by Ward Wagher
“Yes. That rascal Kirche laid it on my desk and did not tell me what was in it. I nearly had a stroke.”
“But, this is what we wanted, Hennie.”
“Yes, it is. The question now is whether we trust Churchill?”
“Of course, we don’t,” Peter replied. “Of all our current and possible foes, he is the wiliest. I am sure he is playing this for public opinion in England and particularly in the Parliament. It will not hurt him with the Americans, either. When he puts his arm around your shoulder in a friendly hug, my friend, watch out for the dagger in his other hand.”
“That is very true,” Schloss said. “I asked Willem to set up a general meeting for the morning. Everybody can think about this overnight and we can decide how to answer.”
“It’s kind of surprising,” Peter said. “He agreed to meet us in Lisbon and asked the Americans to send Truman over again.”
“Truman and I got along,” Schloss mused. “I think I would be glad to see him again. Ribbentrop informs me that the Americans are dragging their feet on our request to buy the B-17 bombers from them.”
“I don’t think we’ll see those bombers here, Hennie.”
“Be that as it may, I will want Truman to tell me to my face why not.”
“He very likely will,” Schreiber laughed. “He is a very direct man.”
“I can deal with that.”
“And you likely will have to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
August 21, 1942; 2 PM
Camp Nathan
Beersheva, Israel
Moshe Dayan stood in the baking sun and watched as twenty-five Panzer IV tanks rolled into the camp and lined up in a neat rank. He had never seen so many tanks at one time and was impressed. Behind the tanks, a column of trucks entered the camp and swung to the right of the tank formation. A Horch staff car swung around the left of the column and rolled to a stop where Dayan stood. A German general bounded out of the car and quickly walked over to Dayan.
He gave a crisp salute. “I am General Erwin Rommel.”
Dayan returned the salute. “Moshe Dayan. I command the base here. We are a bit early in the nation-building process, so I do not really have a rank.”
“Nevertheless, I have been directed to deliver one-hundred tanks along with ammunition, and spare parts. I also brought officers, who will provide training to your people.”
Dayan looked in wonder at the mass of military equipment that had shown up on his base. “Your people have honored the Judaeans with your generosity. I am almost speechless. But, thank you.”
“We are pleased to bring this to you,” Rommel said. “However, it has been a long trip. The Panzer crews are weary.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. The barracks over there,” he pointed, “will accommodate about two-hundred people. Next to it is the Mess. On the other side is the… latrines and showers. We are prepared to feed everyone, and make sure they are comfortable.”
“Several of the officers have asked if the men will be able to visit the town,” Rommel continued.
Dayan raised an eyebrow. “They are certainly welcome to visit, although there is not much to see. If you like we could arrange buses to take them to Tel Aviv.”
“We don’t want to wear out our welcome,” Rommel said with a smile.
“We are the ones who are indebted,” Dayan responded. “However, you would like to arrange the training as well as the liberty parties, we will be glad to cooperate.”
Several officers of the Judaean Defense Force, or JDF, began introducing themselves to the Wehrmacht officers and directed them to the barracks. Dayan and Rommel watched them as they conversed, and then began walking towards another building where Dayan kept his office.
“I had thought that with your Sabbath beginning at sundown today, we should wait to release the Teutonic hordes for a couple of days.”
Dayan stopped and looked at the German officer. “That is very respectful. However, we are building what you might call a secular state. We have people who are observant. Others, not so much. We have Moslems in the land who worship on Friday. The orthodox Jews observe Saturday for the Sabbath; the Christians, Sunday. The only people anyone gets irate about are the heathen who keep their shops open seven days per week.”
Rommel laughed. “I would have never considered that. Most interesting, Commander.”
If you would like to give your people some downtime, that might be a good idea. However, I would suggest they go in groups of four or five. Some of our Palestinian Arabs watch for singletons in the street and view that as an opportunity. We would be unhappy if one of your good Germans was discovered with a knife in his back.”
“Oh, indeed,” Rommel said. “Although, these men are veterans of the North Africa campaign. An attacker might suddenly find himself with his hands full.”
“One would hope,” Dayan said as they continued to walk. “We are going to my office. We have prepared quarters for you, Sir. Unfortunately, we have not been able to provide separate barracks for the officers. We haven’t developed our armed forces to that extent as yet.”
“I am sure the men will appreciate the barracks. They will be a vast improvement over tents.”
“Do you need lunch? I would like to begin discussing the training regimen.”
“I ate a sandwich along the road,” Rommel replied. He turned to the Wehrmacht major that accompanied him. “This is Major Hess, my adjutant. Major, would you ask the training officer to join us?”
“At once, Herr General.” The major clicked his heels together and trotted off.
“You seem very well prepared, General,” Dayan commented. “It must have been a long trip.”
“We have been on the road since early Tuesday. It has been several months since Montgomery surrendered. I have worked to make sure the maintenance cycles on the equipment are up to date. I suspected we would be providing aid of some kind to the Jews… er, the Judaeans. Forgive me.”
“No apologies necessary, Sir. Everyone is still adjusting to the new situation.”
“Thank you.” Rommel thought briefly and then continued. “So, I instructed my training officer to prepare a plan for bringing the Judaean Army up to speed on the Panzers. You are aware, of course, we are also moving some aircraft to Judaea, as well.”
“I had heard that,” Dayan said. “And we are overjoyed.”
The Judaean commander stopped to gaze at the Panzers lined up on the parade ground. “Some of the tanks look new.”
“Some of them are new. The Reichsmarshall instructed us to bring the best of what we had.”
“That is very generous.”
“Let me be honest about that,” Rommel said. “You are getting good equipment, but it is becoming obsolescent. Over time, we will begin withdrawing the Panzer IV tanks from front-line service. Our intelligence indicates they would not stand up to the newest Russian tanks. However, they should be as good or better than anything your enemies may drag up. Same with the aircraft. We are sending some of the Bf-109 fighters. Good planes, but they are starting to show their age. Once again, they should see good service for you.”
“I understand. It is like the Gewehr 98 rifles you have given to the immigrants. A little bit outdated, but most of what we received was brand new.”
“Right,” Rommel nodded. “The Reichsmarshall told me that because of all of the jobs the Reich Chancellor has tasked the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe with, you Judaeans are going to have to be able to defend yourselves. We will not be able to come to your rescue if things get out of hand. Therefore, we consider it an obligation to arm you the best we can.”
“I think with the right weaponry, we should do fine,” Dayan commented. “The Arabs are a rabble. A very angry and motivated rabble, but so far we have been able to deal with anything that has come our way.”
“That is very good. However, do not assume they will always be that way.”
“Right. The king of the Transjordan has actually put some effort into training his
army. We have learned to treat them with respect.”
“Perhaps with your new armor and aircraft, you will be much respected.”
“One certainly hopes so.”
§ § §
August 22, 1942; 9 AM
USS Hessian
The southern Philippine Sea
The former German U-boat cruised slowly and quietly at one-hundred-fifty feet under the surface of the Philippine Sea. She was beginning the second day of the deployment.
“Contact, Mr. Rogers,” the hydrophone operator sang out.
The executive officer quickly moved over to where the operator sat.
“Talk to me.”
“Single screw, Sir. Not much cavitation. I’d guess a tanker or freighter with a heavy load. Turns for maybe eight or nine knots. Dead on zero-zero relative; six-thousand yards.”
“Dive control, bring us to sixty feet,” Rogers said. “Pass the word to go to quarters.”
“Aye, aye, Exec,” one of the chiefs said.
“Yeoman, go get the Skipper up.”
“Aye, aye, Exec.”
“Helm, steady as she goes,” Rogers said quietly. He laid a hand on the hydrophone operator’s shoulder. “Don’t fixate on the target. If there’s an escort out there, we need to know about it.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. Rogers. Other than that one big boy out there ahead of us, it’s pretty quiet today.”
Lieutenant-Commander Carper ghosted up next to Rogers. “What do we have, Jolly?”
“Freighter or tanker at six-thousand. Looks like she’s moving starboard to port, eight or nine knots. We are at sixty feet. I sent the crew to quarters.”
“Thanks, Jolly,” Carper murmured. “Let’s go take a look.”
Carper moved over to the periscope island. He nodded to the sailor controlling the hoist.
“Wide awake, Klepper?”
“Yes, Sir. The cook’s coffee does that to you, Sir.”
Carper grinned broadly at him. “What, you don’t like that good Navy coffee?”
“Sir, it keeps me awake.”
“Good answer. Let’s raise the scope. I want it just below the surface.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Scope coming up. Just below the surface.”
The polished metal shaft of the periscope rose out of the well. The eyepiece halted about two-feet off the island. Carper dropped to his knees and pulled down the handles. With his eye in the eyepiece, he duck-walked around a full circle.
“Bring me up two feet, Klepper.”
“Two feet, aye, Sir.”
Carper repeated the process and then turned the scope carefully. “Bearing mark.”
“Bearing zero-zero-two,” Klepper sang out.
“I make it five-six-zero-zero yards,” Carper said. “Confirm nine knots. It’s a tanker. Down scope.”
Rogers twisted the dials on the Is-Was to calculate the torpedo bearing, as the periscope sank into its well.
“How do we look, Jolly?”
“Range is a little long, but I think we have a good shot.”
“Let’s set it up, then,” Carper said.
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“What I want to do,” Carper remarked, “is to take one shot. One torpedo. It’s pretty quiet, and it looks like this bird is all by itself. If we miss, we’ll have another opportunity. Worst case, we can surface, and sink it with gunfire.”
Rogers looked a little doubtful.
“Problems, Number One?”
“It’s full daylight up there, Skipper,” Rogers said.
“That’s why I said worst case. I really do not want to surface the boat this morning.”
“I’m really glad to hear you say that, Sir.”
“Very well,” Carper said. “How do the fish look?”
“Torpedoes nominal in all respects, Sir.”
“Okay then, up scope.”
Once again Carper scanned the area around the tanker. “Bearing mark.”
“Bearing mark,” Klepper repeated.
“I am going to fire from tube one. Let’s get the torpedo door opened.”
“Door open on tube one, aye, Sir.”
“Down scope,” Carper ordered.
“Down scope, Aye, Sir,” Klepper repeated.
Carper looked over at Rogers, who nodded. “Fire one.”
The boat shuddered as the torpedo was expelled from the tube. Rogers looked at Carper.
“Tube one fired, Skipper.”
“Close the door.”
“Torpedo door closed, Aye,” Rogers said.
“Helm, port ninety,” Carper ordered. “Make your depth one-hundred feet.
Rogers repeated the order to the helmsman. The crew in the control room all leaned slightly as the boat heeled over in its turn.
“Make turns for ten knots.”
“Ten knots, aye, Skipper,” Rogers replied.
Klepper had clicked the button to start a stop-watch and was watching the dial. When he reached the time estimated for the torpedo to detonate, he held up one finger. He began a count-down to when the noise of the explosion to reach the boat. When he got to ten seconds, he counted down out load. At the five second mark, the hydrophone operator took off his headphones. At zero, a deep rumble shook the boat.
“I’d call that a hit, Skipper,” Rogers said.
“Take us up to periscope depth,” Carper said.
“Sixty feet, Aye,” Roger said.
“Helm turns for five knots,” Carper ordered.
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Turns for five knots.”
A few minutes later they felt the U-boat level out, and Carper went through what was now a ritual with the periscope. After the head popped out of the water, the skipper scanned around and the focused on the tanker.
“We broke its back,” he said. “Take a look, Jolly.”
Rogers slipped around Carper and grabbed the handles. He whistled. “Wow, Skipper. All that lovely oil; up in smoke.”
“Scratch one Jap,” Carper said.
“Skipper,” the hydrophone operator yelled. “High-speed screws. Bearing one-eight-zero relative.”
Rogers scrambled away from the periscope, and Carper grabbed the handles to swing it around. He looked briefly.
“Down scope! All ahead flank. Helmsman, come to two-seven-zero. Make your depth three-hundred feet.”
Carper turned to Rogers. “Crap! We weren’t paying attention.”
Through the hull of the boat, they heard a series of extended rumbles as the stricken tanker began to break up. At three-hundred feet, Carper leveled the boat out and reduced to steerage speed.
“I’m going to bet that with all the noise of the tanker breaking up, he will lose us in the chaos.”
The depth charges began to explode.
“Then again,” Carper said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
August 23, 1942; 9 PM
Hermann Blakesee residence
6 Hunsrückstrasse, Pankow
Berlin, Germany
“Isn’t it a little dangerous for us to meet?” Joseph Kranz asked. “You are not exactly in a good odor with the government.”
“There is a certain amount of risk to everything I do,” Wilhelm Canaris replied. “However, Hermann is not really visible to Rainer, and I have worked to keep him that way. It makes his residence a useful safe house.”
The host of the meeting, Hermann Blakesee, nodded. “As long as you are careful in traveling here, we should be relatively safe.”
Blakesee was a Luftwaffe captain and worked in the Reich Air Ministry. The portly little man and Canaris had grown up together as friends, and Blakesee had been an information source for Canaris in the air ministry for years. As far as anyone could find out, Blakesee’s dossier was clean.
“I still think it is very dangerous for all of us to meet,” Theodor Morell said. “Rainer is not to be trifled with. I think he is more dangerous than Himmler was, simply because he doesn’t have an ideology.”
“But he has an agenda,” Canaris replied. “
He will ruthlessly do anything necessary to advance Heinrich Schloss. Or perhaps we could describe him as the Alter-Schloss.”
“That is precisely my point. Our goal is to rescue the Reich from that impostor. We could all be hanging by our thumbs in the basement of the SS headquarters.”
Canaris decided that the whiny sound of Morell’s voice was annoying. “What we are doing will be considered treason in anyone’s book. That makes it ipso facto dangerous. However, if we do not sit down and document the inconsistencies in Schloss's life, we will never get anywhere.”
Karl Brandt stood next to the fireplace and set his coffee cup on the mantel. Blakesee immediately stood up and walked over to Brandt. He picked up the cup and slid a doily under it.
“Please, Herr Doctor, the cups leave rings on the wood.”
Brandt raised an eyebrow at the fussy little man. “I apologize, Hermann. I did not realize.”
“No harm done, I suppose,” Blakesee sniffed. He turned and waddled back to his chair.
Canaris cleared his throat. “The reason for this meeting is that I would like us to pool our knowledge on Herr Schloss and how he came to slip into his position. If we are going to drive him from office, and then sustain the changes, we must have a lot of convincing evidence. He is popular with the people, and so we must find a way to strike horror in them.”
“I am convinced he came from another world,” Kranz stated. “He magically replaced the other Schloss, and his mission is to destroy the Nazis.”
“What?” Canaris raised his voice. “Don’t talk nonsense! This is going to be difficult enough without everyone thinking we don’t have all the cups in our cabinet.”
“Please,” Kranz protested, “it is the only possible explanation. “If he were an impostor from England or some such, the people close to him would have immediately recognized that they were dealing with someone different. It is impossible to disguise one’s self that well.”
Canaris rolled his eyes, even though he tried not to do so. “Listen, Theodor, if it came down to some kind of being from another planet or a careful disguise from the English, you know where I would have to vote.”
