Impossible Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “Oh, come on, Clement,” she chided. “I won’t gainsay Churchill’s patriotism. But he was capable of some enormous errors in judgment. And much of the cabinet did little to rein him in. I think we should give it a couple of weeks and then you can call an election.”

  “That soon?” he asked.

  She laughed at his surprise. “I think you will have plenty of time to solidify your position. And Labor needs to win this election. The Tories should spend some time in the wilderness to come to their senses.”

  “And you will support a Labor government?” he asked.

  “I am not going anywhere, Prime Minister,” Margaret stated. “The politicians have made a complete hash of things, and I intend to sweep a wide broom.”

  “Are you sure that is wise, Your Majesty?”

  “No, I am not. Events in Lisbon proved without a doubt that a firm hand was required. I am likely to pay for this with a blackened reputation at the very least. Prime Minister, I am betting the House of Windsor and even the Crown that this is a necessary action to preserve the Kingdom. Are you with me, Clement?”

  Clement Attlee had known where this was going for weeks. After much thought, he had decided what his answer would be. For she was sure to have asked it.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I am with you on this. I recognize the risks you are running. I do not like it, but I agree with the necessity.”

  “Thank you, Clement.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  November 1, 1942; 10 AM

  The White House

  Washington, DC, USA

  “What news this morning?” President Harry Truman asked as one of the staff brought in the daily military briefing.

  “Obviously peace is breaking out in Europe,” the man said with a lopsided smile. “It’s quiet in the Pacific for the moment.”

  Truman flipped open the binder and began reading. Hull had reported that the British were beginning to reorganize their fleet in preparing for a push into the Pacific. The help would be welcome, although the Americans were concerned that with only four carriers, the British would be under gunned. Of course, that was four more carriers than the Americans had.

  “Mr. Donovan is waiting in the office, Sir,” the aide said.

  Truman glanced at his calendar. “He’s early. Go ahead and send him in. Maybe I can get ahead of the schedule for once.”

  William Donovan did not much like Truman. The Haberdasher from Missouri did not fit into Donovan’s conception of a proper custodian of the United States government. The State Department and the OSS were populated by graduates of the Ivy League. Donovan tended to share their sense of entitlement and noblesse oblige. Still, he recognized the president was no fool and acted accordingly.

  “Thank you for seeing me this morning, Mr. President, it being Sunday and all.”

  Truman shrugged. “With two dead presidents in the past year, along with a couple major wars, I have had my hands full getting a sense of the office.”

  “Well, it looks like we have taken care of one war, anyway.”

  Truman stood up. “I need another cup of coffee. Would you like something, Colonel?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. President.”

  There was something quaint, in Donovan’s thinking, about being served by the president of the United States. While the president had a reputation for sharp-tongued rudeness, he could also be very charming.

  “From the agenda,” Truman said when he had sat down again, “I can infer you wanted to discuss the situation vis a vis the British.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. The Brits have been very cooperative in allowing our people and the FBI to investigate. The problem is that no one over there is talking.”

  “I gather the Portuguese have not gotten anything further from the hit team,” Truman responded.

  “Correct. And, that is interesting. Salazar’s directed the PVDE to proceed with the trial. And it will be a capital trial.”

  “So, the Limey team are candidates for the high jump.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Salazar has indicated to us that he intends to proceed. He is not inclined towards leniency.”

  “That should go a long way towards settling down the people here, then,” Truman responded.

  “True, but you see the speculation in the papers about the British involvement. If they get the populace fired up, I’m afraid it may damage the relationship with the Brits. More than it already has been damaged.”

  Truman glanced up at Donovan. “I’m well aware of that,” he said dryly. “I had a lot of respect for Henry Wallace, but he did not do us any favors where the British were concerned.”

  “And the lack of cooperation from them on the investigation won’t help.”

  Truman drummed his fingers on the table. “And, if we come up with proof that Churchill instigated this, things will be a lot worse. On balance, they are sometimes best left buried.”

  “There is no question in my mind that Churchill authorized this,” Donovan said.

  Truman gave him an old-fashioned look. “Of course, he was behind this. Nobody with a brain would seriously believe otherwise. He was trying to take out Schloss and got Wallace by mistake. When he failed to step forward to take responsibility, my opinion of the man went down to zero.”

  “Even though it was probably better this way?”

  “I would have liked to have received a communique from Attlee or the queen telling us that Churchill had accepted responsibility for the action and retired to his country estate. All we are getting is stonewalling, Colonel Donovan, and I do not really respect the British overall for this either.”

  “They are in a bad position on this.”

  Truman laughed. “About as bad as things could be. Imagine discovering your prime minister was responsible for the death of a friendly head of state. And much as I despise them for it, I think we are going to have to help them sweep it under the rug.”

  “I would regretfully recommend that, Mr. President. I can arrange for a message to be sent to the Brits that we would not object to that course of action.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Donovan looked surprised.

  “You are suggesting that I do the same thing as those low-down skunks.”

  “Mr. President, I never would have...”

  Truman held up a hand. “I will send a hand-delivered note, eyes-only to the queen. I won’t pull any punches regarding my opinion of the lizards in their government, but dealing with the war in the Pacific demands we put this behind us.”

  “What can I do to help, Mr. President?” Donovan asked.

  “First of all, you can forget we had this conversation. I am planning to bypass State and bypass you. The message will go with a military courier. Secondly, I want to convene a high-level intelligence conference to review the war. We are very distracted by the events in Lisbon, and I don’t want the Japs feeling frisky.”

  After Donovan’s visit, Truman sat down to ponder another problem that faced him. With the death of two presidents within a year, there was a manic desire within the Congress, and probably with the American people, that he select a new vice-president. While he did not disagree with the sentiment, the decision would complicate his job. His job, as he saw it, was to continue to move the country to a war footing. Beating the Japs would be a long, hard, expensive exercise.

  Two senators comprised the short list of Vice-Presidential candidates. Alben Barkley was the Democratic Majority leader and the senior senator from Kentucky. Happy Chandler was the junior senator from Kentucky. The two men did not like each other. In fact, Chandler had run against Barkley in the primary during Barkley’s reelection campaign. But, both brought real strengths to the table.

  Barkley had been a supporter of the New Deal and had worked with Truman in the Senate. He was a superb orator and a team player.

  Chandler was a fiscal conservative, but in private conversations with Truman, they had discovered they were kindred spirits in their hatred of the racial segregation ar
ound the country and in the military.

  Truman thought that the decision might come down to which of the men would be more needed in the Senate. Both men had presidential aspirations, although Barkley’s age and health militated against that. The president pondered some more, and then took the next report off the pile on his desk with a sigh. If he had a normal job, he would be sitting with Bess and getting ready for a Sunday dinner. He shrugged to himself. At least he would see Bess at dinner. And then, probably he would return to the Oval Office for the rest of the day.

  § § §

  November 13, 1942; 6 PM

  Hallberg's Restaurant and Bakery

  Seattle, Washington USA

  “This is a very nice place,” Liz Samson said as she looked around the dining room.

  “Another one my copilot dredged up,” Lane Johnson said. “I don’t know how he does it.”

  “The dinner was very good,” she said. “You have been generous.”

  “My promotion bumped my pay a bit. It’s just about enough to pay for an extra dinner each month. And, I know who I enjoy spending it on.”

  She blushed. “Oh, Lane, I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

  “Of course, you do. Besides, this is fun. And, I may not be able to do this much in the future?”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked immediately. Then her eyes opened wide. “You’re being posted away from here? To the war zone?”

  He shook his head. “No. It looks like I’ll be posted to Germany for a while.”

  “What for? How long will you be gone?”

  “I can’t tell you the answer to the first. It’s classified. And, I don’t know how long I’ll be over there.”

  “How long have you known about this?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “And you just now decided to tell me?”

  He shook his head. “The boss just gave us clearance today to tell people we were pulling up stakes. I was likely to be leaving anyway since Boeing decided not to rebuild the plant here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not being very understanding. At least you’re not going into combat. Can you tell me what you will be doing?”

  “I can’t talk about that yet. But, it did lead me to something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Sure,” she replied.

  “This kind of rushes things, since I’m leaving the country, but I wanted to ask you to marry me.”

  “Oh, Lane.”

  “I was planning to wait a bit, but things have started happening and...”

  “Lane, I can’t.” she blurted.

  “What?”

  “Lane, I can’t marry you. You’re right, things are moving too fast. I’m sorry. I have enjoyed these times we have had together, but it’s much too soon.”

  He looked down at the table and snorted. “Well, I guess I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”

  “That’s not the case at all,” she immediately replied. “Promise me you will write?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’m not even sure what to say, right now.”

  “This has been a very nice evening,” she said. “There is no need for it to end like this.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” he said bitterly.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He stood up and peeled several bills from his money clip and tossed them on the table.

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Without another word, she followed him out of the restaurant.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  November 16, 1942; 2 PM

  Government Council Chamber

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “Very well, meine Herren,” Schloss said as he slid his chair under the table. “We have a lot to cover this afternoon. Joachim, why don’t you start?”

  “Yes, Herr Reich chancellor,” Ribbentrop said. “Speer and I are working on the plans for releasing the industrial companies from their wartime contracts. We are trying to work this in a way that minimizes dislocation of the workforce.”

  “Do you feel we could slip back into an economic panic?” Schloss asked quickly.

  “That is a concern. We have rebuilt our stocks of weapons and ammunition over the past year, so there is no incentive to keep buying armaments in the quantities we have in the past. We do have, of course, the ongoing U-boat contracts as we do also for the jet aircraft. And we are negotiating a license agreement with the Boeing company to build the B-17 bomber here. All that remains on our side is your approval, and then to select the manufacturer.”

  “What about the other side?” Schloss asked.

  “They are working on an export license with the American Commerce Department. It also awaits the President’s final approval.”

  “Very good,” Schloss commented. “I was at the launching of the Type 22 U-boat last week. I hope we can get it into series production as soon as possible. I would like to retire and scrap the oldest boats in service. That should ensure some jobs for the people.”

  “Indeed,” Goering commented. “I believe the Americans would like to buy whatever of the new build we would care to sell them. Understand, I am not really in favor of that. They did approach me about it, though. I am concerned about the Americans allowing the English to get a look at it.”

  “We have a long-range version under construction, do we not?” Gehlen asked.

  “Correct. This involved adding a ten-meter section behind the conning tower and ahead of the engineering spaces. The extra space will be mainly for bunkerage and storage. This will likely be the main export version if we decide to sell it. It has the range for use in the Pacific Ocean.”

  “We are wandering from our discussion of the economy,” Schloss commented. “Let’s agree to postpone discussion of further U-boat sales for our next meeting.”

  The men around the table nodded. Kirche made a notation on his record of the meeting. He would ensure the subject would appear on the next meeting agenda.

  “Back to the topic at hand,” Schloss continued. “By canceling the contracts, we will be putting people onto the streets, correct?”

  “Unfortunately,” Ribbentrop replied. “It may also drive some of the companies out of business.”

  “And, we have eliminated all our prison labor, correct?” Schloss asked, looking at Goering.

  “That is correct,” Goering replied. “We are not doing that anymore.”

  “Speer is looking at ideas for public works projects that would employ a lot of people,” Ribbentrop commented. “That would have an impact upon the national budget, though. And since we are going to start allowing companies in the new territories to make a profit, our costs for other military equipment will go up.”

  “I still think that is a mistake,” Goering said. Schloss decided the man was trying very hard to project a reasonable persona. “What was the point of conquering all those other lands if we could not profit from it?”

  You certainly profited from the pillage of France, in particular, Schloss thought.

  “Remember, we are getting some of that coin back through taxation,” Ribbentrop reminded. “It’s a basic principle of wealth creation to provide a motivation to the factory owners to profit from their investments. I think we will get more from this than if we simply go in and seize it.”

  “How does that align with our party socialist principles?” Goering asked.

  “A good question,” Ribbentrop replied. “None of our socialist experiments have worked particularly well. I propose we dress this up in whatever way we need to suit the appetite of the party. However, we need to recognize what works and what doesn’t.”

  “Are the labor unions becoming restive?” Schloss asked.

  “We still control the leadership of the national unions,” Ribbentrop said. “I would say that labor strife is not a problem in the short term. In the long run, it is something that will require our attention.”

  Schloss pondered the questions. And with the bor
ders now open, I wonder if the English will send labor agitators into Germany. I would if I were them.

  “Very well, let’s continue,” Schloss said.

  Ribbentrop droned on for nearly an hour. Schloss felt the tendrils of sleepiness steal over him. He looked around and noticed that Goering was almost asleep, and Rainer looked like he was struggling. He caught Ribbentrop’s eye and made a rolling motion with his hand to pick up the pace. The new commerce minister looked shocked, but then glanced around the table himself.

  “I think that should cover it, for now, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “Thank you for a good report, Joachim,” Schloss said. “Let’s take a five-minute break, meine Herren. I feel the call of nature.” And the need for some coffee if I want to avoid falling out of the chair in somnolence.

  There was general laughter as well as unstated relief around the table. Schloss wasn’t even sure he wanted to blame Ribbentrop. Economics was tough to make interesting. And he remembered students nodding off in his history lectures. In this world, meetings were the bane of his life.

  They picked the meeting back up with Goering reviewing the status of the armed forces. A disturbing amount of equipment was obsolescent and needed replacement. This was particularly true of the Luftwaffe. Most of the fighters and bombers dated from the mid-thirties and were no longer competitive. The Messerschmitt Swallow would remedy the need for fast fighter-interceptors. But flying bombers over England was rapidly growing problematic. And on the ground, German armor was becoming outclassed, even though the Wehrmacht didn’t realize it. If Germany got into a war in the east, the Russian armor would come as a nasty shock.

  In Schloss’s original world, the leadership of the armed forces had told Hitler the country wouldn’t be ready for war before 1945. Since Hitler was determined to move against the old grudges, there had been no time to build the next generation of weapons that might have won the war for them. As far as Schloss had been able to check the records, the same thing was true here.