by Ward Wagher
“What about the Trans-Jordan?” Ben Gurion asked. “There are many of our people who consider that a part of the historic land.”
“Do you think you can take that land? And hold it?”
“I do not.”
“Take your defensible borders, Dr. Ben Gurion. You still are going to have to deal with the people who live in the land and are not sympathetic to you.”
“And some of our people are already driving them out of the land.” He shook his head. “That would make us no better than...” He hesitated.
“Those Nazi swine?” Skorzeny filled in, helpfully.
“Please do not put words in my mouth, Otto. Life is difficult enough without making more enemies.”
“There are nations who will want to be your friends,” Skorzeny said. “Germany, for one, and Italy. I think the United States will want to be a partner as well. But, always remember, first of all, you must be able to defend your own interests. And those interests will not always coincide with even your friends.”
“You amaze me. You are wasted as a security guard.”
“I also plan to help you establish your armed forces,” Skorzeny replied dryly.
“You know what I meant. I must think on these things.”
“Do not think too long. What was the Roman saying, carpe diem?”
Now the little man snorted. “Seize the day. Indeed! The military committee will meet this afternoon. I would ask that you sit in on that meeting. It will be tumultuous. There are numerous Mapam members on the committee. I do not trust them.”
“The Mapam are Stalinists?” Skorzeny asked.
“They are Communists. Perhaps Stalinist is too strong a term. I personally believe Stalin is as bad as Hitler was, but they do not think so.”
“Who will control the government, then?”
“We will form a coalition with my Mapai party and others. At the moment I have a certain influence.”
“Forgive me for interfering in your affairs, but you must move as quickly as possible.”
Ben Gurion smiled at his guard. “I did ask you for advice, as you might recall. I will consider it. Seriously. Thank you. Now I must move on to other tasks.”
Skorzeny left the chair and took his position along the wall, where he could observe the entire room. He was now the guardian rather than advisor. His opinion of David Ben Gurion was such that he considered himself a guardian of the Judaean state.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
August 10, 1942; 2 PM
Governing Council Room
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
“I believe the Foreign Minister has the first item on the agenda, today,” Willem Kirche said.
Those sitting around the table turned to look at Ribbentrop. He smiled slightly.
“I have some good news, for a change,” he said.
There were a few chuckles around the table. Goering scowled. Reinhard Gehlen, his first time at the table, looked frightened.
“The Jews declared their statehood yesterday,” Ribbentrop continued. “They are now the nation of Judaea. David Ben Gurion is the first prime minister.”
Schloss nodded. “Not entirely unexpected, other than it was later than I thought it would be.”
“My source there commented that their sessions sounded like a fight in a chicken house,” Rainer said.
“That makes sense,” Schloss said. “There have got to be immigrants from a dozen different countries in Palestine by now. I suppose it is remarkable they managed to put something together at all.”
“Do you have instructions for our reaction, Herr Reich Chancellor?” Ribbentrop asked.
“We extend diplomatic recognition immediately,” Schloss ordered. I want a congratulatory message drafted and it needs to go out today. We need to get busy and select an ambassador.”
“I received a message from my contact in Tel Aviv,” Rainer volunteered. “He suggests that the Judaeans will need all kinds of weapons as soon as we can help them out.”
“Did he specify anything?” Goering asked.
“He suggested a couple squadrons of pursuit planes, some artillery, machine guns, and tanks.”
“Tanks?” Peter Schreiber asked. “Isn’t that raising the ante?”
“I think the Iraqis and the Jordanians have a couple hundred tanks between them?” Goering commented.
Schloss looked at Goering. “What do you think, Hermann? Could we supply them from the Afrika Corps?”
“That is all first line equipment, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“We have agreed the Bf109 is approaching obsolescence. You have, what, nearly one-hundred of the Me262 by now. Let’s send them one hundred of the Bf109s. They can fly in from Egypt, can they not?”
Goering frowned. “I suppose. There is no immediate threat to our forces in Africa.”
“Should we send them two-hundred tanks?”
“I don’t know, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Goering shook his head. “I think maybe one-hundred would be ample. And, I can select some artillery.”
“How would we get the tanks to Judaea?” Schloss asked.
“I would think the fastest way would be by ground. There will be some breakdowns, but we could get the crews rolling within a couple of days.”
“That quickly?” Schreiber asked?
“Since we stood down after the English surrendered, the armies there have been maintaining equipment and training,” Goering said. “I wanted to bring them home, but we did not have the sealift for the equipment.”
“It’s time we were developing new armor, anyway,” Schloss said.
“The Tiger goes into production this fall, or next spring, depending upon development,” Goering said.
“Remind me to talk to you about that,” Schloss commented.
“You have ideas, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
Schloss grinned at the large man. “Perhaps.”
Goering laughed and leaned back in his chair. The chair, however, complained with a loud creak. “I don’t know how you do it. I look forward to your thoughts.”
“Very well,” Schloss said. “You will get our statement of recognition ready, Joachim?”
Ribbentrop nodded. “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. I will get the draft to you as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thank you. Next item, Willem?”
“The French tribute payment.”
“They are claiming they cannot pay it,” Goering stated.
Schloss nodded. “Correct.”
“We should have our troops seize it, then,” Goering commented. “We should not allow the French to be full of themselves.”
Schloss looked around the table. “Thoughts, anyone?”
“Are you suggesting we allow them to avoid payment?” Goering demanded.
“I merely asked for thoughts, Hermann. Do you have a problem with that?”
“It sounds like a prelude to letting them go. I do not like it!”
“Are they truly struggling?” Rainer asked.
“They are supplying a lot of manufactured goods,” Ribbentrop said. “Sooner or later they will run out of cash.”
“Sooner or later we are going to have to normalize our relationship with the French,” Schreiber said. “Sooner or later they are going to violently object to rape.”
“It’s no more than what they deserve,” Goering yelled. “Now is not the time to remove our boot from their neck.”
“Okay, then, when?” Schloss interrupted.
“When what?” Goering asked.
“When do we remove our boot from their neck?”
“France is now the property of the Reich. We own it. We can do as we please.”
“Sooner or later they will revolt,” Ribbentrop said. “And if we keep up the repression, it will be bloody.”
“What do you know, you glorified money-lender?” Goering shouted.
Schloss knocked on the table with his knuckle. “Softly, meine Herren. I do not object to the debate around this table. We wil
l not, however, get personal. Is that understood?” He stared at Goering.
“Oh, very well,” Goering muttered.
“Herr Gehlen,” Schloss said. “We haven’t allowed you to speak during the meeting. Do you have anything you would like to contribute?”
“I am perhaps out of my league, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“Nonsense. I encourage spirited debate in these meetings. The penalty for speaking your mind is that you may be assigned some unpleasant task.”
“Should I take that as a warning?” Gehlen had a slight grin.
Schloss chuckled. He picked his pencil and pointed it at the new head of the Abwehr. “I do warn against lèse-majesté. Just ask Peter.”
“Ha!” Peter rejoined. “I often have to deflate the Reich Chancellor’s sense of self-importance. Do not worry about it.”
Gehlen cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Our conquered provinces are becoming a bit restive. It helped last year when we eased up a bit on them. Might I suggest that we send a delegation to Vichy and negotiate, say, an imperial tribute or tax? Then we normalize our commerce with them. The business owners will be happy to see a return of their profits. They will not see the money coming from Vichy. They will worry about their taxes to the French government. They will blame their own government for that.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Ribbentrop said. “We should have thought of that, ourselves.”
“It would also get a lot of our SS officers away from the trough,” Rainer commented. “They will not like that, at all. However, that would not break my heart. There is currently too much corruption in our occupation of France.”
Schloss tapped his pencil eraser on the tabletop as he thought. “Joachim, can you and Rainer get together on this and come up with a recommendation? And, I think you should include Reinhard and Hermann.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Very well, Willem. Next item?”
§ § §
August 10, 1942; 9 PM
Restaurant Glockenspiel
Berlin, Germany
“I guess the big news of the day is Judaea,” Misty Simpson said, as she looked across the table at Karl Rainer.
“Indeed. Not unexpected, but it happened later than we expected.”
She took a sip of her wine, careful as always, not to drink too much. This was another upscale restaurant, and it was clear the owners took their work seriously. The staff was unobtrusive but also attentive to the needs of the patrons. When Karl raised a finger to ask for a refill, the waiter was instantly at the table.
“So, is Germany going to recognize Judaea? Of course, you are.”
He smiled. “We will probably announce it tomorrow. The Reich Chancellor wanted it to happen today, but, that seemed to be a bit much for our bureaucrats to handle.”
“What? The ever-efficient Germans could get that done in one day?” She grinned to rob her mocking of the sting.
“Please, Misty. The difficult we can accomplish immediately. The impossible takes a bit longer.”
“Was there resistance to the decision?”
He recognized when she was on the trail of information and decided this was something he could safely give her to pass along to Herr Donovan of the American OSS.
“Not within the leadership of the government, of course. Some of the holdover old-guard people will resent it. But, they have learned to keep their opinions to themselves.”
“Would they be arrested, otherwise?” she asked.
“No. We are making efforts to allow the people to speak freely. Herr Schloss and I think that is important. However, some of the more outspoken people have discovered their remarks are not appreciated.”
“So, the Judaea project is popular?”
“Not in the sense of bringing people into the streets in excitement. It is more the sense that this is something we must do. It brings me hope that the common man in the Reich is really quite a decent person.”
“Was there some question in your mind?”
He took a breath and then sipped at his wine. “You know, of course, that many of the Nazis were swine. Reinhard Heydrich had been developing a plan to murder all the Jews we could get our hands on. This was at the direct orders of Himmler and the approval of Hitler. They were very evil people.”
“And, they are gone,” she commented.
“Not all of them. The Reich Chancellor and I hope to have the nation settled enough so that in another year, or two at most, we can begin arresting people for some of the more egregious crimes against the Jews.”
As she considered what Rainer told her, and decided this would be one of the more interesting contact reports she would send to Washington. The Reichsprotektor was unguarded in his speech this evening.
“What will be the reaction to something like that?” she asked.
“We would like it to be shock and outrage,” he replied. “It will take some time to lay the groundwork. If we attempted this today, we would probably fracture the government, not to mention shattering the national unity.”
“That sounds very...”
“I prefer the word pragmatic. We must do this because it is the right thing to do. We must manage it correctly, or it will be for naught.”
The waiter slid their orders on to the table. Rainer glanced over it and nodded to the waiter. After a short bow, he left them alone again.
“This looks very good,” she commented. “How do you find these places?”
“I am not married, of course. As a consequence, I probably eat out more than I should.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I ask around the office for places people have had memorable meals – in the good sense.”
“Of course,” she responded with a giggle. “Would anyone dare to give the Reichsprotektor a bad meal?”
“At one time, I was an assistant to the Parteileiter. Something of an errand boy, as you Americans would define the term. I reveled in my anonymity. I learned about the places I would not visit again. There are quite a few very good restaurants in Berlin. There are also too many places I would not let my dog visit.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“If I had a dog,” he corrected himself.
The conversation quieted for a bit as they both worked on their meals. Then she spoke again.
“It was suggested that I give you some advance word, Karl.”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“My government will soon announce they are upgrading the consulate to a full embassy.”
“That is very good news,” Rainer exclaimed. “We would be pleased to do the same.”
“And H. Gordon Smoke will probably achieve his lifetime dreams.”
She grinned at him in an impish way that he thought was completely devastating. He hoped she did not realize the effect she had on him.
“The ambassadorship?”
“Correct. There were rumors floating around that the president was going to give the job to Joe Kennedy, Jr. Gordie was most distraught.”
“What happened?”
“Joe was killed recently when his plane was shot down.”
“I had not heard about that. We are speaking of the son of the former ambassador to St. Jame’s, of course.”
“Yes. Joseph, Sr. rather spoiled his diplomatic career because of his many indiscretions. That is common knowledge.”
“We were aware of that,” Rainer said. “Still, it is always unfortunate to lose a son.”
“The word around Washington is that he has three other sons, and he is determined to put at least one of them in the White House since he has no hope of getting the job himself.”
“Why anyone would want a job like that, I don’t know,” Rainer commented. “I have seen what it does to Herr Schloss.”
“Are you saying Herr Schloss did not want power?” she asked. She studied him, now, to see what his reaction would be.
“I have worked for Herr Schloss for ten years. He was as driven by the lust for power as anyone, alth
ough I believe he was always a fundamentally decent man. He changed, however, after the death of his first wife. When we took over the government in December, I believe he did it because he felt he had to.”
“So, he changed?”
“I first really noticed it on the day Hitler was killed. I was with Herr Schloss at Tempelhof when the Führer’s plane crashed. He was absolutely shocked at the event, yet he swung into action immediately. It was like he had a plan for Germany ready in his mind, and this was his opportunity to put it into effect. Perhaps I am saying too much.”
“You always say precisely what you desire to say, Karl,” she laughed.
“Very well. Herr Schloss is a great man. I believe he saved Germany from ruin.”
She took a sip of her wine as she digested what she had just heard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
August 11, 1942; 2AM
Over the Baltic Sea
Group Captain Angus Herriott carefully scanned night skies as the RAF Wellington bombers flew south over the Baltic Sea. This was the largest raid the British had assembled in months, and he was nervous about the reaction of the Germans. The formation had flown over Copenhagen without German fighters molesting them, and he hoped the surprise would hold.
By flying up and over the Danish peninsula, and then down along the Swedish coast, Air Marshall Viscount Portal had designed the raid to come from an unexpected direction. It would push the heavily laden bombers to the limit of their range, but it might also prevent the Germans from detecting the planes on radar.
Taking a page from German tactics, Herriott now led the aircraft down to a very low level. At two hundred feet over the water, they would be high enough to avoid clipping the masts of any ships they encountered, but low enough to avoid detection until it was too late.
“Captain, Navigator,” the intercom crackled.
Herriott pressed the button to activate his microphone. “Go ahead, Nav.”
“Bring the flight left five degrees. I make us about five minutes out.”
“Roger, Nav.”
Herriott peered through the perspex. It was a moonless night, and the starlight helped little. Out ahead, he thought he might be seeing the muddy darkness of landfall, but again, it could have been his imagination.
