicating now.”
“That’s a thin thread, Sergei.”
“It is what it is,” Molotov grumbled. “If we don’t produce a plan, he
will have us purged, regardless of what it costs him. So, let’s arrange to
meet and hammer something together. Who knows? It may even work.”
 
 

 
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
 
 
July 31, 1944; 8 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
For the first time in years, Heinrich Schloss did not feel like his
morning coffee was burning a hole deeper into the pit in his stomach. He
often thought he had a bleeding ulcer the way his stomach burned. But his
doctor assured him that if he had an ulcer, it would feel like someone was
carving up his stomach with a knife.
Over the weekend, Rommel sent word that Rokossovky had
surrendered what was left of the encircled Russian forces. There was
nothing left in Silesia and the Polish territory to stop Germany. Guderian
had instructed Walter Model to advance ten divisions across the Polish
plains towards Ukraine. Smirnoff and Khrushchev were organizing
themselves and planning to march into Ukraine with Luftwaffe support.
With Stalin no longer holding a knife at his throat, at least for the
moment, Schloss was almost relaxed. He was under no illusions about the
work that lay ahead for the German government. He already had received
communications from some of the Gauleiters about reestablishing Danzig
and East Prussia. Considering the way Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt had
redrawn the map of Europe at Potsdam in his other universe, Schloss
thought he could get away with redrawing the borders to Germany’s best
advantage.
Schloss had to remind himself that Stalin was still alive. He hoped
that Smirnoff and Khrushchev were able to establish a buffer state in
Ukraine. But there was the question of Belorussia and Prussia. And Peter
had received a delegation of Poles who wanted to establish a nation on their
ancient soil. So, Schloss determined to enjoy the relative quiet while he
could.
Kirche interrupted Schloss’s reverie with a plate of pastries and a
fresh carafe of coffee. Following him were Peter Schreiber and Karl Rainer.
Their Monday morning meetings were now almost inviolable. While the
German government functioned much as it had for the previous hundred
years, the ruling triumvirate was unique. Schloss pondered the accident of
fate that placed him, Peter, and Karl into their roles. Then there was the
nagging memory of Frau Marsden telling him it was no accident.
 “It looks like Rommel is wrapping things up in Silesia,” Peter
commented. “I have to give him credit. He is brilliant at spotting these
opportunities.”
Rainer nodded. “I like the fact that he doesn’t sit on his
accomplishments. We have the Russians badly off-balance.”
“There isn’t much in the way of Russian forces west of the Vistula,
or even the Bug River for that matter.”
“Are we stopping at the Bug?” Rainer asked.
“We are. East of that, we are leaving to Smirnoff and Khrushchev.”
Peter nodded. “We will have our hands full securing everything to
the west of that. A lot of the land has had armies march across it three times
in as many years. And we’re getting ready to have our own politicians fight
over the carcass.”
Schloss frowned. “I don’t know which is worse. Khrushchev is
licking his chops over setting himself up in Kiev. And our carrion want to
draw lots over the Polish territories.”
“What have you been thinking about concerning that?” Rainer
asked.
“I think the three of us are going to have to decide where to draw
the map. If we form a committee, it’ll never get done, or we’ll have wars
for the next century of the territories.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable, Hennie, to delegate something
like that to the three of us?” Peter asked.
“Yes, it does. It amounts to playing God with the world. I know I
don’t have the right to do it, and nobody does. But let’s look at our primary
goal: we want to establish a German nation that nobody will be able to
touch for the next hundred years.”
“Not the thousand-year Reich?” Rainer asked softly.
“We’ve talked about this, Karl. I hope that we’re not
megalomaniacs. But, putting the map together is a key piece of what I want
to achieve. If we can get this done, then I want to hold elections in the next
year or so and step away from this job.”
“I don’t think the people will allow you to step away,” Peter said.
“You are very popular, and it might be too early for you to step down.”
“I am concerned about waiting too long to step down,” Schloss
replied. “What is too early?”
 “We have a lot of territories that Hitler conquered,” Peter stated. “A
lot of that is not in a stable arrangement. We are focused on the East. But
we have the military occupation zones in the West — northern France and
the low countries. And I think we are going to have problems with the
government in Vichy eventually.”
“We have problems with the government in Vichy, now,” Rainer
commented. “They are still mistreating Jews, and their secret police are a
law unto themselves.”
“What we need to do is create a schedule for dealing with the
emergencies,” Schloss said. “The merely urgent items will have to wait.”
“Right,” Peter added. “And the world isn’t standing still either.
Britain is in turmoil. My office just found out that Attlee scheduled
elections without the queen’s consent.”
“So they are in the middle of a constitutional crisis,” Schloss said.
“I wonder how that will play out.”
“My people say the bookies in London are doing a thriving business
on betting which way it will go,” Rainer claimed. “The people in the
Foreign Office were surprised that Margaret did not immediately put a stop
to it.”
Peter had emptied his coffee cup and refilled it from the carafe. He
looked at the plate of pastries, visibly debating whether to snag a second
Danish.
“Help yourself, Peter,” Schloss laughed. “That’s why Kirche brings
in the food. Besides, you don’t seem to have a weight problem.”
“But Frau Marsden yells at me when I don’t clean up my plate at
lunchtime because I had too many pastries.”
“There is little I can do about that, Peter. Back to the topic at hand. I
wonder if the queen is not resisting Attlee because he has the house behind
him. The English place great stock in Parliamentary supremacy.”
“A dictatorial monarch is not the norm there, for sure,” Peter
replied.
“My wife has been following this,” Rainer commented. “She said
that if the queen tried to override Attlee at this point, she would risk being
deposed. It has happened before. The English like to put their kings up on a
pedestal so they can honor the tradition, but they get uncomfortable when
the monarch tries to govern.”
 “So Margaret would be wise to declare the election was her idea,”
Peter said. “Attlee would likely go along with that.”
“It would certainly secure her place in history,” Schloss said.
“Although I don’t think that concerns her one bit.”
“She sure characterizes English bloody-mindedness,” Rainer said.
“And what is happening in Japan?” Schloss asked.
“A good question,” Peter responded. “The new government placed
the Americans there under house arrest and locked down the American
military installations. Then they reversed themselves. The Japanese foreign
minister went to the American embassy and offered to commit seppuku
over their faux pas.”
“Seriously?” Rainer expostulated.
“Well, maybe not the seppuku part. But it was certainly an abject
apology,” Peter said. “We don’t have a lot of people on the ground in
Tokyo, but we are hearing that two factions are vying for control of the
country. The militarists are based in the army, and it looks like the
moderates have coalesced around the emperor with the navy supporting
them. There’s no question that Konoe represents the emperor.”
“I like our nice orderly society,” Schloss commented.
“Yes,” Peter added, “Karl, let’s keep it that way.”
“We do our best. Unfortunately, now that it looks like the war is
going in our favor, our friends in Munich are getting active.”
“Now, I didn’t want to hear that,” Schloss said. “What’s Wicklein
doing?”
“I’ve instructed him to keep a low profile with regards to the
Munich Faction. He is watching, and I think he has several people inside.
But we do not have a good feel for how much power they wield.”
“Watch them, Karl,” Schloss directed. “We can’t afford to let a
bunch of radical Nazis get loose in the country.”
“I understand, and I am.”
“What’s going on in America?” Schloss now asked.
“Sending Heisenberg over was a good idea,” Peter said. “A lot of
the scientists in their atomic project know him personally and like him.”
“To give Truman credit, he was remarkably forbearing after that
disaster with Schumann,” Rainer said.
 “Indeed,” Schloss said. “And it sounds like they are beginning to
move people back into some of the blighted territory. It is sooner than
anyone thought would happen.”
“That’s some good news, then,” Rainer said. “How is our atomic
project going?”
“Not as fast as the Americans apparently were going. We have a
small atomic device working, but we are years away from something useful
for weapons or power. The Americans threw a lot of money at their project.
Heisenberg speculated they had several devices running before the accident.
Of course, now, we have no idea what they are doing.”
“Whatever they are doing, I’m sure they are being careful about it,”
Peter commented.
Schloss laughed harshly. “That is probably true, Peter. Nothing like
the burned hand.”
“For sure. And I hope Heisenberg can learn from their mistake.”
“It is always profitable if you can learn from someone else’s
mistakes,” Rainer said.
§§§
August 1, 1944; 6 AM
Wehrmacht Headquarters
Silesia
 
Ferdinand Schörner stared at the envelope sitting on his desk. It was
lying there when he arrived ten minutes earlier. His name was written on
the front in an elaborate cursive script, but the envelope was otherwise
unmarked. Being a disciplined man, Schörner waited until he had prepared
his first cup of coffee of the day and lit a cigarette. In his mind, breaking
routine only led to disorder and eventual disaster.
Now seated at his field desk with coffee and cigarette, Schörner
picked up the envelope and studied it. There was nothing to betray its
origin, and he thought it curious. After taking a sip of the coffee and a deep
drag on the cigarette, he picked up the miniature cavalry sword he used as a
letter opener.
It was unusual to receive a handwritten letter on parchment-style
paper.
 
 My Dear Ferdinand,
It was distressing to hear that you have
suffered such shame at the hands of Erwin
Rommel. That is, of course, unacceptable to an
officer of your standing and record. Having also
had a similar experience, I can understand how
you feel.
I now represent a group of loyal Nazis in
Munich who share our goals of a thousand-year
Reich. We now extend to you a confidential
invitation to join us in our cause.
The first stage of our activities will be
the declaration of a new German Reich
comprising Silesia, Moravia, and Bavaria. The
forces under your command will form the core of
our new army.
Because of the opportunities, we have
present, you need to make a decision soon. Place
your answer in an envelope addressed to EM.
Leave it on your desk tonight.
 
With my very best regards,
Erhard Milch
 
Schörner read the letter twice and then held his lighter to it. Once it
had begun burning, he dropped the letter into his ashtray. He stirred the
remains of the message with his letter opener. He then leaned back and
sipped his coffee and smoked as he thought about what he had read.
Although he was enraged at Rommel’s high-handedness, he had to
admit the other general was right. The Russians were disorganized and
poorly led, and there were no real challenges in holding his position despite
the efforts of the Red Army to break the encirclement. It seemed to him that
they had broken the back of the Russian offensive in the west. And Rommel
was moved rapidly to consolidate the gains.
Schörner was acquainted with Milch and had a low opinion of the
man. Though a capable administrator, the former Reichsprotektor had
consistently put his interests ahead of the Reich. Although he despised
Heinrich Schloss and all he stood for, he fully agreed with the Reich
Chancellor when he sacked Milch.
Yet, there was something attractive about the offer. Of course,
everyone had heard of the Munich Faction, and it was the foremost
conservative Nazi organization in the Reich. The chance to put Germany
back on the right course was attractive.
It all came down to what honor demanded of Ferdinand Schörner.
Did he honor his allegiance to the OKW and Germany, or did he follow the
higher ideals of Nazism? He would draft a letter before he left his office
that evening. And he would have the entire day to think about it.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
 
 
August 2, 1944; 6 PM
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
 “Well, that’s it for today,” the queen said as her last visitor left the
office.
“It has been a long one,” Colin Marty replied. “But we covered a lot
of ground.”
“Regardless of the circumstances, I shall be ever so glad to turn this
all back over to the prime minister after the election.”
“I suspect you will not be free of governing action, Ma’am.”
“And why is that, Colin?”
“Strong leaders do not simply fade away. Prime Minister Attlee
asserted Parliamentary Supremacy, as was his right. The MPs are delighted,
of course. But when the new government faces its first challenge, I believe
they will call upon you. And your advice will have rather more weight than
any monarch since the Stuarts.”
“And that worries me,” she replied. “Look at what happened to the
Stuart kings.”
“And what is different now, Ma’am?”
“What do you mean?”
“When Attlee announced to you that he was going to call elections,
you immediately acquiesced. The Windsors have always adroitly managed
the realm while instinctively knowing their place.”
“But I had no choice, Colin!” she argued.
“Exactly. I submit that your actions concerning the prime minister
demonstrate why there will be no constitutional crisis surrounding the
election. You did the right things, not because you wanted to, but because
you recognized something that had to be done.”
She smiled sadly. “You always manage to put a positive outlook on
things, and I appreciate it. Will you dine with me tonight?”
“Of course, Ma’am. I am delighted to, as always.”
“You must be something of a masochist,” she laughed. “After a day
of my rages and harangues, you agree to spend an evening with
disagreeable me.”
“I have such limited options, Your Majesty.”
The queen responded with one of her characteristic belly laughs.
“Ever the rogue, Colin. Shall we go, then. We can terrorize the kitchen staff
by being early for dinner. And I badly need a drink.”
 Marty snapped his notebook closed and stood. They walked out of
the office together. He held the door for her as she walked through, and she
reached out to his arm and squeezed. It surprised him, and he wondered
what that signified, if anything.
They were indeed early for dinner, and the queen diverted them to a
drawing-room where a steward waited at the bar.
“My usual, Horthy,” she said.
“And you, Sir?” the steward asked Colin.
“Whisky; neat.”
Colin was surprised when the steward delivered an opened bottle of
Guinness to the queen and then his whisky.
“Don’t be surprised, Colin,” Margaret said as she held up the bottle.
“I am reputed to drink like a sailor. And this is what sailors drink.”
“I would never suggest anything like that, Ma’am.”
“Right. Well, my reputation is not undeserved. A lager wets my
whistle, and I am then not sloshed when I go into dinner.”
“That makes sense to me.”
She reached a side table and pulled a cigarette from a pack. The
steward was immediately beside her, holding a lighter. She inhaled deeply,
with the coal glowing, and then blew out a great draught of smoke.
“I regret beginning this habit,” she acknowledged as she waved the
cigarette around. “This is my first of the day. I am trying to quit. I saw what
it was beginning to do to my father.”
“There is something to be said for just stopping cold, Ma’am.”
“Yes, and I may have to do that someday. But not right now, Colin.”
He nodded politely but said nothing.
“I will not have you humoring me, Colin.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty.”
She glared at him for a few moments, and then her visage softened.
“Forgive me. I am not being gracious.”
He sipped from his tumbler and studied the room. He wondered
what it was like to live in a museum, for that is what the palace was. In one
corner was an ornate piano. He wondered if it was an antique showpiece or
if it was usable. Pianos never aged well.
She noticed him regarding the instrument. “Do you play, Colin?”
 “My parents arranged for lessons. I stopped playing after Clarissa
and I married. There was no money to buy something, and it’s been a
while.”
“Then you must play me something,” she insisted.
There was little to do but to obey the royal command. He seated
himself at the piano and stumbled through several of the Bach two and
three-part inventions.
“That was very nice,” she commented. “You have a good touch.”
Margaret bustled over to a cabinet below the bookshelves and
rummaged through a stack of music.
“Have you ever played Beethoven?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Everybody has to play Beethoven.”
She carried a music folio over to Colin’s right and slid onto the
bench next to him. “Move over.”
He studied the music when she opened the book. He didn’t know
that Beethoven had written duets.
“My teacher used to play these with me. Let’s give it a try, shall
we?”
The music itself was not complex, but one did have to watch the
rhythm and pay attention to the partner. He somehow managed to stay with
her as they completed the first movement, and they both laughed at the end.
“Again,” she shouted. “This is fun.”
They went back to the beginning, and she moved directly into the
second movement. The scherzo was more difficult, and at one point, Colin
completely lost his place. He frantically looked to figure out where she was
and jumped in. He was a couple of steps behind during the long run at the
end of the piece, and they laughed again.
“I think you need to practice, Colin,” she laughed and then took a
long drink from her bottle.
“I also think I need practice.”
She glanced over where the butler stood in the doorway.
“Dinner is served, Your Majesty.”
They moved from the drawing-room to the private dining room.
The staff had set two places at the end of the table. Colin concluded that
there was something nice about servers who were more attentive than at a
five-star restaurant.
 “So, it appears that Schloss is finally getting the upper hand in his
war with the Communist hordes.”
“I certainly hope so,” Colin responded. “As you know, I have no
great truck with the Nazis, but Schloss may give us a generation of peace.”
“But what value is that peace if the people are enslaved?” she
asked.
“How would you define enslavement?”
“Well, most of Western Europe does not have the franchise. We
have Schloss, Petain, and Franco, who rule by fiat. And then there is our
friend Salazar in Portugal. And, of course, Ciano in Italy.”
“Even considering the irregularities, the Nazis and Fascists were
freely elected.”
“To quote Stalin,” she responded, “‘one man, one vote, one time.’
That is how we get tyranny.”
“And how close to tyranny did we come in the United Kingdom,
Ma’am?”
She looked abashed. “One forgets about that. Yet the Parliament has
stepped up.”
“Yet Parliament is always one law away from stealing our
liberties.”
“Are you a republican, then, Colin?”
“You mean like my friend Mr. Pye-Charm?”
“Ha! He was not successful in hiding it.”
“I know. I will die a monarchist. I grew up in Britain, and I know
I’m probably blind to many its failings. But we usually seem to get the
leaders that the people want. And it rarely seems to get far out of whack.”
“I thought you might be an admirer of the American constitution.”
“I do admire it,” Colin admitted. “It is probably the best
representation of all our ideals. But if someone is sufficiently determined to
subvert the rule of law, the written constitution won’t stop them. Our system
is generally better at self-correcting. Eusebius Pye-Charm is in love with
the ideal, and I fear he would end up disappointed if we deposed you and
set up a constitutional republic.”
“You will pardon me if I sound biased, but I certainly hope so.”
Colin laughed. “It’s probably not funny, but if we get to the point
where we consider a change of government like that, things will be so far
gone that nothing would save us.”
“That is a depressing thought. Perhaps we should change the
subject. Are you hearing anything in particular from your friends in the
PM’s office?”
“Since the PM made his announcement?”
“Right.”
“I got a sense of disappointment that there were no fireworks,”
Colin said. “I have wondered if several individuals were not actively
prodding Attlee to become more confrontational. It’s puzzling because he is
usually methodical and pragmatic – almost to a fault. I am sure he was
frustrated with things, but to boil over like that.….”
“That makes sense,” the queen said. “Fortunately, we avoided
saying things that once said cannot be unsaid.”
Marty sat still for a moment to parse her comment. She reached out
and slapped his arm. He was surprised at the physical contact.
 “There is, I am given to understand, a point of law in the military
articles concerning silent insolence. Are you familiar with that, Colin?”
“I take your point, Ma’am.”
She looked down at the wreckage of the dinner and then at him.
“Do you have anywhere you need to be?”
“I had no further plans for the evening, Ma’am,” he replied.
“I would like to explore some more of those duets if you are up to
it.”
“I think I might manage.”
“Fine. Let’s go see if we can make that piano wish it had never been
born.”
Colin followed Margaret back to the drawing-room while he tried to
decide if she was mixing metaphors.
 

 
 
 
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
 
 
August 3, 1944; 9 AM
Stalag IIA
Neubrandenburg, Germany
 
“We need to come to an agreement,” Ivan Smirnoff said.
“What do you have in mind?” Nikita Khrushchev asked.
The two men met in a small room in officers’ country at Stalag IIA
near Neubrandenburg, Germany. Most of Smirnoff’s army was interned
here, and the Germans had kept the officers together at the same location.
Such was the confidence of the Germans in their agreements with Smirnoff
that Guderian exercised little oversight of the internal matters of the camp.
The OKW provided food and health services for the prisoners and the
Russians, in turn, made no attempts to escape.
The Reich Chancellor and the OKW planned to use Smirnoff’s
army as their spear into Ukraine. By doing so, the Germans had explicitly
encouraged Smirnoff and Khrushchev to establish an independent
government in Kiev. It was part of Schloss’s strategy to isolate Stalin and
provide a buffer against Russian expansion.
“There must be no confusion about who makes the final decisions
when we capture Kiev,” Smirnoff stated.
“I completely agree,” Khrushchev responded. “What was it that you
felt was in doubt?”
“I am happy for you to be the head of state for Ukraine. But let
there be no doubt final decisions will come to me.”
“Ivan, there must be no misunderstandings between us. On that, I
agree. But we must discuss how we present ourselves to the world. I
suggest we call our nation Ukraine Socialist Democratic Republic.”
“That’s quite a mouthful, Nikita.”
The stocky bald man grinned. “I learned a lot by studying Comrade
Stalin. Our greatest challenge will be establishing our legitimacy. Besides
blocking the way for a new invasion of Germany, we will represent an
unambiguous threat to the Soviet Union. Stalin will spare no effort to
dispose of us. If he cannot succeed with a direct invasion, he will infiltrate
provocateurs to stir up the people or the army. Or both.”
“We can say whatever we want to the people, of course. I wanted to
make sure that you understand that you will report to me.”
“Of course, Comrade Smirnoff. Remember that I am risking my
neck just as much as you. Understand that if we fail and Stalin captures us,
it will likely go far worse for me than for you. But I agree to allow you to
make final decisions. I think we will both be so busy that it won’t matter
much. But I did want to talk to you about the type of organization we will
set in place once we capture Kiev.”
Smirnoff raised an eyebrow. “Eh? You’ve been thinking ahead,
then.”
“Of course. We would be wise to know what we are going to do at
each stage of the operation. There won’t be time for us to sit down and
debate our actions.”
 “I have time now if you would like to tell me what you have in
mind.” Smirnoff leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And you are
completely correct in your assumptions.”
“First of all, I think we should set up a structure similar to Stalin’s.
We set up a system of interlocking committees extending down to each
city's street and building level. In fact, let’s keep the existing structure. It
will be easier.”
“Will we be able to trust them?” Smirnoff asked.
“Of course not. The beauty of the arrangement is that we can get
visibility into each committee either from above or laterally.”
“What about the Chekists who remain in the country?”
“This is where I would change policies,” Khrushchev grinned. “No
mass arrests or purges. If we have clear evidence of malfeasance, we act
directly. If we suspect someone of working against us, we toss them over
the border into Russia.”
“That sounds risky,” Smirnoff commented. “We could have a whole
group of people waiting to cut our throats some night.”
“Is the army with us, Ivan?”
“Yes, mostly. As you know, most of our divisions were raised in
Ukraine. When they realize what we want to do, I think they will be
enthusiastic.”
“Enthusiastic enough to fight the Red Army?”
Smirnoff smiled thinly. “Stalin called his project The Great
Patriotic War. And that is exactly how the Ukrainians will view it. They
will be throwing off the yoke of Moscow. If we manage things correctly,
Comrade, they will love you forever.”
“And what about you, Ivan?”
“I hope to stay in the background. You will be the one with the
target painted on you.”
“Generous,” Khrushchev grumbled.
“Listen,” Smirnoff said sharply, “I hope to build a strong and
independent Ukraine and one that will be free of control from either
Moscow or Berlin. And I also want to live to enjoy it.”
“That’s reasonable. And I had another idea.”
“And what would that be?”
 Khrushchev grinned. “At an opportune time, I want to fly plane-
loads of leaflets over every major town and city in the land. We will
announce the independent Ukraine. It will have our pictures and image of
the new flag.”
“And then ask the people to rise up against their masters?”
“Not at all. We just announce it. When the time comes, the people
will know what to do.”
“And it will warn Stalin.”
“Why do you think he doesn’t already know about this?”
Smirnoff thought about that for a few moments. “Okay, on the off
chance that he doesn’t realize what we’re doing, I want to move far enough
and fast enough to ensure our success before we make any
announcements.”
“That sounds reasonable. I wonder if we should go ahead and retain
the current committee structures in the towns as we move through. I assume
you don’t want to have to garrison every town.”
“The problem with that,” Smirnoff suggested, “is that someone is
sure to get frisky and try to cut off our supply lines. Having experienced
that before leaves me loathing the thought of it happening again.”
Khrushchev laughed. “It’s really not funny, but you bring out the
most indigestion-causing thoughts.”
“What is the old saying that pessimists are rarely disappointed.”
“And that is completely true. Do you have any idea on when we
will start this operation?”
“Guderian simply told me to get ready. The Germans are cleaning
out the remaining Soviet troops in Poland and East Prussia. I asked him to
give us two weeks’ notice. He knows the importance of careful
preparation.”
“Please let me know when you find out,” Khrushchev said. “I don’t
like being left in the dark on something like this.”
“I think we might arrange that,” Smirnoff said dryly.
 
§§§
 
August 7, 1944; 10AM
Hill Army Air Force Base
Ogden, Utah
 
My God, what have we done to our people? Harry Truman asked
himself as he walked to the podium. He had taken two weeks to make a
quick visit to as many of the refugee camps as possible in the time allowed.
The conditions in the camps varied based upon the original structures in
use, but most were neat and orderly. This installation was simply
indescribable. Many of the ancient barracks buildings were propped up by
boards stuck into the ground and propped against the sagging walls.
Newspaper covered over Broken windows, and it looked like cardboard
patched many of the roofs. Debris was scattered throughout the place and
fluttered in the wind. Rats scuttled here and there, seemingly busier than the
army officers who were supposed to support the American civilians. And
the fetid atmosphere of raw sewage and decayed food overlaid the area like
a permanent fog.
The president looked down at the text of the speech he had planned
to give to the refugees and decided it was wildly inappropriate for the
conditions. This place was worse than any of the prisoner of war camps the
United States had operated during the Pacific war. He folded the paper and
slid it into his pocket.
“My fellow Americans. As many of you may know, I have traveled
around the western United States for the past couple of weeks to see with
my own eyes your living conditions. Through no fault of your own, you
have been uprooted from your homes, cities, and livelihoods and dropped
into this place with no promises made for your future.”
“I had planned to give you an upbeat message on how we were
getting our arms around this thing. And we are. But then I saw the
conditions in this camp. This is a horrible situation, and I want to apologize
for not moving heaven and earth to find decent accommodations for you. It
is completely unacceptable, and beginning today; I will work on fixing this.
No American should have to put up with this.”
Truman continued speaking for about ten minutes and then waded
into the crowd to greet as many people as he could. Following that, he
walked to the Officers’ Club, where he greeted more of the airbase
personnel. He then turned to Admiral Leahy, his Chief of Staff.
 “Please find me a private office with a telephone. I need to talk to
General Marshall.”
Leahy was not surprised. He, too, had been shocked at the condition
of the camp and wondered how Truman would react.
“General, I am in Ogden, Utah, at the Army Air Force Base here.
Do you know where that is at?”
“Yes, Mr. President. How may I help you?”
“The commanding officer here, Colonel Charlie Galpin, has made a
royal mess of the refugee situation. I want you to fire him and get a
replacement appointed today. I would also suggest that you take the time to
fly out here to inspect this place for yourself. We have badly failed the
American people.”
“Very well, Mr. President. I can be in Ogden sometime tonight.
When will you be returning to Washington?”
“This was my last stop, but I will wait until you can get here. I want
the people here to know that we are serious about fixing this. Please
message Admiral Leahy as you have details.”
“Of course, Sir. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“General, I think you need to ask some questions about why nobody
yelled about this before. I’m glad I came out here, but I am frankly
embarrassed at what we have subjected these people to.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Truman retreated to the hangar where he worked through the
documents couriered to him from Washington. He couldn’t escape the
paperwork, even while traveling around the country. But, it was necessary,
and he was diligent in staying on top of it.
Two hours later, a brigadier general was ushered into the office
where Truman worked.
“I know you,” Truman exclaimed. He snapped his fingers.
“Indiantown Gap. You testified about the cost overruns. I’ll have your name
in a minute.”
“Clarence Topf, Mr. President.”
“Of course, General Topf. How may I help you?”
“Colonel Galpin reported to me. To my shame and embarrassment,
I must confess I was unaware of how badly he had failed. Colonel Tom
Hardy will be here in the morning to take over.”
“Thank you for acting quickly. At some point, we will have a
conversation about situational awareness, but not today.”
“I need to get out and take a look at the situation, Sir,” Topf said.
“I will go with you.”
For the next hour, the president and the general toured the camp.
Captain Todd Smart accompanied them. Smart had worked at the base over
the previous years.
“Do those barracks belong to us?” Topf asked, pointing across the
airfield.
“Yes, we have quarters for the officers and enlisted men,” Smart
replied.
“Is there enough space there to hold all of the refugees?”
“Most of them, Sir.”
“Okay, then, you know what to do,” Topf said. “Get the military
people out of quarters and start moving the civilians in.”
“I think we could get started tomorrow, Sir.”
Top glanced over at the president and then back at the captain. “No,
Captain. It will start right now.”
“Where will we put the military personnel, Sir?”
“I don’t care. Put them in tents. Half the camps in the country have
civilians in tents. We can do better than that. Our overseas units live in
tents. I don’t see a problem.”
“But, Sir, our people won’t like that.”
“Which people are that?” Topf asked icily.
Smart bulled along, not realizing how thin the ice had become. “Sir,
our military personnel, and it is a tremendous inconvenience.”
Topf took a deep breath and took a step back. He turned back to
Truman.
“Mr. President, the situation here is even worse than I imagined.
This is a major command failure. I will remain here to assist Colonel Hardy
until we get things under control. You have my deepest apologies. I stand
ready to accept whatever judgment you may render.”
“Let’s leave that for the moment, General. We have a problem to
solve.”
“Yes, Sir.”
 Topf turned to Smart. “Let me give you a basic Civics lesson,
Captain. The purpose of the military is to  do what?”
“To preserve and protect the Constitution of the United States of
America, Sir.”
“And what else?”
“Sir?”
“To protect the citizens of the United States of America. Do you see
the failure here? We have American citizens living in squalor while the
military personnel has warm barracks and clean streets.”
The general pointed his index finger to the ground. “Beginning
right here, right now, we are going to fix this. I want you to immediately
suspend all other activities on the base not directly associated with
supporting the refugees. All Army personnel will clear out of the barracks.
They will then clean the barracks, and we will conduct a white-glove
inspection. Then we will move the refugees in. After that, we can look at
setting up lodging for the Army. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Sir. What will we do with the Army’s belongings?”
“I don’t care. Dump it on the parade ground. That’s your problem to
solve, Captain. Do not disappoint me.”
“Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. By your leave?”
“Dismissed.”
Topf and Truman watched as the captain trotted away and turned to
face each other.
“This just gets worse and worse,” Topf commented. “I wonder if I
am going to have to replace all of the command staff here. I hope they
won’t decide to try foot-dragging.”
“If they know they won’t get to bed until the job’s done, that should
motivate them,” Truman commented.
Topf laughed. “That is true. If you will excuse me, Mr. President. I
probably am going to have to manage this evolution personally. I wonder if
Captain Smart uses an enlisted man to tie his shoes for him in the
mornings.”
“God help us.”
 

 
  
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
 
 
August 8, 1944; 3 PM
Stalin’s Meeting Room
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
Sergei Kruglov walked into the meeting wondering what Stalin
would do today. The war was no longer going well if it ever had, and
circumstances had backed the General Secretary into a corner. Nobody
responded well in that kind of situation, but Stalin had become
unpredictable. Yesterday he had shot his private secretary for missing a
piece of correspondence. Kruglov had never cared for the secretary, but
Stalin’s actions seemed extreme for dealing with a minor error.
The surrender of the Red Army in Silesia had shaken everyone. The
reversal was stunning, considering that the German army had been on the
ropes just weeks previously. Kruglov had reached the rank of major in the
Red Army before transferring to the NKVD. He had taken courses at the
Frunze Military Academy and remembered one lecturer on military history
who was known for creating witty aphorisms. The one that came to mind
for Kruglov was, Never believe your eyes when you see what you expect to
see. The lecture was on achieving tactical and strategic surprise, and it was
clear to him that the Germans had done that very thing.
Now entering the presence of the most dangerous man in the
country made him wonder what he should expect to encounter today. He
was not optimistic about his prospects. Stalin was fully capable of killing
everyone around him regardless of the cost to the nation.
Malenkov was already in the room, as was Molotov. Stalin puffed
great clouds of vile smoke and glared at everyone in the room. At least he
hasn’t set the pipe on the table yet, Kruglov thought.
“Sit down, Sergei, so we can get started,” Stalin said cordially. “We
have a lot to cover this afternoon.”
 Kruglov dropped into his chair and pulled it under the table. He
looked expectantly at Stalin.
“I have decided to appoint Ivan Koney as the commanding general
of the armies in the West,” Stalin said without preliminaries. “He has a
reputation as a loyal son of the party as well as being an able tactician.”
Kruglov nodded. “That seems reasonable to me, Comrade General
Secretary. Whoever we send out is going to have a tough job reconstituting
our forces.”
“Everything seems reasonable to you, Sergei,” Stalin said
conversationally. “Yet, you continually fail in the tasks I give you. Why is
that? I have wondered if we have a German agent in our midst. The only
way we could fail as we have in Poland and Germany is if someone is
giving Schloss information on what we are doing. What do you think of
that, Sergei?”
“It is something to consider, Comrade,” Kruglov responded. “We
have people placed in the OKW and the Reich Chancellery. So it is not
unreasonable to assume they have done the same.”
Stalin laid his pipe down. “So that is a reasonable assumption,
Sergei? Why have you allowed it? Perhaps it is because you are one of
those German agents, no?”
“If I were a German agent, Comrade Party Secretary, you would
already be dead,” Kruglov said. “I have had ample opportunities to kill
you.”
“Ha, you would have failed at that, as well. And you, Georgy,”
Stalin turned to Malenkov, “You cannot quite produce the necessary
armaments for this war. Are you also in collaboration with the Germans?”
Kruglov was sure Malenkov recognized the danger they all faced.
Abstractly, it would be interesting to see how the man responded.
Malenkov decided to go on the offensive. “Comrade General
Secretary, that would not have been necessary. Our industrial infrastructure
was a mess when I took it over. You refused my recommendations to purge
those men who spent their time to their own personal profit rather than
helping the party.”
“And you, Vyacheslav,” Stalin said, now raising his voice, “you are
back here because a German agent recommended that I rehabilitate you.”
 “I serve the Soviet Union,” Molotov shouted. “I have always served
the party and you, Comrade. If you refuse to believe that, you ought to
shoot me, now.”
Kruglov thought that was gutsy of Molotov, but they were all in
incredible danger right now. Stalin had always been unpredictable, but now
the tension had ratcheted up further than anyone in the room had seen
before.
Stalin glared at the men around the table for a full minute and then
picked up his pipe. He carefully stuffed the tobacco leaf into the bowl and
lit it again. When he had once again begun fouling the air, he looked up.
“We have received a communique from the Japanese. They would
like us to consider coming to a closer understanding.”
“What does that mean?” Molotov asked.
Stalin tilted his head slightly. “That is the question, isn’t it? The
Japanese are masters at obscurity. But it seems they want to do more than
just speak politely to us.”
“What value does this bring to us?” Malenkov asked. “It would be
useful not to worry about Vladivostok, but our main problem is to the
west.”
Kruglov leaned back and listened to the discussion. He was curious
about what the Japanese were doing, and he was also puzzled by Stalin’s
reaction. He wondered if something else was going on.
“As you know,” Stalin continued, “we have not been able to aid our
fellow travelers in China as we desire. Since the Japanese came to terms
with the Americans, we have discovered we have friends in Tokyo who are
prepared to help with that aid.”
Now Kruglov was concerned. Any contacts in Tokyo should have
been with the NKVD. Where had Stalin gotten the contacts?
“I see you are puzzled, Sergei,” Stalin said. “Do you not feel that I
should maintain my own sources around the world to support International
Socialism?”
Now, what was the man doing?
“It seems you thought it would be to your advantage, Comrade
General Secretary,” Kruglov replied.
“I did,” came the reply.
 Kruglov heard the note of triumph in Stalin’s voice and grew more
concerned. Something was getting ready to happen.
“I have decided that we need to make changes in our policy and
governance,” the general secretary stated. “Bringing back Comrade
Molotov was the first step. Molotov will be resuming his role as the Soviet
Foreign Minister.”
Molotov looked surprised. Okay, he doesn’t know what’s happening,
either, Kruglov thought. And Malenkov looked bewildered.
Stalin stood and turned to the door behind his chair. When he
opened it, in walked Dmitri Sagatev, Kruglov’s assistant. With him were
four NKVD guards.
“I am placing Comrade Kruglov under arrest, Comrade Sagatev,”
Stalin said. “Please see to it.”
“Of course,” Sagatev responded.
The assistant to Kruglov pulled out his gun, turned, and put a bullet
between Stalin’s eyes. The body collapsed, and the spray of blood and brain
tissue was now visible on the wall. Malenkov jumped to his feet.
“What have you done, Kruglov?” he shouted.
“I just saved our lives, Georgy.” Kruglov turned to Sagatev. “You
know what to do.”
“Of course, Comrade Director.”
Kruglov looked at Malenkov. “Sit down, Georgy. We have much to
do, and time is short.”
“Are you going to kill me too?” Molotov asked calmly.
“No, Comrade. You are our new Foreign Minister. Stalin just
appointed you.”
Molotov snorted. “Is this what is called shooting the messenger?”
Kruglov laughed harshly. “It is true in this case, obviously.”
They watched as the NKVD guards removed Stalin’s body. Kruglov
looked back to Malenkov.
“Georgy, you are the new General Secretary of the Communist
Party, and you are also the Soviet Premier. We will need to have the
Politburo and the Presidium confirm within the next day. Dmitri has printed
up the announcements, and they will go out to Pravda and the radio stations
within the hour.”
“And how did Comrade Stalin die?” Molotov asked.
 “His doctor diagnosed the cause of death as a stroke.”
“So sad,” Molotov commented. “Are you proposing any policy
changes?”
“Not at the moment. The three of us will need to review our policies
and make any necessary changes. If I have to say it, we must maintain
continuity.”
“Have you thought through the transition mechanism?” Malenkov
asked.
“Dmitri has called out the Intervention Battalion, and they will
escort Comrade Molotov to the Foreign Ministry to effect the transition
there. Dimitri has people going through this building now making the
announcement and also arresting anyone we deem a threat to peace and
tranquility in Moscow.”
“They will be purged, of course,” Molotov commented.
“Not necessarily,” Kruglov replied. “Considering the terror we have
all lived under for the past twenty years, I suggest that we all have an
understanding. We work by consensus, and any change of government will
be peaceful. I’m sure we all want to die at a ripe old age, and it’s time to
end the purges.”
“But what if we have a problem with recidivism?” Molotov asked.
“If that occurs, we will deal with it. I want to safeguard the
revolution as much as you. But I think we’ve reached the point of
diminishing returns on the violence. It’s time to build on what Stalin
accomplished and try to make our country mature.”
“In general, I agree,” Molotov said, “but I refuse to compromise the
revolution.”
“Nobody is talking about that,” Malenkov argued. “We just need to
be more civilized. I think we need to talk about the war today, though.”
“Do you have something to suggest?” Kruglov asked.
“We have lost everything to the west of the Bug River, and that
means the Germans are on our doorstep. If they decide to continue, can we
stop them?”
“We should find out what General Koney has to say,” Molotov
stated. “Are you suggesting we approach the Germans about halting the
war?”
 Malenkov looked around the room. “Please allow me to flip the
question over. Is there any benefit to continuing the war? Everyone knows
Stalin started it, except for the Narod, of course. We have an opportunity
with the change of government to talk to the Germans.”
Kruglov looked around the room. Sagetev had slipped into a chair
and followed the discussion.
“What are the risks we face if we open negotiations with the
Germans?” he asked.
“The Germans may see it as a weakness on our part,” Molotov
commented.
“I think they already know we are weak,” Malenkov said.
The new troika chuckled together.
“I suggest we allow a couple of days for the news to spread,”
Kruglov stated. “After that, then Comrade Molotov can approach the
Germans through a neutral third party – um, what would you suggest,
Vyacheslav?”
“Probably the Swedes. The British are still angry with us.”
“That’s another area where we may want to consider mending
fences,” Kruglov said.
The discussions went on for four hours. After the others left,
Kruglov turned to Sagatev.
“Anything I have missed, Dmitri?”
“I don’t think so, Comrade. It went far better than I expected.”
“Who do we need to watch?” Kruglov asked.
“We need to watch everyone,” he responded. “Molotov has always
been loyal to Stalin. And he is very conservative.”
“True. But he also gives us legitimacy. We just need to make sure
he is involved in the decisions. He needs to be a part of it. But yes, watch
him, Dmitri.”
Sergei Kruglov sat alone in what was once Stalin’s meeting room.
He pondered the changes he had effected today and how this would impact
the future of the Soviet Union. Everyone was convinced that Stalin had
been clinically insane, but Kruglov was well aware of the factors that drove
the man over the edge.
The economy was in rough shape. The harvests were perennially
poor. The people were restless. And Stalin had started a war to focus and
motivate the people of the Soviet Union. Kruglov thought they could
probably stop the war, but that did nothing to solve the underlying
problems.
Kruglov knew he was flexible enough to make the changes to
revive the economy, and Malenkov would do anything he was told.
Molotov was the question mark, however. He was a doctrinaire Stalinist and
fiercely dedicated to International Socialism. Any changes to the structure
of Socialism would require Molotov’s acquiescence, if not full approval.
Although the immediate threat of Stalin’s instability was passed,
Kruglov thought that the Soviet Union was now entering dangerous times.
And that meant that times were dangerous for the leadership. The Politburo
was restive as well, and the leadership troika would have to make some
accommodations there. There was no question that everyone would be very
busy for a while.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY
 
 
August 14, 1944; 2PM
Governing Council Meeting
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“And so, meine Herren, we expect Smirnoff to initiate his march
into Ukraine on or about September first.”
Schloss looked quizzically at von Rundstedt, who was presenting
the military summary to the governing council.
“Why is it taking so long? He should have been ready to advance
weeks ago.”
“Part of the reason is that we did not want to begin moving
Smirnoff’s army into the Polish territory until we finished securing the
Russian forces. We were concerned that would introduce potential problems
into the equation.”
“I can understand that, I guess,” Schloss commented. “What you
are saying is that we do not completely trust Smirnoff and Khrushchev.”
Von Rundstedt nodded. “That would be the case. Also, the Russian,
or I guess we can call them Ukrainian, armies are not experienced in
moving quickly like the Germans. We like the lightning strikes that achieve
our aims and preserve our forces. It has proven successful for us. Smirnoff
comes from a school of thought that operates its forces like an earth-moving
machine. Slow and ponderous and very hard to stop. And let’s be honest,
meine Herren. It works well for them.”
“But will it work going up against the people who developed that
strategy in the first place?” Peter asked.
“That is an excellent question, Herr Schreiber. We don’t know the
answer. At the least, it will throw the Russians off balance.”
“With their regime change, there has to be mass confusion over
there right now,” Peter said. “I think we should take advantage of that.”
“Indeed,” Colonel Gehlen interjected. “According to Abwehr
sources, the confusion in Moscow is not as severe as you might think. The
people at the top are largely the same, and Malenkov has not instituted the
mass purges we might have expected. But they are off-balance anyway after
losing badly in Silesia. Now is the time to move.”
“We were able to recover several air bases in the Warsaw area with
remarkably little damage to them,” the Reichsmarshall continued. “The
Russians were trying to use them up to the last minute, and we think they
did not anticipate us moving so quickly. We are moving several squadrons
of Fortresses, ground support, and fighters into the bases, and they should
be operational within a couple of days.”
“What about the railways?” Rainer asked.
“That would be my problem to discuss,” Ribbentrop said. “In short,
they are a mess. The Russians were trying to change them over to their
gauge, and we bombed them heavily to deny usage. The Reichsbahn insists
they will have two tracks open to Warsaw within the week.”
“We had eight tracks before,” Schloss mused. “How much do we
need?”
 “I think we’ll have eight tracks again by the end of the year,”
Ribbentrop replied. “If we are going to support the Ukrainians, we will
need every bit of it. Plus, the OKW wants to reinforce heavily along the
Bug River.”
“Can we believe the Reichsbahn when they tell us this?” Rainer
asked.
“Our arguments with them were over logistics, not infrastructure,”
Ribbentrop replied. “And the Reich Chancellor solved that problem a
couple of years ago. Not to say there’s no resentment there, though.”
Schloss snorted. “I thought there was going to be bloodshed before
we got that one settled. Anything else, Gerd?”
Von Rundstedt nodded. “Yes. Just a status report on the Boeing jet
bomber. They hope to have a prototype by June of next year. They are
making good progress. The only sour note is that the American government
has elected not to participate in the program for now. They have funding
issues.”
Peter smiled. “I’ll just bet they do. They ended their war and
demobilized as quickly as they could. The accident in their Northwest
provided a convenient excuse to do so. They don’t want to spend money on
arms if there is no apparent threat.”
“That may be shortsighted on their part,” Gehlen added. “They have
to be nervous about what’s going on in Japan.”
“Everybody in the Far East is scared to death about it,” Peter
interjected. “The Japanese laid waste to a quarter of the hemisphere and got
out of the war with their economy and industrial plant intact. Nobody else
out there has the money or resources to do anything if Tokyo decides to
rearm.”
“Truman could shut off the flow of oil,” Ribbentrop stated.
“Yes,” Peter replied, “but that didn’t stop them the last time.”
“The Americans forced something like unconditional surrender
upon the Japanese,” Schloss said. “They interned the entire Japanese fleet
and have people in all the key offices.”
“But the radicals killed Yamamoto. They apparently have a power
base.”
“And Truman has guaranteed the security of the Western Pacific,”
Schloss stated.
 “Very true. And to the point about the Boeing jet bomber, the
Americans feel it doesn’t have the range for their needs.”
“But it will be almost perfect for us,” von Rundstedt said.
“Although, hopefully, the war will be over by the time the aircraft comes
into service.”
“I love your optimism,” Schloss laughed. “We should all hope for
something like that. But, even following the war with Russia, I think we
will still need weapons like that bomber.”
Schloss looked down at his typed agenda. “Karl, you had
something?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It seems that since we now have the upper
hand in the war, the Munich Faction is getting active again. Gerhard
Wicklein has been able to develop insight into some but not all of their
operations. One of the disturbing things we have learned is that Erhard
Milch is active in the movement. I’m surprised they trust him, but his
administrative talents have had an impact. Wicklein said that the faction is
operating more efficiently than in the past.”
“I wish we had arrested Milch in my office,” Schloss grumbled. “I
know we must look forward after we make mistakes, but that still annoys
me.”
“I was there, too,” Rainer said. “I should have pushed harder to
arrest the man. We are going to regret that, I believe.”
“Okay, Karl,” Schloss said, “I trust you will stay on top of that.”
 
§§§
 
August 14, 1944; 9:08 AM
Imperial Palace
Tokyo, Japan
 
“Where is my prime minister?” Hirohito asked querulously.
The emperor stood in his office and faced his private secretary, who
shivered in terror. Prime Minister Konoe was due at nine o’clock for his
weekly meeting, and he hadn’t arrived.
“I… I don’t know, Your Majesty. His office called to let me know
he was on the way.”
 “This is not acceptable. You will find out where the prime minister
is currently.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“And you will return to tell me when you find out.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” With that, the secretary fled from the
office.
Hirohito stalked back and slumped into his chair. The lack of
information frightened him and reminded him, once again, how isolated he
was in the palace. The government, the military, or both, could ignore him
and follow their wishes while proclaiming obedience. And there was little
he could do. He wished Yamamoto was still alive.
Fifteen minutes later, the emperor's private secretary glided into the
office. He waited until Hirohito saw him.
“Yes, yes, what is it?”
“Majesty, the Army stopped Prime Minister Konoe’s car while he
was on his way here. They have detained him.”
Hirohito gripped the arms of his chair, and his fingers turned white
from the pressure.
“And what of the guard force around the palace?”
“The Naval Military Police are in place, and all is peaceful.”
“Has anyone alerted them?”
“Why should we alert them, Majesty? All is peaceful.”
The emperor stood again. “You are a fool! The Army has taken
direct action against my government. Where is the Guard Captain?”
“I do not know, Your Majesty.”
“Then what use are you?” Hirohito shouted.
The emperor walked to the door from his office and pulled it open.
“Where is the guard captain?” he shouted.
Moments later, a navy lieutenant-commander hurried into the room.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You have heard that the Prime Minister was detained by the army
on his way here this morning?”
“I had not heard that, Majesty. I must see to my men.”
The guard captain bowed low and then hurried out. At least
someone was aware of the danger, Hirohito thought. The emperor stepped
out of his office again.
 “I need to see the Seneschal immediately.”
People were paying attention, now, he thought. The Seneschal
arrived within five minutes.
“How may I assist you today, Your Majesty?” the man asked.
“I want to implement our evacuation plan.”
“To the naval base in Tokyo?”
“Yes, yes. And it needs to happen immediately.”
“Wait here, Your Majesty. I will set things in motion.”
“Thank you.”
The Seneschal bowed and quickly walked from the office.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
 
 
August 16, 1944; 8 AM
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
“So we have the Japanese emperor hiding out in a Japanese naval
base and asking for US protection,” Harry Truman stated. “Do I have this
correct?”
“To the best of our knowledge, Mr. President,” William Donovan
replied. “Things are confused in Tokyo, and any reports we receive are
incomplete. But the Japanese Army apparently has decided to follow up on
the Yamamoto assassination with an attempt to capture Hirohito. We
potentially face a civil war over there.”
“That would be all we need,” Truman sighed. “We’ve made a
commitment, not just to the Japanese, but everybody in the Western Pacific,
to keep the peace. And I’ve got the Secretary of Defense cutting every
dollar out of the budget that he can, and then some.”
 “Fortunately, the Germans seem to have the Soviets on the run,”
Donovan noted. “I believe we can see things settling down in Europe, at
least for the short term.”
“You really are an optimist, aren’t you, Bill?” Truman’s grinned in
irony. “If Schloss manages to end the war with the Soviets, then he will
likely face revolts within his own conquered territories. And with the
British elections coming up, God only knows what will happen there.”
“I try to be balanced, Mr. President. Certainly, there is no predicting
what will happen once Murphy gets involved. But I believe that Schloss and
the Brits will keep a lid on things in Europe, at least for the short term. We
can focus our attention on the Pacific.”
“Nice of the Brits to help us out in the Pacific,” Truman grumbled.
“They have their own problems, Sir. Their treasury is effectively
broke, and they want to assume ownership of large swaths of their
economy.”
“I cannot object to that philosophy,” Truman pointed out. “But there
is such a thing as getting in too big of a hurry.”
“I know you, and I will probably disagree on that, but I think after a
generation of dipping their hands into the public purse, the Brits will be
looking for a way to get out of what they are now trying to do.”
“We’re wandering afield here, Mr. Director,” Truman said.
Donovan interpreted the statement as that British politics were not
something the president wished to discuss right now.
“Yes, the Japanese,” Donovan said. “I have people in Japan, but not
very many are orientals. It is rapidly becoming a military decision, but I
would recommend that we provide naval and air support to protect our
people, but allow the Japs to solve their problems internally.”
“And if they form a truly radical government?”
“If they do, they do. There is not much we can do about it without
committing half a million troops to the operation. We hold their navy, and
we control their oil imports. We can lock them up on their islands, and there
is little they can do about it. Perhaps we can allow the infection to burn
out.”
“Do you think that is likely?”
“No, but any alternative gets a lot of people killed. Will the public
accept that?”
 “That’s the question that lands on my desk, Mr. Director. I think we
need to get the full war committee in here and do some brainstorming. I’m
afraid this one will worsen before it gets better, and we need to get
ourselves organized. Hirohito still represents the legitimate government of
Japan, and I think we need to support him.”
“Very well,” Donovan said. “Was there anything else, Mr.
President?”
“No, that will be all for now. Thanks for coming in, Bill.”
Donovan nodded and walked out of the Oval Office. He was glad
he didn’t have the pressures that Harry Truman faced. The president had
aged ten years during the short time he had been in office. Running a spy
operation was fun by comparison. But William Donovan wanted to talk to
the deputy directors in the OSS. There had to be a way to finesse the
situation in Japan so that things didn’t spiral out of control if they hadn’t
already.
Truman, meanwhile, arranged for a meeting of the war committee
that afternoon. He then personally called the Majority and Minority Leaders
of the House and Senate to bring them up to date on the Japanese situation.
he would have to meet personally with them to get their take on things.
While the president did not doubt that military force would be
involved at some point, he was still dealing with what was a political
problem. Before he started blustering to the Japanese, he needed to make
sure he had the sense of the Congress. And he undoubtedly needed a better
feel for what the people in the country thought. They were still digging
themselves out of a major catastrophe in the Pacific Northwest. The people
were pathetically happy when the war ended so they could focus on the
cleanup from the atomic accident. They would likely not react well to
another war.
Worst of all, from Truman’s viewpoint, was the election coming in
the fall. The Republicans had just nominated Robert Taft for President in
their summer convention. Truman was not worried about losing the election
– he willingly stood in judgment by the American people. But Taft was not
only a staunch conservative but also an isolationist. The risk was that Taft
and a Republican congress would undo much of Roosevelt’s New Deal and
tear down the relationships with other nations that Truman had worked so
hard to build.
 And his next meeting was with his Campaign Manager, James
Farley. The secretary ushered him into the Oval Office precisely at 9 AM.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Farley said brightly.
Truman nodded. “Mr. Farley. What do we have today?”
“Do you want the good news or the bad first?”
“Is there any good news?” Truman asked.
“Taft claims you couldn’t be elected dog catcher. I think you
probably could.”
Truman laughed heartily. “And I would do my best as dog catcher.”
“I know you would, Mr. President. But this is the job you have. We
need to work on communicating how well you have done in this office.
Everyone is focused on Hanford, Washington, and what people don’t realize
is how badly this could have gone.”
“I think it was plenty bad, James.”
Farley shook his head. “No, Mr. President. It could have been much
worse. We kept the people fed and housed. And the cleanup is going better
than anyone expected.”
“Tell that to the people in Ogden,” Truman swore. “That was the
biggest mess you ever did see.”
“And everyone saw how you directly jumped in to fix it.”
“But it never should have happened.”
“Mr. President, let’s talk politics here. I cried when I heard about
the people in that camp. The level of incompetence was embarrassing and
inexcusable. But I had my team plant stories in the Press about how moved
you were when you saw the condition of the camp, and your disgust was
clear while you moved quickly and resolutely to deal with the problem. It
ended as a net plus for you.”
“I understand what you are saying,” Truman replied. “The fact
remains that I am responsible for that situation in Ogden.”
“And your biggest strength is that you don’t shy away from
responsibility and everybody knows it. The American people know nobody
is perfect, and they appreciate a politician who can freely admit that and
then works to remedy their errors.”
“Okay, I understand that. We have, what, a month and a half until
the election. What do I need to do to win this thing?”
 “I have the party machinery in gear, and it is working smoothly.
Finances are decent but not great. But the party is behind you solidly.”
Truman seated himself behind his desk and clasped his hands
behind his head as he leaned back.
“What is it you aren’t telling me, then, James?”
“That the polls suck,” Farley immediately responded. “We have an
uphill fight this time around.”
“Tell me what’s hurting us, although I already pretty well know.”
Farley leaned forward and placed his hands on the edge of the desk.
“Mr. President, while most of the country is happy the war is over,
there is some resentment that we let the Japanese get away with a lot. And,
while people are happy with the way you are handling the cleanup out west,
it still happened on your watch. And Bob Taft is taking full advantage of
that.”
“As I would if I were him,” Truman commented. “Taft is no fool.”
“And also, the Democrats have held both houses and the presidency
for twelve years. A lot of people think that’s long enough.”
“Okay, I’ve got the schedule of speeches and campaign meetings.
Any thoughts on the speeches?”
“You’ve got a good speechwriter, Mr. President. Don’t let him get
away from you.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Take advantage of the presidency, Mr. President,” Farley lectured.
“Use your airplane. It impresses people when you fly in to see them. I’ve
got people around the country looking for things to fix. I don’t believe in us
buying our way into office, but there are a lot of opportunities to make
people happy. Build bridges, libraries, and the like. I’ve already spoken to
Speaker Rayburn, and he has people turning over rocks.”
“Good,” Truman responded. “That’s what we’re here for, after all.
If we can afford it and it makes sense, we can do it.”
“Right. Well, that’s all I had, Mr. President.”
“Same here. I’ll see you next week, James.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
 

 
  
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
 
 
August 21, 1944; 8 AM
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
“And so, Ma’am, the news of the day has the US Navy protecting
Hirohito from his own army. After fleeing to the Tokyo naval base, he
called for help from the Americans.”
Clement Attlee folded his hands in his lap after delivering that item
to Margaret.
“What of the other members of the government?” she asked.
“As far as we can tell, the prime minister is in hiding. Some of the
bureaucrats are siding with the army, and many have simply disappeared.
We do not have the resources in Tokyo to discover what is going on.”
“What do you expect to happen, then, Prime Minister?” the queen
queried.
“Presently, we have a stalemate. The navy strongly supports the
emperor and his government while the army is trying to install a Junta. The
people seem to favor the emperor as well.”
“But the navy cannot control the islands.”
“Correct. It controls access to the islands, however, and that is
important to the Japanese economy. Our ambassador reports that the people
have been in the streets, protesting.”
Margaret glanced over at Colin and then back at Attlee. “What
actions do you recommend we take concerning the Japanese crisis, Prime
Minister?”
“The Americans seem to be doing about as much as anyone can. We
have limited resources in the area, as you well know.”
“What resources do we have in the area, Clement?”
 Attlee looked surprised. “Well, I believe we have some naval units
in Singapore….”
“In other words, you don’t know,” she accused.
“Your Majesty, you simply surprised me. At the end of the war, we
concentrated our naval forces at Trincomalee and Singapore. With the
Americans guaranteeing security in the Western Pacific, there was no need
to post pickets in every port, and we couldn’t afford to, anyway.”
“Can we afford not to?”
“What are you suggesting, Ma’am?” Attlee asked pointedly.
“I’m not suggesting, Clement, I’m telling you that we need to put a
half dozen ships into Tokyo harbor to let them know that we’re serious
about living up to the treaty.”
“I’m not sure you have the right to order me to do that.”
“After October twelfth, you may do anything you please with the
agreement of your party and the Commons. Until then, it’s my decision. We
operate under my regime until the election. Do you understand that,
Clement?”
“I do not believe the parliament or the people will tolerate such
high-handedness for long, Your Majesty,” he shouted. “I grow weary of
your abusive leadership.”
“If it is abusive, is it leadership, Prime Minister?” she asked softly.
“I am handing control of the government back to the house on October 12. 
Is that the mark of an abusive leader? Nothing forces me to do this. I
acceded to your wishes when you announced the elections because it was
the right thing to do, despite my misgivings. Until then, I am the
government. Do we understand each other?”
Conflicting emotions warred across Attlee’s face. Though very
angry, he still calculated the risks. The conundrum he faced was that he did
not know how the queen would ultimately react. He finally decided that it
would be wise to acquiesce to her demand. He could reverse it post-election
if necessary. He could see no good ending to forcing a confrontation with
Margaret at this time.
“Very well, Your Majesty. I will see to it.”
“Thank you, Clement,” she replied sweetly. “And what is the next
item on the agenda?”
 “The RAF would like to purchase the new jet bomber that Boeing is
developing with the Germans. We have had some informal discussions with
Ribbentrop, and he did not reject it out of hand. He had not discussed it
with Schloss but based upon other conversations, Ribbentrop believed the
Reich Chancellor would look favorably upon it.”
“That is interesting,” she commented. “Do you have a position on
this? I know the Exchequer would like us to manufacture the here rather
than just buying them from the Germans.”
“While I would like to cut the size of our armed forces, I recognize
the need to continue some level of investment,” he lectured. “If we share
the development costs of the new bomber with the Germans, we can get our
hands on new military designs without beggaring ourselves.”
“Fine,” she commented. “I would suggest that you include a
condition that we build the planes for the RAF ourselves. That would help
our manufacturing base. Did you get Minister Anderson to share what he
had been working on in that area?”
“Yes. He tried to keep it from me, but I forced the issue. I reminded
him that he was working for me, after all. I believe the Germans and Boeing
would be agreeable to us participating in the project. And AVRO has been
itching to get into that business.”
“I would be in favor of it,” Margaret said, “but your people still
need to vet this carefully.”
Attlee made some notes on his pad. “I will make sure we don’t lose
track of what is going on, Ma’am.”
“Very well, let’s see where it goes.”
Colin Marty continued taking notes of the meeting. He heaved an
internal sigh of relief when Attlee folded his hand on the Royal Navy’s
show of force in Japan. He expected the friction to continue between the
queen and her prime minister until after the elections. And if they made a
habit of fighting and Attlee won the election, things would continue to be
uncomfortable for everyone involved.
Marty also wondered about how long he would be able to maintain
his usefulness as an information conduit from the Foreign Office to the
queen. He was now having dinner with Margaret several times each week.
The meals were always in the private dining room, but someone had leaked
this to the Press. He could no longer wander around unmolested anywhere
in England without some officious reporter demanding a comment from
him. Sooner or later, he expected to land in a position where he would be
forced to confirm the dinners or lie. And he didn’t want to lie.
Because of the attention, Colin knew that he would have to discuss
with the queen the nature of their relationship. He expected that to be an
uncomfortable conversation. He was very fond and protective of Margaret,
and she was affectionate with him. Were they becoming more than just
friends? He thought perhaps that was the case, but he didn’t know what she
truly felt. Even the idea of broaching the situation to Margaret terrified him.
What to do, what to do?
§§§
 
August 22, 1944; 9 PM
The Reich Chancellor’s Residence
Nordend-Ost
Frankfurt, Germany
 
The two infants seemed content to lie on their pads on the floor as
the parents talked that evening. Frau Marsden had put Hans and Anna-Lisa
to bed, and the house grew quiet.
“It’ll be nice to get back to my own house,” Peter commented. “I
know it gets trying for you to have me and Gratia packed in here with you.”
“Oh, not at all, Peter,” Gisela immediately objected. “We love
having Gratia in the house.”
Schloss was just sipping his brandy and choked. He set the snifter
down and immediately stood up, trying to clear his airways. Peter stood and
walked over to pound his brother-in-law on the back.
“It does no good to try inhaling brandy,” Peter laughed. “I believe
you have used the term contraindicated, Hennie.”
Schloss just shook his fist at Peter and wheezed, but still not able to
speak. Finally, he gasped. “That really burns when it goes down the wrong
pipe.”
Peter laughed again. “It burns when it goes down the right pipe.
Besides, it was Gisela’s fault.”
Schloss glared at her.
“What did I say?” she exclaimed.
 “Everybody in the room caught the innuendo, Schatzi. Besides that,
you are picking up Peter’s bad habits. Peter, I am going to have to ask you
to move out. You are a bad influence on my family.”
Peter had a delighted look on his face as he moved back to his chair.
Gisela glared at Schloss.
“Are we being grumpy again, mein Herr?” she asked, poking
Schloss in the stomach.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly in a good mood.”
“That’s a change,” Peter commented.
“You stay out of this,” Schloss warned, shaking his finger at Peter.
“Gisela and I are having a family discussion.”
“That’s all right, Peter,” she retorted. “Feel free to join in the family
discussions as you see fit. You are, after all, family.”
“Mein Gott,” Schloss murmured.
The conversation subsided for a while when the Luftwaffe steward
brought in a tray holding a carafe of coffee and several cups. Schloss set
down his snifter and eagerly picked up a cup.
“Is this brew worthy of our resident coffee snob?” Peter asked.
“This is excellent stuff,” Schloss replied. “I believe the cook figured
out where we were buying it and laid in a supply.”
“Good for him. Make sure you bring him back to Berlin.”
“I already told Frau Marsden not to let him go.”
“When are we going back, Hennie?” Gisela asked. “I say that
because I like this house much better than that mausoleum where our
apartment is located.”
“I tasked Ribbentrop with making the arrangements,” Schloss said.
“You gave that to Joachim?” Peter asked in surprise.
“I got tired of handing stuff to you when you are so obviously
overworked.”
“I just delegate things like that, Hennie.”
“Yes, but you still have to supervise the activities. Tell me that you
don’t pay close attention to your staff.”
“You know I do,” Peter replied. “And we all know what happens
when we don’t.”
Schloss nodded. “So, Joachim was standing there wagging his tail,
and I said, fetch. And then I told him, good boy.”
 Gisela slapped him on the arm. “You are terrible, Hennie. What
would he think if he heard that?”
“Joachim knows what people think of him,” Peter said. “And he
doesn’t care. He feels like he is contributing and is glad Hennie didn’t shoot
him like he did Himmler.”
Gisela looked at Schloss. “Is that true?”
“I think so. He’s one of the old Nazis and knows I don’t totally trust
him. But he has delivered for us, and I can’t complain. And he’s negotiating
with the English now about jointly developing the Boeing bomber.”
“What do you think about that, Hennie?” Peter asked.
“Anything that draws us closer together is fine with me. I like
working with Attlee. He’s pragmatic.”
“And if he loses the election?” Peter asked.
“Then we deal with whoever gets the nod from their House of
Commons. The English rarely make dramatic changes in their foreign
policy posture.”
“But you heard that Churchill is running for a safe seat?”
“Does that mean he is automatically elected?” Gisela asked, looking
nervous.
“Pretty much,” Peter replied. “But I don’t think he will amount to
much. Nobody likes him anymore. The Conservative party is wandering
around without a leader designate and no message, and it looks like they
aren’t even trying to win an election.”
“I hope you’re right,” Schloss said. “Changes in government always
make me nervous. Speaking of which, are you getting a read on what’s
going on in America?”
“The Republican Party nominated Robert Taft to run against
Truman. If Taft happens to win, it may mean some changes in how the
Americans view us.”
“And that worries me. What kind of changes?”
“Taft will encourage the Americans to stay home and tend to their
own affairs. There is some value in that, but how it affects trade,
particularly in weapons, is hard to parse out. And, unless Taft says
something in a speech, we won’t learn anything about his positions. His
people won’t talk to us until and if they win the election. They’re
disgustingly ethical.”
 “And we have another unknown in the Kremlin,” Schloss
grumbled. “At least we have the Russians on the run. For the moment.”
“And hopefully Smirnoff isn’t a broken reed,” Peter stated.
“Exactly,” Schloss said. “Exactly.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
 
 
August 23, 1944; 10 PM
Command Headquarters
Lublin, Polish Territory
 
Ferdinand Schörner leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge
of his nose. It had been a long day, and the paperwork was still piled on his
field desk. He looked up as his adjutant, Colonel Konrad Beck, eased into
his section of the tent. There was no door to receive a knock, so Beck
carefully judged when the General could be interrupted.
“Perhaps you might think about getting some sleep, Herr General,”
Beck said. “You have been up for two nights, and I don’t believe you could
effectively manage a third.”
“I must confess to weariness, Beck. But there is much to be done
before I can report to Rommel that we are in position and ready to defend
our positions. He wants us to backstop Smirnoff. That tells me that he
doesn’t trust them. Well, I don’t either. If Smirnoff and Khrushchev have
decided to betray us, I want to be able to teach them the error of their
ways.”
“I wish there were a satisfactory building still standing here in
Lublin,” Beck commented. “You need a decent office and a dry place to
sleep. The weather will begin to change in another few weeks, and this tent
will be miserable.”
 Schörner smiled to himself. Beck was a superior administrator and
served well. But he enjoyed his creature comforts. Finding the general a
comfortable place to live and work would mean that the Colonel would also
enjoy the same.
“Colonel, I understand what you are saying. But the whole army is
living in tents with no prospect for barracks anytime soon. I refuse to make
myself more comfortable at someone else’s expense. I realize everyone
already hates me, but I don’t want to give them a reason to grow restive.”
“But nobody would begrudge you decent working quarters, Herr
General.”
“Perhaps not. But there’s no time for that, anyway. But I think you
are right concerning one thing; I need to get to bed. I’m starting to have
trouble making decisions. So, if you will leave me, I have a few things to
tidy up so I can get out of here.”
Beck hesitated. “There was one other thing, Herr General.”
Schörner had closed his eyes to gather the threads of his thoughts
and opened them again.
“From previous experience, that tone of voice tells me there is
something you’d rather not talk about.”
The colonel sighed. “It is a bit delicate.”
Schörner swore. “The reason you are in this job, Beck, is because
you are not afraid to tell me things I don’t want to hear. Did you get caught
diddling the supply sergeant or something?”
Beck looked shocked. “No, Herr General, of course not! I would
never do something like that.”
While the German army was as strict as anyone concerning
fraternization between officers and the ranks, Colonel Beck and Sergeant
Hasselblad had been friends since they were children. So, Schörner was
prepared to be flexible as long as it didn’t impact discipline.
“Then you’d better just tell me what’s on your mind, Colonel.”
“Of course, Herr General. A couple of weeks ago a letter was left
on your desk. I was not privy to the contents, of course, but I wondered if
you needed to send a response.”
Schörner nodded. The little weasel knew precisely what was in the
letter from Milch and was probably part of the group that had a burning
desire to know Schörner’s response. The general himself had been of two
minds concerning the proposal. As a stalwart Nazi, the thought of restoring
a more doctrinaire leader was attractive.
On the other hand, there was no gainsaying Schloss’s success in
leading Germany forward. Schörner had not replied to the letter as a way of
determining who was behind it. And now he knew.
“Call the guards, Colonel.”
“Excuse me, Herr General?”
“I just directed you to call the guards. Please do so now.”
“I don’t believe you understand the situation, Herr General.”
“I understand it all too well.”
Schörner stood and pulled his pistol from the holster. “Come with
me, Colonel.”
 
§§§
 
August 24, 1944; 8 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“This must be serious if I have the two of you in my office this
early in the morning,” Schloss said.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von
Rundstedt said. “A situation arose last evening. I consulted with the
Reichsprotektor, and he suggested we needed to see you.”
“I understand. And here comes Kirche with the morning coffee. I
assume this can wait a few minutes.”
The Reichsmarshall looked nonplussed, and Rainer looked as if he
was trying not to roll his eyes.
Schloss took a sip of his coffee and then looked back at von
Rundstedt. “Now, what was it that we needed to discuss?”
“I received a message last night from General Schörner. He has
placed his adjutant under close arrest. It seems the General had received a
letter from Erhard Milch asking him to join in an uprising against the
government. The general held off responding, and eventually, the adjutant
brought up the matter. Schörner is requesting a general investigation of his
command.”
“I suppose this lays to rest Guderian’s concerns about Schörner,”
Schloss commented. “So, we investigate. What do I need to know about
this?”
“Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt began, “the
Reichsprotektor and I agree that the investigation needs to be conducted by
someone outside of the army chain of command.”
Schloss nodded. “That makes sense. This puts it on your platter,
right, Karl?”
“Yes, Herr Schloss,” Rainer replied. “This is something the SS can
handle.”
“Who do you suggest we send out then?”
“We need to keep this quiet, both in the SS and the Party. And, of
course, the Wehrmacht,” Rainer stated. “I think I want to send Major
Strang.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, Karl?” Schloss asked. “I know
Erich has amply proven his loyalty, but he is pretty hard-line in his
thinking.”
“I have given him opportunities to be disloyal, and he has not taken
advantage of that.’
“Yes,” Schloss mused, “you would do that, wouldn’t you? Does a
major have the necessary clout?”
“I thought, perhaps, we could brevet him a colonel for this project.
If he performs well, we can adjust his permanent rank to lieutenant-
colonel.”
“Very well,” Schloss agreed. “You’d better get him on a plane out
there as quickly as possible. Isn’t Schörner guarding our back door against
Smirnoff?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt answered. “Things
will be unsettled.”
“Perhaps we should send Guderian or Rommel out there as well. I
know they’re very busy, but this demands attention.”
“I understand and agree completely,” von Rundstedt said. “I will
make it so.”
 Schloss looked at Rainer. “I think I will want regular reports on this
matter. It looks like things are heating up with our Munich Faction friends.
What’s Wicklein doing?”
“Wicklein isn’t saying much,” Rainer replied. “But he has worked
his way inside the organization. If they are getting this aggressive, it may be
time just to collapse the organization. We have a lot of names.”
“I’ll leave that to your judgment Karl. Just don’t let things get away
from you.”
“Of course not, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“I know you think I’m meddling, Karl, but this concerns me.”
“I understand, Herr Schloss.”
“Gerd, do you think this will interfere with Smirnoff launching
operations at the end of next week?”
“I don’t think so, Herr Reich Chancellor. It looks like they will be
ready on time to initiate on September first. It seems they are learning from
our logisticians.”
“Any indications they are playing us?”
Von Rundstedt shook his head. “We have seen nothing like that,
meine Herren. We have probed carefully, and I know Herr Rainer has as
well.”
“I don’t think they are, either,” Schloss said. “But I do not need any
surprises.”
The Reichsmarshall snorted. “Indeed, we do not. I fervently hope
Smirnoff can substantially capture Ukraine before winter. If they can lock
down their positions before spring, I think they stand a good chance of
holding off Malenkov.”
“Perhaps I am being a bit callous,” Schloss commented, “but I don’t
care as long as we don’t have to worry about anyone coming across the
border from Ukraine. There are too many other things for us to worry
about.”
After his guests left, Schloss poured himself another cup of coffee
and strolled over to the window. The late summer sun was burning through
the morning mists, and it would be a beautiful, though hot, day. He hoped
Ribbentrop was making good progress on organizing the move back to
Berlin. Schloss had just about decided he liked Frankfurt better than Berlin,
but Berlin is where the government needed to be.
 The Russian invasion and the capture of Berlin had shaken the
country, and Schloss understood the importance of rebuilding the
confidence of the citizenry. Once the war ended, he and the other members
of the leadership needed to get back to one of their important discussions:
how would Western Europe look in twenty years, and what would they need
to do to get there? The answers were complex.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
 
 
August 25, 1944; 10 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Heinrich Schloss leaned back in his chair and stretched. It had been
a long day, and he could feel the pain in his buttocks from spending too
much time in that chair. Even if his chair was a premium American piece, it
seemed to have its limits for comfort. At least it was Friday. Gisela had
inveigled him into visiting the park with the children on Saturday and
staying away from the office. In truth, he was anxious to get away, if only
briefly.
He was tired, but not nearly so much as before the war reversed in
Germany’s favor. Schloss was delighted about the complete defeat of a
second Russian Army in Silesia. With Smirnoff to shortly march into
Ukraine, perhaps the Germans would not have to worry about the Russians
for a generation or more.
“Kirche!” Schloss shouted. “Are you still here?”
The secretary appeared in the doorway to the office. “Of course,
Herr Reich Chancellor. If you are here, I will be here.”
“We both need to go home. Who’s got the duty tonight?”
 “Corporal Binns is in the outer office, mein Herr.”
“Fine. Tell him to bring the car around. Gisela is going to make it
unpleasant for me because I worked so late.”
“May I suggest that something like that is completely your fault,
Herr Reich Chancellor?”
“No, you may not! I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” he replied with a pronounced
smirk. “I will have the car brought around.”
Schloss shook his head. Some day that little circus clown is going to
discover what happens when my patience is exhausted.
He stood and pulled on his tunic. During the warm summer months,
he had gotten into the habit of removing it in the office. He now was
beginning to loath wearing the thing at all. He suspected his thoughts would
change when the winter arrived. He strapped on his gun belt and walked
from the office.
Corporal Binns stood when he saw Schloss enter the outer office.
The two men moved into the hallway and towards the elevators.
“How’s the threat level, Corporal?” Schloss asked.
“We are watching the Munich Faction closely. We know they are up
to something. But things are quiet tonight.”
“Fine. I want to get home to a late supper and then to bed.”
“A long day, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns commented.
“A long week, Jan. But things are headed in the right direction.
Before we pack up to head back to Berlin, I think I’ll take a vacation.”
“It would be well deserved, mein Herr.”
“I don’t know that I deserve it, but I am tired.”
“I’m sure Frau Marsden will see that you get your rest.”
“What is this, Corporal?” Schloss demanded. “How would you
know about this, anyway?”
They stepped into the elevator, and Binns grinned at Schloss. “We
try not to pry, but our jobs require knowing much about you, Herr Reich
Chancellor. And Frau Marsden is your most powerful guard.”
“Most officious, anyway.”
Karl Rainer was also trying to finish a long day. Since his marriage
to Misty, he no longer worked all hours as a matter of routine. However, the
Munich Faction was active. This was a good reason to remain in the office.
Misty would have to be patient.
Unfortunately, he had no one deep enough inside the organization to
know what was happening. In Munich, Gerhard Wicklein was more deeply
infiltrated into the group, but he was not hearing details either. But, with the
risk of the Russian war receding, the Munich Faction felt more freedom to
operate.
Rainer’s phone rang. He snatched up the receiver. “Rainer.”
“The Munich Faction is moving, Herr Reichsprotektor,” Wicklein
said without preamble.
“Very well, Gerhard. Keep the Operations Center updated.”
Rainer dropped the receiver into its cradle and yelled, “Rolf,
execute Case Seven.’
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
Rainer stood up to leave the office when his phone rang again.
“It’s Peter, Karl. The house is under attack, and Hennie isn’t home
yet.”
In the background, Rainer heard shouts and gunfire. He turned to
the office door.
“Rolf, the Reich Chancellor’s house is under attack. Call out the
Quick Reaction Team.”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor. Mein Gott!”
Rainer spoke into the phone again. “What do you need, Peter? I’ve
got the Quick Reaction Team underway.”
“We’re holding for the moment, but I think we are going to need
help soonest.”
“Right. Stay on the line. I’m going to transfer you to the Operations
Center. I want someone here on top of what’s going on.”
“Very well. At least Frau Marsden is here.”
“That’s worth a battalion at least, Peter.”
“So, it is,” Peter chuckled sourly.
“Just hang on.”
Rainer thought for a moment and yelled again. “Rolf, have the
guard around my home augmented. And have the Foreign Minister’s call
transferred to the Operations Center.”
“At once, Herr Reich Protektor.”
 He thought for a few moments and then picked up the phone again.
“Get me the Reich Chancellor’s Office.”
Rainer was surprised when Kirche answered the phone.
“This is Rainer. Is Herr Schloss still there?” Rainer demanded.
“He left about five minutes ago.”
“His house is under attack. Please ask the security people there to
tighten things up around the party headquarters.”
“Of course, Herr Rainer. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Just wait. Do not leave the building. The Munich Faction is in
motion.”
Rainer slammed the phone down and stood. After buckling his
pistol belt, he walked quickly downstairs to the Operations Center. He
wished they were back in Berlin. The facilities and lines of communications
were much better there.
Schloss had his head against the seatback with his eyes closed as
they moved across the city. A burst of static came from the radio speaker,
and Binns picked up the telephone-style handset and responded. He listened
for a moment and then leaned forward to tap the driver on the shoulder.
“Case Seven, Sergeant.”
“Acknowledged.”
Schloss opened his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“The Reichsprotektor has declared Case Seven.”
“Mein Gott! The Munich Faction must be loose. We’ve got to get to
the house as soon as possible.”
The driver slowed down rapidly and turned right. He downshifted
to second gear, and they heard the whine of the engaged supercharger as the
big car accelerated. The rumble of the straight-eight engine rose to a roar.
“Wait, this is not the way home,” Schloss shouted. “Driver, turn
around!”
“We cannot do that, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns replied. “Case
Seven requires us to get you to the SS Headquarters as soon as possible.”
“But my wife and children are there. They will be in danger.”
“Our first priority is you, mein Herr. We have another team that will
get your family to safety. I assume Frau Marsden is with them.”
“And Peter is probably there, too. Mein Gott, what a mess!”
 Following their last adventure in Berlin, Karl Rainer had been
explicit in his instructions. The Reich Chancellor was not to be risked,
period. The guard group would ensure his safe delivery to the designated
location regardless of what Schloss might say.
 
§§§
 
August 25, 1944; 10:30 PM
Hotel Main
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Erhard Milch picked at his teeth nervously. For the organization
called The Salvation of Germany, capturing the Reich Chancellor was the
number one priority. If Schloss remained free, they could not hope to
succeed. There were not that many resources he could call upon. The team
had decided on a three-pronged attack. They would wait until evening and
storm the Reich Chancellor’s residence, hoping to bag the Chancellor as
well as the Foreign Minister and their families. A second team would
attempt to enter the party headquarters on the off chance that Schloss was
still at work. And the third team would attack the SS offices, mainly as a
diversion.
During his days in the Command and Staff courses, the instructors
had repeatedly drummed into the officers the peril of depending upon
surprise to achieve tactical goals. The art of surprise was to make the enemy
see what he wanted to see. But those who were careless in designing tactics
often had the surprise turned back on them.
Milch knew he should not be dependent upon surprise to carry out
the raids that evening, but the small size of his teams meant that
audaciousness would carry them only so far. And operational security was
good. Intellectually he felt good about the operation. But, his stomach was
boiling with the tension.
 
§§§
 
August 25, 1944; 10:30 PM
The Reich Chancellor’s Residence
Nordend-Ost
Frankfurt, Germany
 
The two guards had quickly guided Peter, Gisela, and the children
to the basement, where there was less of a risk that someone would catch an
errant bullet. Gisela was white-faced, and Anna-Lisa cried. Hans was stoic
as usual but looked frightened. The babies were upset at the sudden
interruption of their routine and cried. Peter looked around the room where
they had barricaded themselves and noted that Frau Marsden was missing.
It somewhat reassured him since it meant the old woman was in action. He
had learned over the previous three years to never bet against her.
The gunfire rose to a crescendo and dropped off again. Peter
wondered what was happening. The guards looked nervous. There was a
loud explosion as a rifle grenade blew in the front door to the residence.
They could hear breaking glass upstairs. The gunfire was halted by several
piercing screams, and it grew quiet.
“What is happening, Peter?” Gisela asked.
“I wish I knew.”
Outside the door, they heard heavy footsteps coming to the
basement. The guards stiffened and held their pistols in their hands and
aimed at the door. It grew still. Then they heard Frau Marsden’s voice.
“Herr Schreiber, Frau Schloss, the attack is over. You may come
out.”
One of the guards held up a hand to silence them. “How do we
know you are who you say you are?”
The quiet laugh was unmistakable. “Ask your principals who is
speaking.”
The guard looked over at Peter.
“It’s Frau Marsden,” Gisela said.
Peter nodded in agreement. One of the guards held his gun at
readiness while the other unbolted the door. As the door eased open, the old
woman stepped into the room.
“As I said, the attack has been broken. I would ask you remain here
until the quick reaction team arrives. Events are in motion tonight.”
“It was the Munich Faction?” Gisela asked.
Frau Marsden nodded. “They had the notion that if they could
capture the Reich Chancellor, they would hold the government. In that, they
were mistaken. They still could create much confusion.”
 
§§§
 
August 25, 1944; 10:45 PM
SS Offices
Frankfurt, Germany
 
As the executive limousine lumbered around the corner, Schloss
and Binns immediately saw the muzzle flashes and heard the rifle reports of
the assault on the SS offices. The driver slammed on the brakes, and the
Mercedes 600 slewed to a halt. The driver crunched the shifter in reverse
and attempted to whip the car into a three-point turn. He was quickly
reminded that one did not try to whip a Grosser Mercedes around in any
fashion. The car was too long and too heavy.
With a roar and a whine of gears, the car backed along the street.
The driver threw the wheel over, intending to slide the front around to
change direction. With a loud clang, the car halted against one of the cast-
iron street light posts.
“Mein Gott, Driver, be careful,” Binns shouted.
The driver shook himself and restarted the stalled engine. Shifting
back into first gear, he gunned the engine and dumped the clutch. The car
lurched as the engine stalled again. The car would not move. Binns was
swearing now as he opened the door and went to look at the damage. The
rear bumper and portions of the bodywork were wrapped around the post.
The car wasn’t going anywhere.
Schloss leaned out of the car. “What’s the problem, Jan?”
“We need another car. Plus, I think we attracted attention from up
the street.”
Schloss now swore. “Mein Gott, what a night.”
“Let’s shift to the chase car,” Binns said.
“Right,” Schloss said as he slid out of the Mercedes.
They trotted over to where the chase car had stopped and ordered
everyone out. After they got moving again, Binns spoke.
“The plan calls for us to go to the Wehrmacht base. Herr Rainer has
vetted the key people there, so it should be safe.”
 “Let’s go back to my house,” Schloss insisted.
“No, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns said quietly. “We cannot risk
you.”
“I order you.”
“Sorry, mein Herr.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
 
 
August 26, 1944; 8:15 PM
USS Iowa (BB-61)
Tokyo Harbor
Tokyo Japan
 
Admiral William Halsey stepped out onto the open deck of the Flag
Bridge and gazed around the harbor. The evening seemed unusually quiet,
and he fervently hoped it would stay that way. As the senior American
officer in Japan, he worried that things could quickly become unglued,
especially since Emperor Hirohito was a guest on the battleship Iowa.
The Japanese navy was fervent in its support of the emperor, while
the army maintained that the Americans were holding Hirohito prisoner and
demanded his release. Halsey’s orders from Washington were to give the
emperor every consideration as a guest and defer to his wishes concerning
the Japanese government.
Halsey leaned on the combing and lit a cigarette, hoping for a bit of
peace after the day’s activities. He noticed a convoy of automobiles rolling
down the pier towards the ship.
“Admiral, it looks like we have company,” Halsey’s aide said from
the open doorway. “The skipper is on the horn.”
Halsey scowled as he stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it in the
sand bucket. He walked back inside and took the phone from his aide.
 “What is it, John?”
“We’ve got a convoy of army flag officers coming down the pier,”
Captain John McCrea said. “Do we want to give them the usual greeting?”
“Yes. We need to find out what they want, and then I can decide
whether to meet with them or tell them to go fly a kite.”
“In so many words, of course, Sir,” McCrea chuckled.
“Oh, yes. We have to be diplomatic. I would politely tell them to go
fly a kite.”
McCrea had known Halsey for years and was familiar with the
Admiral’s habit of saying exactly what was on his mind. He wondered if
this would be the cause of things hitting the fan. It was apt to happen the
way the Japanese Army was pushing.
“Very well, Sir. I will keep you posted.”
“Thanks, John. I’ll owe you a medal after this is all over.”
“Just doing my job, Sir.”
Halsey decided that it wouldn’t look good for the admiral to be
skylarking from the flag deck when the VIPs came aboard, so he returned to
his cabin. The steward had replenished his coffee supply, and a fresh piece
of coffee cake rested on his desk.
He sat down and picked up a report from the top of the stack and
tried to concentrate. But he sensed things were quickly coming to a head
between the factions in the Japanese government, and he would probably
have to make some difficult decisions.
Hirohito looked up from his book when his secretary stepped into
the small stateroom on the Iowa. While the American Navy had taken pains
to ensure the emperor was comfortable and supplied with whatever he
needed, the secretary was scandalized at the size of the cabins occupied by
Hirohito and his entourage.
“What is it?” the emperor asked.
“General Yamashita wishes to speak with you, Highness.”
Hirohito raised an eyebrow and closed the book. He stood and faced
his secretary. “And what is it that he wishes to discuss?”
“He stated that was between him and you, Highness. I disapprove
of the impertinence.”
“Please reply that he will send a message describing the content of
the meeting, and then we may arrange an audience.”
 “Very well, Highness.” The secretary bowed and left the stateroom.
Five minutes later, the secretary returned. “Highness, General
Yamashita became agitated when I refused his request. He threatened to
remove you from the ship by force.”
“Please ask Captain McCrea to attend me.”
“Of course, Highness.”
Two minutes later, the secretary ushered Captain John McCrea into
Hirohito’s stateroom.
“How may I serve the emperor?” McCrea asked.
“As you know, General Yamashita requested an audience this
evening. When I refused, he became belligerent. I trust you will see to the
security of your ship.”
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Your Majesty. With
your permission, I will make sure the ship is secure.”
“If it must be said, we are deeply appreciative of your efforts to host
us. We are aware it greatly complicates your operations.”
 “We are honored at the trust you have placed in the United States
Navy. Now, if you will excuse me.”
McCrea quickly left the room. When he returned to his cabin, he
picked up the phone and asked to speak to the admiral.
“Yes, Captain?” Halsey responded.
“The emperor was informed that General Yamashita was belligerent
when he was refused access to the emperor. I believe Hirohito thinks there
is an implied threat.”
“I understand, Captain. My instructions to you are to see to the
safety of your ship as well as protect the emperor.”
“Do I have permission to pull away from the pier, Admiral?”
“See to the safety of the ship, John. Whatever you think that entails
in your judgment.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
The captain then connected to the executive officer.
“Yes, Skipper?”
“I want you to move the ship to Condition One quietly. Pass the
word to the departments, but don’t sound the alarms. And I think we need to
get steam up. The Jap army is getting frisky, and they may try to take the
ship.”
“Will we need to leave the dock, Skipper?”
“I don’t know, but I would suggest you pull in the gangways. If they
try to pull a boarding action, I want them to be surprised and regretful.”
“Gotcha, Skipper. Let me get busy.”
“Fine. Thanks.”
McCrea decided it was a good time to be on the bridge. The ship
might be going into harm’s way, and the bridge was where he belonged.
Halsey turned to his aide. “Please send a message to all naval assets
in the area to quietly go to Condition One. There is no telling what those
nuts are going to try.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
 
§§§
 
August 27, 1944; 9:15 AM
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
“What can you tell me about what happened in Tokyo yesterday?”
President Harry Truman asked heatedly. “It looks as though we ended up
with egg on our faces because of the Navy.”
“That is not fair to the navy, Sir,” General Marshall replied.
“Captain McCrea was in an impossible situation. The loss of life could have
been far worse.”
“For the navy, perhaps,” Truman stated, “but we had over three-
hundred Japanese slaughtered. That paints the United States in a bad light.”
“The Japanese General pushed the issue and wouldn’t accept any
face-saving opportunities. We think he was intentionally seeking a
confrontation.”
“Well, he certainly got one, if that is what he was looking for. What
was Hirohito’s reaction?”
“He did not seem disturbed about the matter. The Japanese Navy
supports him, and he supports us. Admiral Halsey described him as quietly
determined.”
“That’s fine, and I agree that we are where we need to be vis a vis
the Japanese. But the Press is out for blood. I’m going to have to meet with
them today.”
“We are following through with our stated foreign policy
positions,” Marshall responded. “It wasn’t that long ago that we were at war
with the Japanese. What problem has the Press?”
“The Press doesn’t care what our positions are,” Truman said, as
though speaking to a dull-witted student. “They are looking for the
opportunity to make me look bad and advance the fortunes of Robert Taft.”
“When has the Press supported the Republicans, Mr. President?”
“Since we destroyed the Pacific Northwest, General. Pay attention
to me. We need to support American policy in the Western Pacific, but I
also have an obligation to support the Democratic party. I assume, of
course, that those two items are not mutually exclusive.”
“I understand, Mr. President. But I cannot countenance criticism of
the navy for something we ordered them to do.”
 “There is the matter of following orders and doing so with an
excess of enthusiasm,” Truman said. “That is what bothers me.”
“We are going to convene an investigation board over the matter,
Sir. We will make sure to identify any lapses in judgment or excess
enthusiasm, as you call it.”
Truman smiled at General Marshall. “I do believe you are peeved
with me.”
“No, Mr. President. I merely desire to keep things accurate and
reduce the invective.”
“You are adept at slipping in the knife,” the president laughed.
“Of course not, Mr. President.”
“Very well. I would like to see a preliminary report just as soon as
you can get something compiled. Let’s agree for the moment that Admiral
Halsey did what he had to do. We need to think about how to avoid
inflaming public opinion both here at home and in Japan. And also how to
encourage the Japanese army to back down in its efforts to control the
government.”
“That’s going to be a tough job, Sir.”
“More so than you realize, General. For your information only,
Cordell Hull has decided to resign. He feels he has accomplished
everything he set out to do and is tired. So I am going to have to break in a
new Secretary of State along with everything else that is going on.”
“Do you expect any problems with the Senate confirmation?”
Marshall asked.
“It will probably be a recess appointment since the Congress is
anxious to adjourn and get on the campaign trail.”
“Will you win the election, Sir?”
Truman coughed and shook his head. “I honestly do not know.
There is a reservoir of goodwill among the American people, but the
accident out west has put a strain on that. I hope we can win. Now, was
there anything else, General?”
Marshall took the hint and stood up. “No, Mr. President. Thank you
for your time.”
There was no appointment immediately following, so Truman
walked over to the windows and looked out over the Rose Garden. It
remained in full bloom late in the summer and was soothing. He thought
about the current disaster in Tokyo and wondered how the United States
would preserve a critically important relationship with the Japanese.
He wondered about all of the Americans who lived in refugee
camps around the country and wondered when they would be able to return
home, if ever. And Harry Truman considered whether he would be able to
win the election. He had initially decided not to run for the presidency so
that it would be easier to shift the blame away from the party and perhaps
help the elections. But Bess had told him not to be a fool. The country
needed him, and he would, by God, run again. So that decision was made.
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
 
 
September 1, 1944; 8:00 AM
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
 
“So, the Germans are across the border and into Ukraine?”
Malenkov asked.
“Not exactly,” Kruglov replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Smirnoff’s army is coming across the border, Comrades,” Kruglov
said sourly. “We did not expect that. He is broadcasting on Radio Berlin and
has announced Ukraine Liberation Front. He claims that he and Khrushchev
will rescue the people of Ukraine from the Soviet traitors to the revolution.”
“That man is a traitor to the revolution,” Molotov shouted. “I can’t
believe he is doing something like that.”
“It’s not surprising that he is in league with Khrushchev,” Malenkov
commented. “Nikita always favored Smirnoff. I wonder if they have been
plotting this for a long time.”
 The three men sat in the meeting room formerly used by Stalin;
however, no one had claimed Stalin’s chair at the head of the table. Kruglov
and Malenkov occupied one side, and Molotov sat across. Malenkov had
moved into Stalin’s office, as was his due as the General Secretary of the
Soviet Communist Party.
The people’s reaction to Stalin’s death was subdued. Kruglov’s
agents in the NKVD had fanned out around Moscow and listened carefully
to the people. For the narod or the common people, life went on as usual.
Over the centuries, the Russian people had observed the change from one
leader to another without comment. There was no reservoir of affection for
kings, princes, or party general secretaries.
Party members had a bit more to say. Mostly, the discussions
centered on who would advance under the new regime and who might be
purged. Once again, any discussion seemed to be pure self-interest on the
part of the party members. No one asked how the change would affect the
country overall.
“We received some intelligence from Germany that indicated
Smirnoff had Khrushchev arrested,” Kruglov stated. “That raises the
question of who was the instigator. I thought I knew Nikita well, and I had
no questions about his loyalty to the revolution.”
“Which shows how little we know people, doesn’t it, Comrade?”
Molotov replied. “It is true, isn’t it, that Khrushchev killed Beria?”
“Stalin and I had both reached that conclusion, although there was
no hard evidence. Stalin was waiting for the need and opportunity to use
that against Khrushchev.”
Molotov grunted. “It appears that opportunity was fleeting.”
Malenkov snorted. “Your choice of words is interesting,
Vyacheslav.”
“Yes, but this does move us further from the point of this meeting.
What are we going to do about the invasion by these traitors to the
revolution?”
“Worse yet,” Malenkov stated, “they not only have the equipment
from when they surrendered to the Germans, but they also have the
equipment and ammunition from the army that surrendered in Silesia.”
“And the Germans are supporting them,” Kruglov added.
“Do you know that for a fact, Sergei?” Molotov asked.
 “The Luftwaffe is providing tactical air support, and their Fortress
bombers are attacking targets across Ukraine. I expect bombs to be falling
on Moscow at any time. It is an ideal situation for Schloss. He has caught us
at our most vulnerable, and he doesn’t have to expend any German soldiers
to do his job for him. I also worry about the army that surrendered in
Silesia. If they volunteer to join Smirnoff, things will be bad indeed.”
“Would they do that?” Malenkov asked.
Kruglov shrugged. “Smirnoff’s army had a large Ukrainian
component, and it appears they deserted in mass to support him. The army
in Silesia was made up of men from around the republics. There were not a
lot of native Russians in the mix. That may come back to bite us. Hard.”
“What are we doing about this invasion?” Molotov asked.
“We are pulling all of our reserves into the battle,” Malenkov said.
“Fortunately, we still have adequate supplies of arms and ammunition. The
surrender of the two armies depleted our supply of T34 tanks considerably,
but we now have four factories producing new tanks. If we can hold
Smirnoff for two months, we will be in much better shape. And Mikoyan is
almost ready to start testing a propellerless fighter plane.”
“This is the copy of the German aircraft?” Molotov asked.
“No, this is something that has been under development. We were
able to copy the engines – they were superior to ours. Mikoyan also has a
new design that incorporates many of the ideas from the German plane. But
that is a couple of years away. I don’t believe it will be a help to us in the
current conflict.”
“Does it make sense to continue developing it then?” Kruglov
asked.
“If we survive this conflict, I can see something like this being
valuable in the future.”
Molotov nodded. “That makes sense, Georgy.”
“Make no mistake, Comrades,” Malenkov responded, “we are in a
desperate situation. If Smirnoff succeeds in taking Ukraine, as he has stated,
there will be little to stop him from coming all the way to Moscow.”
“Do you think he would do that?” Molotov asked.
“I don’t know. But it is not something I would bet against.”
Kruglov lit a cigarette and leaned back, blowing smoke towards the
ceiling.
 “You have something in mind, Comrade?” Molotov asked.
“As you know, we have NKVD people embedded in each army
unit, other than the Commissars. While we do not have a way to
communicate with them, they may still know what to do, given the
opportunity.”
“To take direct action against Smirnoff or Khrushchev?” Malenkov
asked.
“Precisely.”
“Seems like a thin reed to me,” Molotov commented.
“It is all of that,” Kruglov agreed. “However, absent anything else,
it may pay off for us. They know their job is to defend the revolution and
the Rodina. If something like that were to happen, we would be fortunate.”
“We could use a little good fortune right now,” Malenkov
grumbled. “I don’t understand how things turned so quickly against us
when we nearly had the Nazis in our grasp.”
“I don’t understand it, myself,” Molotov said, “other than our need
to constantly watch for threats to the party and the revolution.”
“I would only examine our failures if it enabled us to succeed in the
future,” Kruglov said. “We would otherwise be mistaken to dwell upon
them.”
“Indeed,” Molotov added. “And, Sergei, I assume you are making
all efforts to contact your people embedded in Smirnoff’s army.”
Kruglov nodded. “I am. And if we succeed, I will make sure you
are informed quickly.”
“Very well,” Malenkov stated. “Now, I believe we should take a
closer look at our troop dispositions. Based upon recent failures, we would
do well to keep a much closer eye on the Red Army.”
 
§§§
 
September 3, 1944; 2 PM
Office of the Secretary of State
United States Department of State
Washington, DC, USA
Hans Thomsen was ushered into Cordell Hull’s office early in the
afternoon and took a seat. Hull noticed the dapper German ambassador
looked more relaxed than in previous meetings. Of course, the last meeting
involved a German envoy spying on the United States for a rogue faction in
Germany, which would stress anyone.
“Kind of you to see me today, Mr. Secretary,” Thomsen said with
his German accent. “I know you are very busy. I heard, of course, about
your impending resignation.”
“Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Ambassador,” Hull replied.
“And yes, I am resigning as of the end of this month.”
“You have accomplished a lot for your country,” Thomsen
commented. “America is fortunate to have leadership like you exhibit.”
“Thank you, Ambassador. And I confess to being very tired. I plan
on taking an extended vacation before I determine what lies ahead for me.”
“If you decide to travel to Europe during your vacation, I am sure
the Foreign Minister and Reich Chancellor would be delighted to welcome
you to Germany.”
“I shall certainly keep that in mind.” Hull placed his hands on the
desktop as though changing the subject. “What was it we needed to discuss
this afternoon?”
“My government wishes to convey to your government certain
recent aspects of the Russian invasion.”
“Which has now apparently turned into a German invasion,” Hull
responded dryly.
Thomsen cracked a thin smile. “It was not so very different as when
the Japanese invaded your Pacific possessions.”
“Point taken. What are your intentions.”
“The bulk of the invasion force in Ukraine consists of native
Ukrainians. You may not believe me, but the idea was originally General
Smirnoff’s. However, we have done much to encourage him. We desire to
create a buffer state in Eastern Europe to help prevent another Russian
incursion.”
“And who is in charge of this group? Khrushchev?” Hull asked.
“Smirnoff is in charge. He allows Khrushchev to be the face of the
movement, but Smirnoff is making the critical decisions.”
“Do you expect them to succeed with their so-called Ukrainian
Liberation Front?”
 Thomsen laughed softly. “You put exactly the right inflection on
your question, Mr. Secretary. We will do everything we can to help them
succeed, but we are trying to avoid committing German troops further east
than Poland.”
“So you are telling me this will not be a puppet state, Mr.
Ambassador? Do you expect us to believe that?”
“Do you expect us to believe that Australia is not now a puppet
state of the Americans?”
“Let’s not get insulting, Mr. Ambassador,” Hull snapped.
“Precisely. And to be perfectly honest, the Foreign Minister told me
that Herr Schloss has considered the extent to which Germany must remain
dominant in Europe over the next generation to ensure her security. While
we are prepared to grant home rule in certain circumstances, we do not plan
on giving up suzerainty over our current possessions in Europe.”
“So you plan to control Ukraine?”
“We desire to retain the Polish territories but encourage an
independent government in Ukraine.”
“And if Smirnoff is unsuccessful, what will you do about the Soviet
Union?”
“That is the pressing question, isn’t it?” Thomsen asked, shaking
his head. “With Stalin gone, we had hopes of reaching an accommodation
with Moscow. But Malenkov rejected our approaches out of hand. And we
are not entirely sure what that means.”
“In other words,” Hull replied, “you don’t know if that is because
Malenkov is trying to consolidate his power or if he wishes to continue the
war.”
“Correct. We do not have extensive intelligence assets in Moscow.
We are not even sure if Malenkov is truly in charge.”
“We have our suspicions that Kruglov is calling the shots,” Hull
replied. “But we were also surprised when Molotov was rehabilitated. The
Soviets don’t talk to us much.”
“They burned a lot of bridges with the Frankfurt bombing if you
will excuse my mixing of metaphors. Any governments in Europe who
were formerly disposed to be friendly to Stalin suddenly were far more
wary.”
 “That bombing was one of the more unambiguous statements Stalin
ever made, and he didn’t help himself with that one. And then, the Kabul
attack reinforced everyone’s understanding of the Russian mind. Those
events pushed the English into something not quite like an alliance with us
and probably helped us survive the Russian onslaught. But the cost was
very high.”
“And we have proven a link between Soviet intelligence and the
Honolulu hotel bombing. Stalin seemed to be doing anything he could halt
the peace talks between Japan and the western allies.”
“So, do you understand the dilemma Germany faces in Eastern
Europe?” Thomsen asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. And understand that we are most appreciative
of Germany’s efforts to mend its relationship with the United States,” Hull
said. “And your sale of ships and U-boats was of great value to our war
effort.”
“I do not want to take too much of your time, Mr. Secretary. I have
a letter from Herr Schreiber that explains in some detail the items I
mentioned in our conversation today. We would like you to share it with
anyone you are comfortable with reading it.”
Hull accepted the heavy portfolio from Thomsen. “Thank you, Mr.
Ambassador. I have enjoyed working with you. Let me just state for the
record that Germany’s willingness to keep the lines of communication open
has been of great benefit. It has helped us avoid potentially deadly
misunderstandings.”
After Thomsen left, Hull called in his secretary. He handed him the
portfolio that Thomsen had delivered.
“I want you to take this and make four photographic copies. One
goes to the President, of course. Send a copy to Director Donovan at the
OSS. Send the third to General Marshall at the Pentagon. And the fourth
should go to Director Hoover at the FBI.”
The secretary nodded and accepted the package. Hull spoke again.
“And bring the original back to my office. I need to find time to read the
thing.”
“Of course, Mr. Secretary.
 
  
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
 
 
September 4, 1944; 8 AM
SS Offices
Frankfurt, Germany
 
Heinrich Schloss sat with his head in his hands with his elbows
propped on the meeting room table. Karl Rainer sat across from him. Peter
Schreiber stood by the window with his hands in his pockets and gazed out
at the Frankfurt skyline.
“I cannot believe we allowed this to happen,” Schloss commented.
“We didn’t,” Rainer replied. “We stopped it in its tracks.”
“But not before it took more lives. How did they manage to get into
the party building even though we were alert?”
“We got it stopped, Hennie,” Peter interjected. “We caught or killed
almost every one of the attackers. And Wicklein is rolling up the core group
in Munich.”
“Oh, I understand that,” Schloss said, raising his head. “I just
despise losing people close to me. If it’s not Russian henchmen bombing
hotels, it’s German madmen attacking government installations. Gott sei
Dank they haven’t figured out the value of attacking the general
population.”
“There is that,” Rainer agreed. “There is value in keeping any of
those people focused on the leadership of the party and government. At
least we understand the risks.”
“It was bad enough that they attacked my home. It was a wonder
that Gisela or any of the children were not injured. Or  you, for that matter,
Peter.”
“I’m glad you remembered me,” Peter replied with a crooked smile.
“And you confirmed my place in the order of things.”
 “Zum Schweigen bringen, Peter,” Schloss snapped.
Peter shut his mouth with a click.
“I still cannot believe Kirche is dead,” Schloss continued. “Besides
losing a friend, I am not sure how I will be able to function without him.”
“Kirche was downstairs with his pistol helping defend the
building,” Rainer said. “He should have stayed upstairs. He didn’t
understand that his value lay in staying alive.”
Schloss glared at Rainer.
“He’s right, Hennie,” Peter said. “I can’t fault Willem for running
towards the sound of the guns. But he really should have known better.”
Schloss stared down at the table for perhaps thirty seconds. Then he
sighed deeply and looked up.
“I think I’m back on balance, now. Thank you, my friends. And you
are right, Karl. We did stop this cold. Can we safely say that the Munich
Faction is no longer a threat?”
Rainer rocked his hand back and forth. “We decapitated the
organization – we got most of the leaders, and we arrested most of the mid-
level people. I don’t think we will ever completely eliminate threats from
the radicals, whether it’s the hard-line Nazis or the Communists, and we
just have to watch them constantly. I will say, however, that I expect the
threats to recede for a good while.”
“I guess I can go back to my office, then,” Schloss commented. “Or,
perhaps we should accelerate the move back to Berlin.”
“We might not want to rush Joachim’s planning,” Peter said. “He
seems to have everything lined up, but it would be more secure to follow
his timing.”
“I agree,” Rainer commented. “I don’t really care for Ribbentrop,
but he’s doing a good job with this.”
“Very well,” Schloss stated as he stood up. “There’s no reason not
to go back to the office, is there?”
Rainer shrugged. “The Party Headquarters is as secure as
anything.”
“As soon as my car is brought around, then I will leave.”
§§§
 
September 4, 1944; 9 AM
Nazi Party Offices
Frankfurt, Germany
 
The apparition in Kirche’s chair brought Schloss to a complete halt.
He stared at the old woman, who glared back at him.
“And who might you be?”
“I am Frau Pappel. I will be managing the office until you can
locate a new personal secretary.”
“I don’t need a new personal secretary right now. I think you should
leave.”
Corporal Binns walked into the small room used by the secretary.
“Frau Marsden called me and said that you had agreed to allow
Frau Pappel to fill in temporarily. Perhaps I was in error to accept her
word?”
Schloss glanced over at Binns and then back at the old woman. “So,
Frau Marsden sent you?”
“No, she requested I come. I was not required to. She is sometimes
very demanding.”
“She is all of that,” Schloss said. “I suppose we shall have to make
the best of it. Can you make some coffee?”
“The coffee is on your credenza, Herr Reich Chancellor. I took the
time to bring some order to your desk.”
Schloss groaned. It had taken him weeks to learn Willem’s
organizational style. Now it appeared he would have to do so again, this
time with one of Frau Marsden’s helpers, whoever she was. He turned to
Binns.
“It looks like we are back in business, Corporal. Thank you.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns said as he clicked his
heels together.
Perhaps I am the only one around here who is not back on balance.
Come on, Hennie, let’s get it together.
Schloss turned and marched into this office. Frau Pappel followed
and poured a cup of coffee for him. He sat down and studied his desk and
took a sip of the coffee. It was delicious, definitely better than Willem’s,
and possibly as good as Frau Marsden's brew.
 The old woman strode out of the office and returned a few moments
later and placed a small dish of Danish on the desk.
“I know I cannot replace Herr Kirche, Herr Reich Chancellor,” she
said. “However, I shall do my best to keep the office functioning until you
can select a replacement.”
“If Frau Marsden sent you over here, then I think you probably will
do well.”
Without another word, she turned and left the office again. It
seemed the floor quivered when she walked out, and Schloss shook his
head. What is it with these old Hausfraus?
Schloss sat and stared at his desk for a while and sipped coffee.
Why could he not get back on balance? Of course, Willem’s death hurt. He
realized that he knew nothing about the man or his family. Did Willem have
a wife and children? Schloss didn’t know, and that was embarrassing.
Willem had slipped into his role and was just always there. It was suddenly
more important to pay attention to the people in the office. They were
people, not just faceless entities, who kept the government functioning.
What must I do to pay more attention to people? Schloss wondered.
How would I even find time? I cannot keep up with the things demanding
attention right now.
 
§§§
 
September 4, 1944; 8 PM
The Queen’s Private Apartments
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Colin Marty looked over the rim of his wine glass at Margaret. She
fiddled with the spoon and the crème Brulé in front of her. It had been a
subdued evening as there was nothing, in particular, to set the queen off
during the day.
“This is pleasant, Colin,” she said. “I enjoyed having a quiet day for
a change. Although, I believe I would soon be bored.”
“I’m sure you would find something to do if the boredom gets that
serious,” Colin said with a smile. “You have this way of inserting yourself
into things.”
“Ha!” she barked. “Now you are accusing me of being meddlesome
and obdurate.”
“Certainly not obdurate,” he responded.
She waved her spoon in his direction. “You should beware, Sir. I am
armed.”
“With a spoon? And you should be able to tell that I am quivering
in abject terror.”
“She laughed again. “I do not believe anything frightens you.”
“In the general run of things, no. But I must confess that the night
we were kidnapped in Kabul, I was terrified for Clarice.”
“Rightly so,” she responded. “If I have not said this before, I cannot
tell you how sorry I am for that affair. If I had known the risk, I would
never have sent you. What an amazing cock-up that was.”
“You have told me, Ma’am. Many times. And I appreciate your
thoughtfulness.”
“Even though I was at fault?”
“You were not at fault. How could you have been? It was a
diplomatic mission, and we were acting as foot soldiers for you, and it was
our job. Oh, how I wish it had turned out differently, but I do not regret
going. Clarice could have just as easily died in a car crash, driving the
Alvis.”
“But, how do you get perspective, Colin?”
He grimaced and shook his head. “It hasn’t been easy. It still isn’t.
When I walk into my empty house at night. And when I open the garage
doors to look at the Alvis. It was her house, Your Majesty. It was her car.”
She looked and saw tears running down his face. She quickly
dragged a chair around and sat next to him, and hugged him.
“I am so sorry, Colin. I didn’t mean to cause you distress tonight.”
“I am sorry, Ma’am. Sometimes these things sneak up on me. I
think I’m getting over it, and suddenly I am surprised by it all. And…”
He then broke down into deep sobbing. She cradled his head to her
breast and rocked, humming a lullaby that she had heard from her mother
so many years ago. She wept too, for her parents and sister and wondered
how humans could live in the face of such tragedy. And she asked herself
how an innocuous conversation could go sideways like that.
 Colin hiccuped and stopped crying. “I am so sorry about that,
Ma’am. I don’t know what came over me, there.”
“If something like that happened, you must have needed it. You
should never apologize for it.”
“But I made you cry as well.”
She reached over and pulled the napkin from next to her plate, and
wiped her eyes. “I weep for my parents and sister. Papa should still be the
king, and my sister should be preparing to step into his role someday. I
never intended to become the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom.”
He looked at the young queen, who was barely twenty-two years
old, and was surprised at the deep attraction he felt. This wasn’t right either,
but he didn’t know what to do about it. He quickly stood and slipped over to
the wall to pull out his handkerchief. As he blew his nose, he considered
what to do next but was at a loss.
Margaret stood. “I never was that enamored with that dessert,
anyway. Shall we go punish the piano for a while?”
He gave her a shaky smile. “That sounds good to me, Ma’am.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
 
 
September 10, 1944; 11 PM
USS Pennsylvania (BB-38)
Port of Chiba
Chiba Prefecture
Tokyo Bay, Japan
 
Admiral Jesse Oldendorf was a worried man. As the American in
charge of the interned Japanese fleet, he recognized the limitations of his
command. Japan was convulsed with riots as the Japanese Army and Navy
contested control of the nation. The Japanese navy was solidly behind the
emperor and the sitting government but had limited influence beyond the
naval bases. The Americans were protecting the emperor but were not able
to garrison the Japanese islands to ensure peace.
Now Admiral Oldendorf’s people had picked up information
indicating that groups of insurgents were planning to launch dozens, or
maybe even hundreds of small boats to take over and sabotage the Japanese
navy ships he was guarding. He was not worried about the insurgents
sailing the warships away. They lacked the skills required to support the
engineering and navigation functions aboard the ships. And the caretaker
crews lacked the manpower to do any more than try to guard the ships.
As far as Oldendorf was concerned, the Japanese ships would be
better off sitting on the bottom of the harbor where they could do no harm,
but Admiral Nimitz thought they might be needed in patrolling and
guarding the western Pacific. And Nimitz had ordered Admiral Oldendorf
to protect the interned fleet, and he intended to do so, although he wasn’t
quite sure how.
And the manning levels aboard the Pennsylvania were not
generous. Every available able-bodied man had been drafted to help with
the cleanup in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Therefore, the
Joint Chiefs and Admiral Nimitz were parsimonious in the resources they
made available to the American forces in Japan. Oldendorf thought that
policy was getting ready to bite them all big time.
Oldendorf’s aide answered a knock at the door of the Admiral’s
cabin. Captain Tom Cotton, the skipper of the Pennsylvania, needed a word
with the admiral.
“What is it, Tom?”
“Admiral, I had a group of Japanese Navy Captains come aboard
and offer to help protect their fleet.”
Oldendorf waved Cotton to a chair. “How do they plan to do that?”
“They want to arm several battalions of IJN seamen and their petty
officers and put them aboard the ships. They will keep watch and repel
boarders.”
“We don’t have the logistics to support them, Tom.”
“They offered to provide the logistics,” the skipper replied. “And
they know what they are doing, Sir.”
 “It is comforting to have the smart Japs on our side,” Oldendorf
mused. “I think the only thing that’s keeping their navy in the contest
against the Army is their superior intelligence.”
“A Jap Navy Captain told me recently that if a son in a Japanese
family can’t do anything else, he goes into the army. They are not all idiots,
obviously, but the point is interesting.”
“The IJN was always the point of the Japanese spear,” Oldendorf
commented. “And they kept it sharp. In the Japanese hierarchy, the navy is
the senior service, and everybody knows it.”
“How do you think this… civil difficulty will play out, Sir?” Cotton
asked.
Oldendorf rubbed his face and looked over at the aide. “You just as
well get some more coffee ready, Art. I think we’re going to be up for a
while.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. I have it ready.”
The admiral shook his head and laughed. “Then don’t just stand
there. Serve the coffee.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Oldendorf grinned at Cotton. “Lieutenant Gordon does a good job,
but I have to prod him occasionally.”
“Admiral, you’ve been at it since before 0400 this morning, which
means he has too.”
“And he’s a young buck. If I can do it, he should be able to do the
same.”
The skipper watched as the Flag Lieutenant served coffee and fresh
cookies. He waited for things to settle a bit before he spoke again.
“What are we really doing here, Admiral?”
“The simple answer is that we are following orders. The fuller
answer is that we are working to guide Japan back into civilization.”
“And they believe they are the civilized people and we are
barbarians.”
Oldendorf rubbed his chin and then picked up his coffee cup again.
“They have a funny culture. Back to your comment about the smart Japs
going into the Navy, it’s the Navy people who have interacted with the
Americans and the Brits over the past twenty or thirty years. They
understand the way we think, and they like us. It seems like all their
throwbacks are in the army.”
“The navy people I have met are mostly straight-up people.”
“And that’s why we are here, Tom. If we stand by them now,
tonight, they will be with us forever. The president doesn’t want us
interfering directly in their internal political process, but he knows what the
end result should be.”
“So we once again get handed an impossible job, Sir?”
“That seems to be always the case,” the admiral laughed. “You
ought to be used to it by now.”
“Then, what should we do, Admiral?”
“About your Jap captains, Tom? Hell, what do you think?”
“I think we let them do it. I took a look around here, and our
cupboard is bare.”
“That it is,” he replied. “That it is. Okay, tell them it’s approved. I
want a report from them at 0800 every morning until we send them home.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. I’ll get it done.”
“Thanks, Tom. If the army does indeed try something, I prefer to
have it stopped by other Japanese. The army has been trying to pin all this
on the Americans, and that has to stop.”
“I understand, Sir. By your leave?”
“You’ve had the navy captains waiting all this time?”
“I wanted them to sweat a little bit, Sir.”
“Your management techniques are different than mine, but it seems
to work for you.”
“With all due respect, I learned this from you, Sir.”
Oldendorf laughed loudly. “Get out of here, Captain. I’d hate to
order you to start scrubbing decks.”
“I take the Admiral’s point,” Cotton said as he left the room.
 
§§§
 
September 15, 1944; Noon
Stoyanka, Ukraine
 
“We’ve hit a wall.”
 “Excuse me?” Nikita Khrushchev challenged.
General Ivan Smirnoff stared back at the stocky bald man.
“The Soviets have managed to stall us short of Kiev. We’re across
the Irpin river and on the outskirts of the city, but the Soviets are dug in and
show no inclination to retreat further.”
“And we cannot call up the Luftwaffe to bomb them out.”
“Correct. We need the city and its people relatively intact.”
Khrushchev paced the tent for a few moments and then turned back
to Smirnoff.
“Can we use Rommel’s tactics and simply bypass the city and let
them wither on the vine?”
Smirnoff took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, for several
reasons. First of all, I think the Soviets will try to hold at all costs. If we try
to starve them out, it will also starve the people of the city. Also, Kiev is the
capital of Ukraine. We need the symbolism of holding the capital. Finally,
the city is probably the best place to cross the Dnieper.”
Khrushchev folded his arms. “You are completely correct, of
course. We can’t afford to destroy the city. But what do we do?”
“I am going to meet with Guderian and Rommel and seek their
advice. I know I’m pretty smart, but this one has presented us a challenge.”
“Do you feel you can safely leave while things are in motion?”
“No, but if that were a critical risk, I would never be able to leave.”
Khrushchev laughed. Despite the adventures they had faced over
the past couple of years, he retained his sense of humor and boisterous
laugh.
“I suppose that will have to do,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you
about our progress in the lands we already hold.”
“I haven’t been able to stay current on what is happening there,”
Smirnoff noted. “I assumed you would tell me if there were major
problems.”
“It has gone very well,” the other man said. “We have been able to
co-opt the party committees in the cities and towns we hold.”
“How would you characterize the people, then?”
“I would say they are enthusiastic but cautious,” Khrushchev
replied. “They well remember the Russians marching into our land twenty
years ago. While they value independence, they don’t want a repeat of that
disaster.”
“I can’t say I blame them. And it would be far worse this time
around. I think the Soviets would kill everybody in Ukraine and start over.”
“That is my thought as well. One project I would like to work on
during the winter,” Khrushchev suggested, “is to revert the collective farms
to private ownership. With some restrictions, of course.”
Smirnoff rolled his tongue around in his cheek as he considered
what Khrushchev had just said.
“The collectives were one of your crowning achievements for
Stalin, Nika, were they not?”
“I did that because that is what Stalin told me to do. It nearly
destroyed agriculture in this land and got a lot of people killed.”
“And you killed them.”
Khrushchev hesitated and bit his lip. Finally, he nodded. “And I
killed them. I am just as much of a butcher as Stalin.”
“I don’t think anyone is as bad as Stalin,” Smirnoff observed.
“There is no question we all shared the guilt for all the deaths over the past
twenty years. I helped enforce some of those decrees.”
“I remember that.”
“So what do the people think of you, Comrade Khrushchev?”
Smirnoff asked.
“I think I would use the same words, cautiously enthusiastic. No
one has forgotten what I did, but I think many people recognize we all did
things just to survive. It was a bad time. I don’t think they like me, but there
seems to be a modicum of respect.”
“That’s good enough for me. I think you must proceed with your
project with the collectives. The farmers need to have a title deed to their
two-hundred hectares, or whatever, by the spring. I think we will do much
better as a country if the people are invested in it.”
“I wonder if we should sell off the factories,” Khrushchev mused. “I
know there are Germans who would like to set up shop here.”
“We ought to approach the British and the Americans,” Smirnoff
added. “We would need to carefully plan so that we can ensure that they do
not turn us into a colony and exploit the workers.”
“And we are going to need to build a strong economy to support the
army. I don’t think Kruglov will give up after we drive him out of Ukraine.”
“I don’t think he will either. The Russians have sat on us for the
better part of one-hundred-fifty years. They simply assume we belong to
them.”
“That’s true,” Khrushchev said. “But, my people are picking up
rumors that the Soviets are seeing unrest in Belorussia, and that may be
why they are so intent on holding Kiev. Do you suppose we could
encourage Schloss to support them?”
“I suspect Rainer already has people working in Belorussia, but I
can bring it up in my meeting with the Wehrmacht.”
Khrushchev smiled. “Did you ever think you would be allied with
the Nazis against Moscow?”
“Things have changed much over the past six months,” Smirnoff
chuckled. “While I had some thoughts about what might have been
opportunities, this goes beyond anything I could have dreamed. What about
you, Nikita?”
“Kruglov and I danced around the topic a time or two. If things had
turned out differently, I might be sitting in the chair Malenkov occupies. I
think I like this better. I trust you. I could never entirely decide what
Kruglov was thinking.”
“I suspect he thinks he is holding a tiger’s tail,” Smirnoff replied.
“Kruglov is a sharp operator. I am amazed Beria didn’t kill him on general
principles. Stalin and Beria really paid attention to potential threats.”
“I think Stalin was getting ready to deal with me,” Khrushchev said.
“I had my plans to survive that particular event, but it was chancy.”
“And this isn’t?”
 Khrushchev laughed again. “I suppose all of life is a risk, my
friend. But, so far, we seem to be holding the strong hand.”
“I certainly hope so.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
 
 
September 20, 1944; 10 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Meeting Room
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“What do we have this morning, meine Herren?” Schloss asked.
“We have the whole government together, so we should be able to make
decisions on the matter.”
“First of all, the agenda says we have a status report from the
Reichsmarshall,” Frau Pappel said.
It looked as though she had the entire room cowed, and Schloss
noticed that Peter thought it was funny. Schloss nodded towards von
Rundstedt, who began speaking.
“As of this morning, the Luftwaffe is engaged in strikes against the
Russians, but no other Reichswehr forces are engaged.”
“That’s good news,” Schloss commented. “What can you tell us
about the air war?”
That earned a glare from Frau Pappel, which Schloss ignored.
“We are continuing our strategic bombing campaign against the
Russians with the primary goal of disrupting their logistics against the
Ukrainians. We are also aiding the Ukrainian army directly with tactical air
support.”
“That would be ground support?” Schloss asked.
 “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. We have given the Ukrainians a small
squadron of artillery spotter aircraft. They are using the British Auster I
airplane. It is not as good as our Storch, but we had the Austers and didn’t
need them. But the Luftwaffe provides high-level reconnaissance for the
Ukrainians.”
“How are the Ukrainians doing?”
“They were doing well up until last week. The Russians dug in at
Kiev. General Smirnoff can’t dig them out or bomb them out without
destroying the city, and he doesn’t want to do that.”
“That makes sense,” Schloss said. “What do they propose?”
“General Smirnoff met with Guderian, Rommel, and me looking for
advice. He had considered swinging around the city to cut off the supply
lines but doesn’t want the city to starve along with the Russian troops.”
Schloss quickly visualized the issues and nodded in agreement. “So,
what does the OKW recommend?”
Von Rundstedt was ready for the question and quickly responded.
“They would like us to stage a diversionary attack against the Russians out
of Riga in the Latvian territory.”
“He suggested that?”
“Actually no, Herr Reich Chancellor. Rommel suggested it.”
Schloss looked around the room. Everyone was paying attention
today.
“We have barely regained control of the area. Can we do something
like that so soon?”
“Rommel is sitting on the Russian border with Latvia right now.
Our logistics would initially flow through the port of Riga, and that would
offset our shortage of rail capacity.”
“What would such a diversionary attack accomplish?” Schloss
asked.
“It is a relatively short run across the continent to Moscow over
favorable terrain,” the Reichsmarshall replied. “We think that the Russians
would have to honor the threat. Because the Wehrmacht has been relatively
inactive since Smirnoff kicked off his campaign, we have the Russians
looking in the wrong direction, so to speak.”
“What about the weather?” Rainer asked. “It’s going to turn bad
very soon.”
 “We suggested Smirnoff dig in for the winter, and we all resume
operations in April. But, he is concerned the strategic equation will change
by then.”
“I don’t understand,” Schreiber commented.
“We know that Russia has a jet fighter coming into service very
soon. We don’t know its capabilities, but it is something it is a concern.
Also, they would have the winter to rebuild their stocks of fuel and
ammunition and replace a lot of tanks. Smirnoff will essentially have what
he started the operation with. He has a lot of T34 tanks, for example, but he
cannot replace them.”
“This is something we worried about when we allowed this to
begin,” Colonel Gehlen commented. “Everyone agreed that there was a
window of opportunity, but the winter would foreclose on that quickly.”
“I don’t want to lose an army in northern Russia,” Schloss
commented.
“This brings us back to our strategic discussions,” von Rundstedt
stated. “We all agreed to allow Smirnoff to move into Ukraine because we
were weary of spending German lives. The question before us is what we
should do to prevent the failure of that initiative, and it also raises the
question of what happens if it does fail. Will we be fighting the Russians
again?”
“I don’t pretend to understand the military operations,” Ribbentrop
said, entering the conversation for the first time. “But I think we need to
make a decision.”
“And what decision would that be, Joachim?” Rainer asked sharply.
Schloss threw Rainer a warning glance. People still didn’t care for
Ribbentrop, but he plunged in.
“We committed to helping Smirnoff, and he has certainly lived up
to his part. We did this for a specific reason – to build a buffer between
Germany and Russia. If that goal is still valid, then I believe we are
obligated to act.”
“He does have a point,” Schreiber interjected. “How can we invade
Russia from the Baltic coast and not get bogged down in the winter?”
“We would almost have to lay track alongside the army to keep
them supplied,” Ribbentrop said.
“Can we do that?” Schloss asked.
 “Given the equipment, men, and supplies, I think so. It would be
costly, though.”
“Not as expensive as allowing the Russians to invade again,”
Gehlen commented.
“That is very true,” von Rundstedt added. “I don’t think any of us
need to remind ourselves how close we came to losing when Smirnoff took
Berlin. If he had been able to reinforce, we would be facing something
entirely different right now.”
“If an army is not advancing, it is getting ready to lose,” Gehlen
blurted.
Everyone stared at him.
“What does that mean, Reinhard?” Schloss asked.
“In war, if you don’t drive through to a conclusion, you will allow
the enemy to recover and go back on the offensive. We haven’t beaten the
Russians yet, and they haven’t asked for terms. We need to keep the
pressure on.”
Von Rundstedt nodded. “He has a point, and I agree. We need to
keep the pressure on.”
“Do we have a better understanding of winter war than before?”
Schloss asked.
“Without question,” von Rundstedt answered. “Whatever else one
could say about Herr Milch’s failings, and they were legion, when Herr
Ribbentrop suggested preparing for winter operations, Milch went about it
with a will.”
Schloss looked around the room. “Do we have a consensus in
moving forward out of Riga into Russia towards Moscow?”
No one replied. “I’ll take that as a ja. Very well, Herr
Reichsmarshall, I think we need to move quickly on this.”
“If you will excuse me,” von Rundstedt said, “I will send the
messages right now. Guderian and Rommel are already making plans. And
in this case, time is the enemy.”
Von Rundstedt stood and limped from the room. The room relaxed
once the decision had been made.
“Is there any other matters we need to accomplish today?” Schloss
asked.
 Frau Pappel interrupted by clearing her throat. It seemed like a
subterranean rumble, and Schloss wondered if they were having an
earthquake.
“Yes, Frau Pappel?”
“There is an item on the agenda to discuss Japan.”
“Very well. Peter?”
Schreiber looked up from his notes.
“As you know, Japan seems to be drifting towards civil war. The
emperor is under the protection of the Americans, and the Japanese navy is
supporting them. The army is trying to engineer an uprising. It has declared
that the emperor is held prisoner by the Americans.
“An army group even tried to storm the American battleship where
Hirohito resides. The Americans repulsed them, no surprise there, with over
one hundred dead. Most recently, the army marshaled a small boat flotilla
and attempted to board the interned Japanese ships in Chiba, apparently
hoping to scuttle them. That failed.”
“Excuse me, Peter,” Schloss interrupted. “How many Americans
were killed in the boarding action?”
“As far as we know, there were no American deaths. There may
have been some injuries, but nothing has been said.”
“Okay, please continue.”
“Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor. The navy controls much of
Tokyo as well as the naval bases around the country. Both groups control
newspapers, which are advertising the positions of the two groups. At this
stage, no one can predict what will happen.”
“Are we in contact with the two parties?” Ribbentrop asked.
“The army has no use for Germany and is not talking to us. The
navy is cool towards us but is speaking. There is a civilian government in
place, supported by the Navy, and the army ignores it. Neither group has
asked us for support or advice.”
“Will this impact Germany in any way?” Rainer asked.
“A good question, Karl,” Peter replied. “We don’t have any direct
interests in that part of the world, other than a small mission in Shanghai.
Chiang is still friendly. There have been rumors that the Japanese were
talking to the Communists before the end of the war.”
 Schloss thought about what he knew of China in his previous life as
a history professor in 1982 Berlin. He had inadvertently put his finger on
the scale during his contest with Himmler and dramatically changed history
in this universe. Or had he? There were some events before the accident
that sent him here that were different. The deaths of George VI, his wife,
and the crown princess were one example. And, of course, there was
Hitler’s death.
The Communist victory in China in 1948 in his former universe
was an interesting question. Could he put his finger on the scale and change
the balance of history in Asia? Should he? He was interested in trying but
wasn’t sure if it was the right or moral thing to do.
He glanced over at Frau Pappel, who was watching him intently.
She nodded imperceptibly. It seemed she knew what she was thinking. That
she was here as a result of Frau Marsden’s influence told him that his
current secretary probably knew what he was thinking and wanted him to
act. But he had never been able to determine Frau Marsden’s agenda.
Perhaps the best thing was to temporize and leave Germany in a
position to act when the situation was clear.
“All right, Peter. Let the Japanese know we want to be a friend, but
we have no means to involve ourselves in their domestic matters, plus we
are reluctant to do so. And have the Shanghai mission start working towards
a closer relationship with Chiang. His army based on our model – I hope I
got that one right – and it gives us a window into that part of the world.”
Schreiber looked surprised. “Of course. I will see to it.”
Before closing the meeting, Schloss looked down at his typewritten
agenda. He had forgotten the item about Japan, and now he noted that
Rainer had a report on the Munich Faction.
“Karl, you had something on the Munich Faction?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. I would like to report that the threat
from the Munich Faction is over. While we haven’t caught everyone, the
organization has ceased to exist. Our activities moving forward will involve
working to detain the rest of the people who escaped as well as working to
prevent the group from reorganizing.”
“Have we captured Milch?” Schloss asked.
“We have not. But we believe the net is closing around him. We do
not believe he has left the country, and our best intelligence has him in the
Munich area.”
“He is more dangerous than I thought he would be,” Schreiber
commented.
“That is true,” Ribbentrop agreed. “I suppose he applied his
administrative skills to the Faction. They were more of a rabble before.”
“I agree,” Rainer stated. “Heydrich was a dangerous foe, but the
Munich Faction was largely a one-man operation when he ran it. Milch was
happy to stay in the background and run things smoothly.”
“I hope we got that infection cut out of the body politic,” Schloss
said.
“Does that mean we will now have elections?” Ribbentrop asked.
“Thank you for reminding me, Joachim,” Schloss said dryly. “Let’s
put that on the agenda for our next meeting. I believe we need to start
planning for elections.”
Everyone in the room looked uncomfortable. Schloss noted it.
“Come, meine Herren. Not doing anything is the coward’s way out.
If we are going to build a lasting environment for Germany, we are going to
have to submit to the will of the people.”
“It was the people that put Hitler in power,” Ribbentrop
commented.
“Yes, it was. I think we need to study the circumstances that
allowed that to happen and look for mechanisms to avoid something like
that in the future.”
Peter chuckled softly. “It is easier just to make decisions and rule.
But I agree with your point, Hennie. At some level, we must get the people
involved with the government again.”
Schloss nodded. “Be thinking about that meine Herren. Until next
time, then.”
And he stood to leave. He returned to his office to see what had
come in during his absence that morning. He glanced at his desk and
decided it was a good time to break for lunch. Gisela was bringing little
Erich with her to have lunch with him. Hans and Anna-Lisa were in school,
and neither parent wanted to interrupt the classroom by pulling the children
out for lunch. Schloss would see them this evening.
 
  
 
CHAPTER SIXTY
 
 
September 25, 1944; 2 PM
Cabinet Meeting Room
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
Harry Truman looked around the Cabinet Meeting Room. The
Cabinet was a holdover from the Roosevelt administration. Henry Wallace
wasn’t in office long enough to make changes, and Truman had been too
busy to do so, although the group was relatively competent and reliably
liberal. Vice-president Barkley, the former senator from Kentucky, was a
new addition. Alben Barkley was good at what he did, although he was
something of a blowhard.
Changes were coming, to be sure. Cordell Hull would be gone by
the end of the month, and Truman would appoint his replacement. The
president was still undecided on a replacement for Hull. He wanted Senator
James F. Byrnes in the spot. But he didn’t want the South Carolinian to
resign from the Senate on the chance that Taft might win the presidential
election. It would be bad enough, Truman thought, to be a lame duck. He
didn’t want to inflict that on his friend from senate days.
The Secretary of the Interior, Harold Ickes, droned on with his
report on the status of the refugee camps. The logistics of supporting all of
the displaced Americans was complex and challenging.
“And so, with the return of the people to the far western areas, we
are keeping up with the needs of the people currently in the camps,
although just barely. Fortunately, we had bumper harvests in the Midwest
and deep south. Following your directive, Mr. President, the department is
actively auditing the army’s management of the camps. We have uncovered
some shortcomings, but nothing like you encountered in Utah.”
 “Which seems to have corrected,” Truman commented with a wry
grin.
He was still furious at the treatment of American civilians by the
army at the camp in Ogden, Utah. However, the very public firing of
Colonel Galpin had not only made the papers, but the news had ricocheted
around the military establishment like multiple lightning strikes. The effect
was that Army brass in charge of the various camps was now rapidly
repairing any real and perceived shortcomings.
“Yes, Sir,” Ickes continued. “We anticipate moving more people
back to their homes as the cleanup moves east. But, we are still committed
to feeding them during the winter.”
“Thank you, Secretary Ickes,” Truman said as he looked down at
his typewritten agenda. “I have asked General Groves to give us a report on
the cleanup efforts.”
“Yes, Sir, Mr. President,” Groves said, rising from his seat and
walking to the head of the table where a map of the western United States
hung on an easel.
“I asked for the map because I thought we could get a better picture
of where we are. Once we got the fires out, we began with the circular area
around Hanford marked in red. That is where the bulk of the ashes and
poisonous byproducts of the accident were concentrated. It was important to
get this area under control so the most intense poisons would not spread
further. Also, from a national security perspective, it is critical to get those
plants back online.”
“Excuse me,” Ickes interrupted, “you are saying that we are going
right back to doing what we were doing when the accident occurred?”
Truman smiled to himself. The question needed to be asked, and he
was glad to see it come from Ickes. If the president had asked the question,
the deference of the people in the room towards him would have prevented
the subject from being fully aired.
“Your question is well founded, Mr. Secretary,” Groves replied
politely. “The Hanford Engineering District is part of a top-secret project
that is related to the security of the nation.”
“At the risk of poisoning half the country, General? That is insane.”
“If any enemies of the United States gain access to these same
processes, their weapons would lay waste to far more of the country than
we have seen.”
“Then we have let a genie loose in the world.”
“I’m afraid that’s true, Mr. Secretary.”
Ickes turned back to Truman. “What kind of insanity is this, Mr.
President?”
“It is necessary insanity, Mr. Secretary,” Truman responded quietly.
“The responsibility for the accident ends at my desk. And I am also
responsible for the decision to continue the program. We know the Germans
and the British are working on the same thing. And we are pretty sure the
Soviets are as well.”
“But those nations are half a world away,” Ickes protested. “They
have no way to deliver a weapon at that distance.”
“At the moment,” Truman said. “But we know the Germans are
working on advanced rocketry, and they are not that many years away from
building something that could circle the globe and drop bombs on our
heads.”
“But the Germans are friendly, Sir.”
“It was not that long ago that we were very close to going to war
with Germany,” Truman stated. “Continuing our development of these new
weapons was not a pleasant decision, but it had to be made.”
“Of course, Sir,” Ickes subsided, but he didn’t look happy.
Truman noted that the mood of the room was somber. “Please
continue, General.”
Groves used his pointer to indicate the areas of current
concentration on the cleanup and what would happen next.
“In many places, the fallout has attenuated enough that people
could return to their homes but would have to remain cautious. In others,
higher than average precipitation has washed the dust into the streams
where it would be diluted, making the area safe.”
“The biggest challenge has been combing the mountain valleys and
canyons for pockets of radioactive byproducts. It is time-consuming and
dangerous.”
 The Decontamination Command was now the largest operation in
the United States Army, and it absorbed two-thirds of the military budget
and personnel for its mission. Following the presentation, Truman turned to
the Secretary of War.
 “Now, Secretary Stimson, give us your report on the status of US
forces around the world.”
“Yes, Mr. President. Currently, the bulk of our military not involved
in decontamination is tied up in the Western Pacific. The Japanese are
involved in what amounts to a civil war. The breakdown is with the Navy
and Government on one side and the army on the other. The emperor is
currently under our protection aboard the battleship Pennsylvania. We
support the Japanese government and their navy, but we are trying to keep
hands-off as much as possible.”
“What happened with the interned fleet, Mr. Secretary?” the
Secretary of State asked.
Hull knew full well what had happened, so Truman assumed he had
asked so that the rest of the cabinet could be brought up to date without
embarrassing anyone.
“The Japanese Army attempted a boarding action on the ships that
we have interned at Chiba, which is in Tokyo Bay. The Japanese Navy
became aware of the plans, and with the concurrence of Admiral Oldendorf,
placed enough force on the ships to dissuade the borders.”
“Dissuade?” Hull asked with a grin.
“Oh, yes. The operation failed. They managed to board one of the
ships briefly but were swiftly subdued.”
“Wasn’t that risky to allow the navy back on their ships?”
“You mean, could they have activated the ships? No. First of all, the
boarders had neither the manpower nor the expertise to get under weigh.
Secondly, when we interned the fleet, we removed all the warshots from
those ships. At some point, we will have to get together with the Japanese
navy and decide whether to pickle the ships or scrap them. If we let them sit
there for long, they will be worthless.”
“So those ships are not a threat?”
Stimson cocked his head. “We might consult with the Secretary of
the Navy about that, Mr. Secretary, but as I understand it, if we left Japan
tomorrow, it would take six months to a year for them to get their fleet
operational again.”
“Please continue, Mr. Stimson,” Truman prompted.
“Yes, of course, Mr. President. Elsewhere in the world? We have
our facilities at Subic Bay in the Philippines and Pearl Harbor, but they are
mostly skeleton operations. The Indian Ocean and South Pacific are now
pretty much a British lake. Admiral King has completed pulling our forces
out of Trincomalee, and we will be sending him to our base in Bermuda. He
and Admiral Wood got along like a house afire in Trincomalee. He’s very
senior for the position, but the Brits like him.”
“Even if he shaves with a blowtorch,” Truman commented.
Stimson choked. “The man has a certain reputation. If he hasn’t
made a senior officer cry by lunchtime, he considers his day to be a failure.”
The men in the room chuckled. Ernie Rey’s reputation was widely
known. After Stimson’s report, Truman looked at Hull.
“Since you are departing for greener pastures, Secretary Hull,
perhaps you could update us on the state of the diplomatic world.”
 
“Of course, Mr. President. Let me begin by conveying what an
honor it has been to serve with all of you and serve the country in this
capacity. I have recently discovered that my health no longer allows me to
maintain the pace necessary for the job. But I am proud of our
accomplishments.”
“America is at peace after a decade of wars and rumors of wars. I
wish we could establish a structure to replace the League of Nations and
stop wars before they could ignite. That was not to be. But I urge you all to
watch for opportunities to engage in such an initiative.”
“Now, the world is still a dangerous place. We saw how quickly the
situation in Japan deteriorated after Yamamoto’s death. China remains
unsettled. The civil war there will probably boil over again. With Stalin’s
death, we could hope for some moderation on the part of the Soviets. We
see no evidence of that, although they are consumed with their war against
Germany.”
“Germany dodged the bullet when they forced Smirnoff’s surrender
in Berlin. It seems to us that Schloss is attempting to build a buffer state in
Ukraine. We were surprised that Malenkov didn’t attempt to end the war
with Germany.”
“We were able to maintain our alliance with Great Britain against
the Japanese. That relationship, which was strained at the beginning of the
war, seems to be recovering. I believe Britain, Germany, and the United
States are moving into an informal tripartite pact to maintain security in
Europe and around the world.”
“Do you see Germany releasing its conquered territories?” Henry
Morganthau, the Secretary of the Treasury, asked.
“Through information developed by the Office of Strategic
Services, we believe that Schloss considers maintaining Germany’s
European conquests necessary to her security. We know that he has
explored some sort of home rule for Czechoslovakia. The war with Russia
put all of that on hold. We also know that he wants to schedule elections are
soon as practical.”
“Does Schloss have any theory of governance?” Ickes asked. “He
has seemed to be just another dictator to me.”
“An excellent question,” Hull responded. “His domestic policies
seem to be a mix of social awareness and free-market capitalism. And a
healthy dollop of old-style Naziism thrown in for good measure. To answer
your question, we just don’t know. And we’re not sure he knows.”
Following the agenda, Truman let the cabinet secretaries chat for
another half hour. He learned more about how things were going on in the
government from casual conversation. And he knew there were no more
appointments on his schedule that afternoon. He would leave in another
hour to board his C-54 transport for Chicago and a campaign rally. The
election loomed, and he wanted to leave nothing to chance. He was an
accidental president, but he wanted to complete the job Roosevelt, and then
Wallace had started.
 

 
 
 
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
 
 
October 9, 1944; 10 AM
The Queen’s Reception Hall
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
 
Margaret Windsor waited in her Reception Hall for this morning’s
visitor. She had gotten over the shock and surprise of Clement Attlee's
stunning election loss. The Conservatives held their majority and widened it
in the House of Commons, and labor would continue in the wilderness. It
had turned Attlee's plans and vision upside-down, and everyone in the
government held their breath to see what would happen now.
The Tories had caucused after the Thursday elections and well into
the weekend. Margaret had received notice that the Prime Minister
Designate would call on her this morning. The queen’s staff had shifted
schedules around to accommodate the event. The newspapers were hailing
the day as a return to normalcy after two years of direct governance by the
queen.
Margaret was unhappy. She had been unhappy since Attlee called
for elections, precipitously in her opinion. She was not necessarily
disappointed with the election win by the Tories as she was more aligned
philosophically with them. The baggage they brought to the table was
another thing, however.
The queen was most unhappy, though, with the unintended
consequences of the election that nobody in the government wanted. This
unhappiness culminated in intense frustration when the page announced the
new prime minister. Now she faced the smirking, cherubic face of Winston
Churchill as he walked through the door.
“Your Majesty, I have assembled a majority in the House of
Commons and have been voted to represent them in Parliament. I crave
your appointment as Prime Minister of the Realm.”
The assembled guests in the room stirred as Margaret caught
Churchill in a stare and held it. He gazed back impassively as the moment
lingered. Everyone knew there was animosity between the queen and the
new prime minister, but few knew why.
“Very well, Prime Minister,” she spat venomously to gasps in the
room. “The election reflected the will of the people, and you represent the
will of the house. I have no choice but to accept that. I have no intentions of
being the one who causes a constitutional crisis.”
Her last statement caused another gasp as it was clear what she
implied. The queen was widely reputed to play hardball. No one questioned
that she was focused on the preservation and prosperity of Great Britain.
But to start the relationship with a new government at swords’ point with
the Prime Minister was a shock.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Churchill said. “I shall endeavor to
serve the kingdom and the throne to the best of my ability.”
“I expect no less, Prime Minister.”
Margaret rose and swept from the room, leaving many speechless
and Churchill wondering if he could pull out a cigar. He was well aware of
Margaret’s animosity and the reasons behind it. After, she had personally
sacked him two years before.
“That was enlightening,” Churchill’s personal assistant commented
as they walked to his Humber Limousine.
“It appears she is willing to follow the constitution,” Churchill
commented in reply. “I was a little unsure as to how she would react.”
“It appears we have succeeded, then, Sir.”
“This is but the beginning, Howard. We must manage matters
carefully so that we can guide the queen back to her traditional role. If she
felt free to assume dictatorial powers once, regardless of her reasons, she
may well try again.”
“I don’t know who has me more furious,” Queen Margaret muttered
as she returned to her study. “Clement for getting impatient and calling the
election or Winston with his unbearable smirk. I wished I had my Webley
with me this morning.”
“I thought you handled it well, Your Majesty,” Colin Marty said as
he followed her into the office.
“Well compared to what? The beheading of Queen Mary? I feel
about as effective as Charles Stuart.”
“Sometimes we have these setbacks, Ma’am.”
“Setbacks, Colin? Setbacks? This is a disaster of the first order.
Winston nearly destroyed the country two years ago, and he has likely only
gotten worse.”
 Marty walked quickly over to her desk and leaned over, placing his
hands on the edge.
“Ma’am, you must keep your perspective. England has survived
bad prime ministers….”
“You almost said bad kings, didn’t you, Colin?”
“No, I did not. Considering the historical context, you have done
extraordinarily well. You successfully managed Attlee, and I believe you
will manage Churchill.”
“Churchill is more self-aware than Attlee,” Margaret argued. “He
instinctively reads people at a level Clement could never hope to attain. Our
new prime minister is a dangerous, dangerous man.”
“Then you must rise to the occasion.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You can sit in your corner and second
guess me. I have to do the real work.”
“I rarely have the opportunity to second guess you, Ma’am. You
have always made good decisions.”
“Like allowing this election to come to pass?”
Colin shook his head. “I submit, Ma’am, that the decision was taken
out of your hands. Events got out in front of all of us. Are you not satisfied
with a Tory victory in the polls?”
“No, Colin, I am not. I have not been delighted with Labor’s
program, but the Conservative Party needs its time in the wilderness. They
failed to manage Winston and allowed him near-dictatorial powers during
the war. Some of that may have been justified, I’ll grant. But he abused
those powers, and that is what frightens me about his return. I have seen no
indications that he has learned from his missteps.”
“Then you must ask him, Ma’am.”
“What?”
“Ask him what he has learned from his previous experiences at
Number 10. I will grant you that I have never cared for the man, myself.
But he spent his time in the wilderness and appeared to grow from it. His
mistakes in the Hitler war were not from self-aggrandizement. He seeks to
preserve the realm. He is a die-hard monarchist.”
“Oh paaa!” she spat back at him. “He is also responsible for
murder.”
 “If he had managed Schloss's death instead of Wallace’s, would our
view be different? Ma’am, you must take a step back and get some
perspective.”
“And I don’t appreciate this from you, Colin. We cannot have a
softening of attitudes toward Winston. He is like a shark, and he can sense
blood in the water.”
“And you are trying to divert me from the discussion. What should
be the royal attitude towards the prime minister? You are going to have to
work with him, regardless.”
“You have made your point, Colin,” she said with her teeth
clenched. “Leave me now.”
Colin Marty walked out of the queen’s office, hoping he had been
convincing enough to get Margaret thinking. She had to manage Churchill
rather than fight him. Otherwise, nothing would get done, and that would
cause significant harm to Britain. Right at the moment, she needed to cool
down.
 
§§§
 
October 9, 1944; 2 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Officers
Nazi Party Headquarters
Frankfurt, Germany
 
“So the assassin is back in power,” Rainer commented. “He is
guilty of murdering an American president and seems to have gotten away
with it.”
“And the question before us is who he will murder in Germany to
accomplish his goals?” Peter Schreiber asked.
Schloss looked around the modest office he occupied and decided,
once again, that he liked it better than that morgue in Berlin.
“Unfortunately, it seems that the people in power around the world
are often murderers.”
Schreiber seemed poised to continue his line of commentary but
hesitated and then closed his mouth. Everyone in the room knew that
Schloss had ascended to party leader after murdering Bormann, although
only Schloss knew that the Alter-Schloss had done that. Yet, the current
Schloss knew that he had killed Himmler, although everyone considered
that an execution, and Schloss himself had justified it as self-defense.
But Churchill sat in an office on Downing Street in London and had
given good evidence that he was not Germany’s friend.
“I’m surprised the queen allowed the elections to go forward,”
Rainer said. “She should have stopped them in the beginning.”
“Easier said than done,” Schloss replied. “She could not have
canceled them without threatening the entire structure of the English
government.”
“Why? She demonstrated she had the power and the ruthlessness to
do so. Why did she allow it?”
Schloss looked at Peter, who answered. “She would have lost her
legitimacy with the people. She also risked the fortunes of the royal family,
although I’m sure that was secondary in her thinking.”
 
“That wasn’t something Hitler worried about,” Rainer said. “Or us,
for that matter.”
“The difference is that the Nazi Party is unquestionably loyal to the
leadership, Herr Schloss in this case. Hitler dissolved the Reichstag, and not
enough people questioned it. So we have no elected body to challenge the
leadership in Germany.” Schreiber looked at Schloss. “I don’t think that is a
good thing, but it is also why the Munich Faction would have never
succeeded, whatever they thought. In England, the lower house reports
directly to the voters. And Parliamentary Supremacy is a well-established
doctrine. So when Attlee decided to have an election, the queen either had
to acquiesce or risk a general uprising.”
“Blood in the streets?” Rainer asked.
“No. The English are quite civilized about it. She would have had a
delegation from both houses and the military giving her a pointed
suggestion that she decamp to Balmoral Castle.”
Schloss snorted. “It’s funny how a people as bloody-minded as the
British are so civilized in other areas.”
“I just hope Churchill doesn’t break things,” Peter sighed.
“We need to start developing some options,” Schloss said. “Things
are less critical now in the East since we seem to have assumed the upper
hand in the war. But there is a lot of trade and several critical joint projects
we have with the English that could get messed up.”
“I will get with Joachim and Gert and start exploring some ideas,”
Peter said. “I assume the council will be meeting soon?”
“Within the next day or so, I think,” Schloss replied. “Karl, I hope
your string of sources in England is still up to the task.”
Rainer smiled. “Things can always go wrong, as we saw with Herr
Channing.”
“I’m glad he was able to gain a position with Heinkel,” Schloss
said. “I hope that doesn’t affect our relationship with Boeing.”
“Boeing was in favor of it, according to Ribbentrop,” Peter
commented. “They seemed to have viewed him as having the misfortune to
get caught in the gears.”
“That’s good news, then. Back to Karl. What about your sources in
England?”
“Other than Channing, so far, my little string of agents has
delivered.”
“Is Gehlen aware of them?”
“If he is, he hasn’t said anything. And he probably would.”
Schloss smiled back at the Reichsprotektor. “Don’t underestimate
Colonel Gehlen. He is not much of an administrator, but he is a subtle
thinker and understands his business.”
“I will take that in the spirit it was offered, Herr Schloss.”
“I knew you would, Karl,” Schloss chuckled.
Schloss leaned towards the door. “Frau Pappel, some more coffee,
please.”
“You have had enough for today, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“And it’s now confirmed,” Schloss relayed quietly to the men in the
room. “The hausfraus actually govern Germany.”
“Here, here,” Peter commented.
“You know,” Schloss speculated, “I wonder if we might offer an
olive branch to Churchill?”
“You’re right, Hennie,” Peter replied. “Showing belligerence to
Churchill would do no one any good.”
“I should have thought of that,” Karl commented. “But, you know
he is going to demand we set our territories free.”
 “Probably so,”  Schloss agreed. “We could agree to meet him
halfway and promise home rule for the territories. We want to do that
anyway. We just need to remember that in any meeting we conduct with the
English that Churchill will be the smartest person in the room. We will need
to be careful what we allow him to talk us into.”
“I think you underrate yourself, Hennie,” Peter said.
“What? In terms of comparing me to Churchill? No, it’s not even
close. I mean, all modesty aside, I think I am pretty smart. But Winston is in
another league altogether.”
Peter shrugged. “We will just have to be careful.”
“That is my intention. But we cannot let the events freeze us into
inaction. I think we need to agree to be proactive with the English, now, as
we have before.”
Rainer nodded. “I agree. It won’t be easy, but I think it is
necessary.”
Schreiber also nodded. “I’m with you on this, Hennie.”
 

 
 
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
 
 
November 6, 1944; 8 AM
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
 
Harry S. Truman stared at the front page of the Washington Post in
disgust. It carried a picture of a hugely grinning Robert Taft holding up the
New York Times displaying the headline Truman Beats Taft. That
staunchly Democratic paper had wildly missed its prediction. Now, seventy-
two hours after the election, it was clear that Robert Taft would be sworn in
this coming January as the thirty-fifth president of the United States.
 It was the Truman Towns that clinched the deal for the Republicans
this year. Some anonymous wag had recycled the Hooverville tag from the
depression and applied the sobriquet to the refugee encampments. Harry
Truman had made strenuous efforts by working with state and federal
officials to ensure those Americans uprooted from their homes out west
could vote. And they had. It seemed as though they had voted in mass for
Republican candidates.
And the rest of the country largely followed. In an epic landslide,
the Republicans had captured both houses of Congress along with thirty-
seven of the statehouses. There were now forty Republican governors. It
was the worst drubbing any party had experienced in the history of the
country.
Truman studied the newspaper and thought about the events of the
past week. There was no doubt his administration had been measured in the
hands of the American voters and found wanting. Although disappointed,
the current president was satisfied that the constitution had held, and the
governing functions continued to work despite the upheavals in the country.
And though Robert Taft was not a friend, Truman respected the man and
thought he would make a decent president.
But, until the inauguration in January, Harry Truman was still
president. And there were things he wanted to accomplish before he
returned to Independence, Missouri. First of all, he was going to splurge
and order a new Chrysler to carry him and Bess home in January. He also
would select a placeholder to serve as Secretary of State for the next two
months. Byrnes needed to remain in the Senate. And then he planned to
issue an Executive Order this morning.
On principle, Truman loathed Presidential Directives like this. They
often assumed the force of law, and he believed that this was something
reserved to Congress. However, it was something he had pondered for a
while and decided he didn’t want to wait twenty years for Congress to act.
He would encourage some of the few remaining Democrats in Congress to
introduce legislation to codify what he would do by fiat. It would put the
monkey on the back of the Republican majority, which was not a bad thing
in his view.
At precisely 9 AM, Truman walked in front of the assembled
reporters and members of the Cabinet. The dapper man showed no sign of
having been up all night. But then again, Truman always knew how to
dress. He sat down at the table containing a pen and the text of the order. He
looked up at the gathered reporters and noted the expectant looks,
wondering what was up.
“I am this morning issuing Executive Order 9981, which states ‘that
there shall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the
armed services without regard to race, color, religion or national origin.’
For too long, we have treated the Negro as a second-class citizen in this
country, and that needs to change. As you know, last year, I appointed a
Commission on Civil Rights to study the matter, and this committee has
made some recommendations.”
“This is an action I was able to take as Commander in Chief of the
armed forces. Many of the other recommendations will require legislation.
These I will leave in the hands of the incoming president and Congress. I
trust they will take up the cudgel and move forward with this battle.”
“Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.”
Truman stood and walked quickly from the room, ignoring shouted
questions from the reporters. Usually, Truman liked to mingle with the
reporters and engage in friendly banter, and he decided they would forgive
him this one time.
 
§§§
 
November 7, 1944; 8 PM
USS Pennsylvania (BB-38)
Tokyo Harbor
Tokyo, Japan
 
Prime Minister Kanoe was ushered into the presence of Emperor
Hirohito. The stateroom aboard the American battleship was small and
plain, and Kanoe thought it was entirely unsuitable for the emperor of the
Japanese people. However, the Americans had been unstinting in their
protection of Hirohito. This included supporting the Japanese Navy and the
legitimate government.
“I am gratified the Army released you, Prime Minister,” Hirohito
began.
 “They seemed not to know what to do with me, Your Majesty. I’m
glad they decided not to simply kill me.”
“As am I,” the emperor replied. “I suppose you have heard that
Truman lost his election,” Hirohito switched to business, without the usual
small talk.
“Yes, Majesty. While Truman’s loss was itself somewhat narrow,
his party lost heavily. It seems the Republicans will have a mandate to do
whatever they choose.”
“Governing is often much more difficult than making promises,”
the emperor commented with a small smile. Our primary concern, of
course, is the American policy towards Japan. The president-elect is known
for a somewhat inward-facing philosophy. He opposed America’s entry into
the war until after we attacked Hawaii.”
“Do you believe he will change his country’s stance towards us
now?”
“I do not know,” Hirohito replied. “I think you must ask the foreign
minister and our ambassador in Washington to initiate whatever
communications are allowed before the new president takes office. We must
also convince Mr. Truman to use his influence to preserve the current
relationship.”
Kanoe bowed. “I will begin those initiatives immediately.”
“That is all I can ask. Now, how goes our contest with the army?”
“The navy and the government controls Tokyo, Chiba, and up to
Nagano. The Army is based in Osaka. With the Americans in Sasebo, we
control all of Kumamoto. Things seem to be at a stalemate, however. There
has been little violence among the people. We have determined that the riots
were instigated by the Army. The people as a whole seem to be ignoring the
contest. Life goes on, and the economy is doing well.”
“What happens if we try to wait out the army?” the emperor asked.
“It favors us, Majesty.”
“Explain.”
“If the army attempts to force a blockade or start acting as the
government, we think the people will lose trust in them. The people revere
you, Majesty. They are uncomfortable with events but prefer to see what
happens. The longer we wait, the less the Army is taken seriously. I expect
they will eventually communicate with us to arrange for an
accommodation.”
“Which we will not do,” Hirohito responded firmly.
“Sire?” Kanoe responded in surprise. “We have always tried to
maintain a consensus between the factions.”
“And where has that gotten us? A disastrous war that we survived
only because of one man’s heroic actions. And they murdered him. No,
Fumimaro-san. The army, as well as the navy, must explicitly accept
civilian control. Period. We will require the leadership of the Army to sign a
statement to that effect before they resign. I will also require the navy
leadership to affirm the principle. That is the only way forward to long-term
stability.”
Kanoe was shocked. “That upends decades of the way we do things,
Majesty.”
“And look where those ways have brought us. We cannot long
survive in this modern world without a stable government. We must do
this.”
“It will be difficult.”
“It is our duty, Prime Minister.”
 

 
 
EPILOGUE
 
 
December 8, 1944; 4 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
 
Heinrich and Gisela Schloss walked into the office as the late
afternoon twilight faded over Berlin. Frau Pappel had turned on the lights
and placed a fresh Thermos of coffee behind the desk. Schloss walked to
the center of the room and slowly spun around, taking in the space.
“It just doesn’t seem the same,” he commented.
“How so, Darling?”
“After the stark office in Frankfurt, this seems overdone,
somehow.”
She chuckled deep in her throat. “It is overdone, Darling. You have
never liked this office.”
“That being said, I am delighted that we are finally back in Berlin.
Regardless of the circumstances, this is home. It is where we belong.”
“And perhaps I can finally get started on the Reich Chancellor’s
residence,” she commented. “I hate to raise our children in this
mausoleum.”
He nodded towards the hallway where Hans and Anna-Lisa ran up
and down the corridor, yelling and laughing.
“They seem happy to be back.”
“But, don’t you think they will be happier in a homelike setting?”
“There won’t be a homelike setting until I leave office, Gisela. Do
you think an executive residence would be much different?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Besides, this is home for them. Let them enjoy it.”
She walked over to the desk and studied the stacks of paper neatly
arranged in front of the chair.
“It looks as though your work preceded you,” she said.
He walked over and looked. “I think you are right, my dear.”
Schloss then laughed.
“What is it, Darling?”
“They brought my chair from Frankfurt. The American chair. The
comfortable one that Peter and Karl told me to shut up about.”
“Well, we want you to be comfortable.”
“I don’t think I could ever get comfortable in this office, the fine
chair notwithstanding. But I’m glad somebody thought to bring it.”
“I would have been shocked if they didn’t.”
She folded her arms across her chest and seemed to be in thought.
Finally, she spoke.
“What’s next, Darling?”
 “We need to finish this war. We need to get the governance of the
Reich on a sound footing, and we need to have elections. And I will soon
have to deal with Herr Churchill and the new American president.”
“It will always be something.”
He nodded as he took her arm. “Yes, my dear, it will always be
something. And I think it is too late in the day to try to tackle anything.
Let’s go upstairs and see what the Luftwaffe steward is planning for our
dinner.”
“With Peter and Gratia back in their house, we don’t have Frau
Marsden’s cooking,” she said. “But that steward has the touch, I think.”
“I’ve enjoyed his cooking. Shall we go?”