Impossible Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  H. Gordon Smoke, the Ambassador from the United States to Germany watched the foreign ministers walk out of the conference room and audibly sniffed.

  “What’s the matter, Gordie, mad because you didn’t get invited to the party?” Misty Simpson asked.

  “Not at all, Old Girl. I just resent all of the work they have left us.”

  “Well, you know what they say, Gordie? No pain, no gain. We need to get busy. We have to get a statement to the Berlin papers tonight, so it can hit the morning editions.”

  Smoke groaned. “No consideration for the little people.”

  “Why Gordie,” she commented, “I have never heard you describe yourself as one of the little people.”

  “Well, Hull is treating me like one of the servants,” he grumbled.

  She laughed. “Now you see how the rest of us in the embassy feel.”

  “Oh, get stuffed,” he snapped as he turned back to collect their papers from the conference table. The support staff from the nations represented already carefully picked up their materials from the table. Things were definitely more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the conference.

  “Smoke, do you think the peace will hold?” she asked as she began to help him sort the papers.

  He glanced over at her. “Hard to say. The Wogs over here have managed to fight a major war about every twenty-five to fifty years. There is no reason to believe it will be any different this time. Our goal is to stop them from killing each other long enough for us to deal with the Japs. After that is out of the way, they can do whatever they want, for all I care. One thing’s for sure; they won’t stop hating each other.”

  “That’s really sad,” she said.

  “It is what it is. Maybe if Schloss manages to keep Germany and the occupied countries unified over the next forty or fifty years, they can bust the cycle. I would be happy if they managed that.”

  “At what cost, though?” she asked.

  He stopped shuffling paper and turned to look at her. “We are fortunate in the United States, you know. We have an enormous amount of personal liberty, and we have a responsive government. That is quite rare in history. We have it, the Brits have it, and that’s about it. Most of the rest of the world lives under one form of repression or another.”

  He thought a bit and then continued. “The current German leadership is fairly enlightened. They were smart enough to know they would not win in the long run. Schloss saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of Germans. And, I personally think he saved the lives of millions of Jews. If we stop the killing and stop the expansionist policies, I say we declare victory and go home.”

  She looked at him in wonder. “Smoke, that is the longest speech I’ve heard from you that actually made sense. You are obviously smarter than you act. How come you are such an ass?”

  He decided he was getting respect from her since she was now calling him as he desired. He was not sure how to respond. “Do you realize, Misty, that you bring out the worst in people? Your compliments are like getting hit with a baseball bat.”

  “But you haven’t answered my question,” she persisted.

  He turned and started fussing with the papers again. “We have work to do here.”

  She watched him for a few moments and then began sorting the papers as well. She just saw a side of H. Gordon Smoke that she had not realized existed. She was now intensely curious about the insufferable little man. She still did not like him, but she realized he had more going on inside his head than the endless loop of a toy train.

  § § §

  September 30, 1942

  The west bank of the Jordan River

  Judaea

  The Central Institute for Coordination or the Judaean Intelligence Service was already competent, Otto Skorzeny thought. The CIC paid careful attention to the comings and goings of the Palestinians from the land, but only tried to stop the troublemakers. They did monitor the borders, however. When a Palestinian family showed up at the Jericho crossing, heading east, with their possessions tied to the roof of their car, the Judaeans tried very hard to talk the family into returning to their home in Judaea. Palestinians were fleeing the country faster than the government could bring in Jewish immigrants to replace them. It had an unfavorable impact on the economy.

  Another aspect of the problem was that many of the new Jewish immigrants had been tossed out of their homes and lands, not having been given a choice about coming to the Promised Land. This led to the development of a sense of obligation to avoid subjecting another people to the same treatment. Not every Judaean citizen accepted this, but David Ben Gurion did. He had promulgated this as an official policy of the young nation, and the representatives of the young nation scrupulously followed the policy.

  Unfortunately, many of the Palestinians had suffered at the hands of less conscientious Jews. Others simply did not want to live under a Jewish government. Despite Ben Gurion’s best efforts, the interactions between the two peoples were a fertile ground to nurse grudges and hatreds that were thousands of years old. And, the JIS paid attention to the radicalized. This was why Otto Skorzeny and his band of veteran warriors lay hidden in the rocks and underbrush, below Jericho and along the western banks of the Jordan River.

  Skorzeny slipped his Carl Zeiss binoculars from the case and scanned the Jordan river in front of the group. The CIC had received information that a group of radicalized Palestinians was going to cross back over the Jordan into Judaea with the goal of slipping into Jewish homes during the night and murdering as many as possible. Skorzeny was concerned because the some of the Arab groups were rapidly improving their tactics and skills. As yet, Judaea was a poor country and unable to patrol the borders as needed.

  He tapped the man next to him on the shoulder. “Get the people ready, Mort.”

  “Right, Rav Otto.”

  Skorzeny continued to watch the two dozen terrorists picking their way across the shallows of the Jordan.

  “Ready, Rav Ott,” Mort whispered.

  “I want them close,” Skorzeny whispered back. “We want no one returning to their camp.”

  He continued to watch as the group approached. They were coming in dumb, he thought. Unfortunately, it was the stupid ones who got themselves killed. The smarter ones survived and used the experience to aid their cunning. He shook his head in the darkness. The Judaeans were outnumbered in this war. They had to rely upon their own cunning, resourcefulness and sheer bloody-mindedness to carry through. He believed the Jews in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv had no idea of how close the margin between victory and defeat was for them.

  Defeat would not something the Judaeans would taste if Otto Skorzeny had anything to do with it. He continued to study the oncoming group, and periodically scanned the rest of the area. Something raised the hair on the back of his neck and he did not know what it was. There was something not right. He shrugged. They had a target, and it was imperative to eliminate the target. He stood up and reached for the silver SS whistle on the chain around his neck. He looked around to make sure everyone was in place and then blew a single sharp blast on the whistle.

  His team of about fifty opened fire and poured a withering barrage over the crossing. The Palestinians began falling with screams. Most had no chance to unlimber their rifles to return fire. Skorzeny decided things might go well after all, and then saw the sparkling of hundreds of guns firing from the other side of the Jordan. It took him a moment to recognize the situation and began to drop behind cover when something hit him in the shoulder. He felt himself flying backward into the inky darkness of the night and deeper black of the soul.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  November 1, 1942; 7 AM

  Reich Chancellor’s Apartments

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin Germany

  Heinrich Schloss paused in mid-sip of his coffee as the church bells across the city began ringing. Gisela looked up in surprise as well.

  “The news is out,” Schloss said.

  Rainer
had called him at 6 AM to tell him that the newspapers had hit the streets with their extras with the bold headlines. A treaty was concluded, and the war was over.

  “I never thought we would see this day, Hennie,” she said. “This is a wonderful day.”

  “I must confess I find it hard to believe we actually accomplished what we set out to do,” he said. “It feels like a great weight has been lifted from me.”

  She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I am so happy, Darling.”

  “I am happy, too.”

  Frau Marsden slipped into the room to refill their coffee cups. “The children are still sleeping, Herr Schloss. Did you want them awakened?”

  “Let them sleep. If they have not awakened, then they likely need the rest.”

  The old woman cocked her head as the church bells continued their peeling. “You may mark this as a major achievement, Herr Schloss. You have stopped the war in Europe.”

  “And now we have time to prepare for the next one,” Schloss replied.

  “What do you mean?” Gisela asked.

  “The Russian economy is teetering, and Stalin has lost most of his support in the party. I suppose even the communists get tired of the killing. I worry that he may try something against us as a way to whip up support from the Russian people.”

  “Surely Russia would not try to attack,” his wife stated. “It would be suicidal for them.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Frau Marsden rumbled. “People go to war for strange reasons. Herr Stalin is not even sane.”

  “That is not very reassuring, Frau Marsden,” Schloss said.

  “It was not intended to do so. But I am confident that when the time comes, you will know what to do.”

  “When the time comes, Frau Marsden?” Schloss asked sharply. “What time is that?”

  “We live in a world of unexpected events,” she said. “You know this better than most. You also have great skill in dealing with these things. You will make Germany great.”

  She finished pouring the coffee and rumbled out of the room. Schloss was sure he could feel the reinforced concrete floor shiver whenever the old woman walked through. She had a way of talking elliptically in a way that reminded of him where he had really come from.

  “Whatever was she talking about, Hennie?” Gisela asked.

  “Oh, Frau Marsden likes to remind me of things to worry about. It is unnecessary, of course. I am well aware of the danger that faces us in the east. On the other hand, now that I think of it, I need to see where Hermann is at on reorganizing the OKW. He was getting a lot of resistance from the Army, and I may need to step in with a large stick.”

  “There is always something,” she commented.

  “I think I am going to have to get Rennie to look for ways to augment my staff. I am so busy with the routine items of business, I cannot plan ahead. We really need to begin developing the next generation of leaders. The old Nazis were so paranoid that they automatically distrusted any subordinate that was actually competent.”

  “They were fools.”

  “Fools and shortsighted. For all his talk about a thousand-year Reich, I don’t think Hitler really had any idea of how to go about it. For what he was trying to achieve, the Hitler Youth was a good idea. But, he never developed the ideas further.”

  “Don’t the new officers get training?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes. But the training is just another rendition of How to be a Good Prussian. We need to teach them how to be good Germans. And also teach the army to beat the holy hell out anybody that decides to take a run at us. Otto Skorzeny appears to have the right idea and is using it to good effect with the Judaeans. I’m thinking seriously about bringing him home to teach our military.”

  “Will the Judaeans resent that?” Gisela asked.

  “They know who butters their bread. Actually, the right thing to do would be for Skorzeny to get their military fully trained and blooded. We could then bring some Judaean officers in to train our people.”

  Gisela laughed. “How would they respond to that, Hennie?”

  “Not well,” he admitted. “But it would be fun to watch. And now, my Dear, I need to get downstairs to my office. I am addressing the nation at noon, and I have a speech to prepare.”

  “Did you get Willem to write a draft of your speech?” she asked.

  “Willem doesn’t write speeches. He lectures. No, Schatzi, the draft will be coming out of Peter’s propaganda shop. He has a couple of people who have studied the way I speak and can write speeches that sound exactly as though I wrote them. It’s amazing, really.”

  A sleepy looking little girl wandered into the dining room carrying a stuffed bear.

  “The bells woke me up, Poppa.”

  He picked Anna-Lisa up and plopped her in his lap. She cuddled into him and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  “The bells are chiming because of the good news, Liebchen. The war is over. No more shooting.”

  “That’s good Poppa.” She leaned back and closed her eyes as she sucked industriously on her thumb.

  He looked over at Gisela and smiled. “This is who we are making Germany for. It’s their future.”

  “And, their future just got a lot brighter,” she said. “Look at how she trusts you, Hennie. That is how we want the people to be.”

  “I want the people of Germany to be secure and to trust me. I also want them to start new businesses and create jobs. We will be demobilizing troops from the armed forces. If we have to put them on the dole, we will radicalize them. Then we will have no end of trouble.”

  Frau Marsden made her way back into the room. She walked over, picked up Anna-Lisa, and put the child on her shoulder. Anna-Lisa snuggled into the crook of her neck.

  “Come child. Let me find you some breakfast. Your Poppa needs to get to the office.”

  Schloss smiled at his wife. “I believe I have been dismissed.”

  “As if you listen to anything I tell you,” the old woman sniffed as she walked out of the dining room carrying the little girl.

  “You really need to quit baiting her,” Gisela said.

  “Yes, I suppose so. It has become a little game that she and I play. The only problem is that she always wins.”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  § § §

  November 1, 1942; 11 AM

  Buckingham Palace

  London, England, UK

  The ringing of church bells throughout London brought the citizens into the streets. No longer constrained to keep a wary eye for close access to the underground in case of bombings, there was great cheer. The Battle of Britain was something everyone wanted to become a distant memory. The Britons had watched the progress of the negotiations with hope and interest. Anthony Eden had stepped off the airliner earlier in the morning carrying the signed treaty.

  Some skepticism remained in several quarters. Memories of Chamberlain’s return from Munich with Peace in Our Time were not forgotten. Several news organizations were quietly digging into the background of the unfortunate events in Lisbon. Although it was public knowledge that the malefactors were British, who had sent them in was not. And, the news reporters had been stymied by the Official Secrets Act, which Attlee had used to clamp a cordon of security around the entire investigation.

  Many also noticed and wondered about the American accents that characterized many of the investigators in the whole affair. Obviously, since it was the American president who had perished in Lisbon, it was logical to assume they would be digging for answers. But the blanket of silence out of Whitehall concerning the event was instructive. What was going on?

  But, the treaty announcement temporarily left those other concerns in abeyance. Queen Margaret was present on her balcony to wave at well-wishers. The last time she had made this appearance was during her accession to the throne, and this event was much more joyous.

  As she waved, she privately grieved for a sister and father who were not with her. She knew she should hate the slavering
Huns who had murdered her family. But, an entire nation, a key part of the empire, was in the thrall of the Japanese. She had put aside her hurt and bitterness to pursue the liberation of Australia and New Zealand.

  Queen Margaret could not deny her people here in England. During this day of great joy, the people turned out to see their queen. With a beloved king torn from them, and the expected heir to the crown also dead, they had turned their love upon an accidental queen. And, she had no choice but to return it.

  Following the script, Clement Attlee stepped out on to the balcony to cheers from the crowd. He lifted his hat and waved to the throngs, then turned and bowed to the queen. The prime minister enjoyed the theater as much as anyone, but also knew that this treaty, for better or worse, was tied to him and to the queen. The next several years would prove to be interesting for everyone involved. It remained for England to come to terms with America over the death of their president. This frightened him. The U.S. and the U.K were now allied against the Japanese Empire, and that relationship had to be preserved at all costs.

  After an hour, they returned to the Queen's sitting room for the afternoon tea.

  “Thank you for being here today, Prime Minister,” Margaret said.

  “I could hardly refuse an invitation from the queen,” Attlee protested. “Besides this is a great day.”

  “I very much hope it is,” she replied darkly.

  “You seemed so sure the Germans would honor their side of the treaty, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh, I am not worried about the Germans,” she replied. “But, things are at a delicate juncture with the Americans. Tell me they are not.”

  “No,” he shook his head, “I cannot say that. I very much fear the team was sent out on the direct orders of the Prime Minister. If that turns out to be correct, things will become dicey, indeed.”

  “And what will we do about it, then?”

  “Your Majesty, this has me at a complete loss. I do not know what we would do. I have the staff working on various plans, depending upon what we find. I do find it hard to believe Winston would have done something like that.”