No such luck. They had just squeezed through a section of hedgerow and onto some farmer’s field when a machine gun opened up and two of his men fell. One was clearly dead while the other grabbed his leg, then writhed and screamed as blood spurted out. Of course the Germans would be expecting a flank attack, Jack thought savagely. Of course they would have machine guns waiting to cut the attackers to pieces. Damn it. What was he thinking?
A second Sherman arrived, but this one’s commander was smarter. He drove down the other side of the road, keeping the damaged and burning U.S. vehicles between him and the Germans. Then he turned to his left, presenting his more heavily armored front, and began spraying the trees with his machine guns while the seventy-five millimeter gun chewed up the place where they thought they saw the gun flashes. Jack was dismayed that there was so little rifle fire coming from the men in the stalled column. Was he the only one who wanted to take on the Germans?
After firing a few rounds, the tank crossed the road and moved carefully towards the trees. There was no return fire. Jack gathered his remaining volunteers and, reinforced by more men and Sergeant Major Rolfe, they moved slowly towards the enemy position.
The Germans had departed, but two of their comrades lay sprawled on the ground as testimony to the fact that the fight hadn’t been totally one-sided. However, the eighty-eight and the machine guns were gone. Tracks showed where the Germans had loaded up and moved out down another dirt road. The Germans had done what they’d set out to do, a quick massacre of a helpless column at the cost of only a couple of dead krauts.
Morgan laid his weapon against a tree and tried to control the shaking that was affecting his hands. He hadn’t fired a shot. “Nice try, Captain,” said Rolfe. He offered his canteen to Morgan who gratefully accepted. “Your first battle, sir?”
“Is it that obvious?” he asked and Rolfe chuckled.
Behind them the dead and dying were being picked up while destroyed and damaged vehicles were pushed off the road. The column was moving again. Morgan wondered if this was how it was going to be all the way to the Rhine and beyond.
* * *
Hours later the column had lurched to a halt and Morgan did a quick job of setting up a security perimeter—no real fortifications, only barbed wire this time as it was understood they’d be on the move again tomorrow morning. They hadn’t reached the actual front lines, although the sound of artillery had grown sharper and they’d passed through American 155mm batteries firing at something off in the distance. Along with the one-sided fighting earlier in the day, the effect was sobering.
Morgan wasn’t surprised when Colonel Stoddard told him to report. Like Levin said, unless provoked or served incompetently, Stoddard was a fairly decent sort. A West Pointer in his mid-forties, he was short like most tankers, had thinning gray hair and eyes that pierced right through you.
Morgan reported and was told to sit down. “Captain, I just don’t know whether to congratulate you or kick you in the head. Your stunt this afternoon showed initiative and courage under fire and for that you are to be commended. However, you took half a dozen men on a senseless foray and now one is dead and another badly wounded. What do you have to say?”
Jack took a deep breath. What’s the worst Stoddard can do, he wondered, send me home? “Colonel, we were under fire and men were dying. I did what I thought was best. I hoped to distract the eighty-eight and maybe get them to withdraw. I didn’t suspect a machine gun, just like we didn’t expect the eighty-eight.”
“It was about a quarter mile away and you told your men to start shooting at it while you tried to flank it. Did you really think they’d hit anything?”
“No sir. I just hoped to confuse the Germans and give our boys something to shoot back at. Frankly, sir, I was a little disconcerted at how few of our guys actually did shoot.”
“Why didn’t you wait for the cavalry?”
“I saw the first tank come down and get killed. I didn’t want to wait for another to come and die.”
Lieutenant Colonel Whiteside came in and took a folding chair by Stoddard. “I have casualty figures, Colonel. Fifteen dead and eleven wounded, several seriously.”
Stoddard winced in pain. He might be a gruff bastard but he obviously cared for his men as much as he cared about protecting his skin. And, Morgan thought sadly, one of the dead and one of the wounded was a result of his actions. He could still see the half-track in front of his Jeep blowing up and the Sherman being destroyed. That was why there were more dead than wounded. Nobody had a chance to get out.
“We learned a lot today,” Stoddard said quietly. “First, we will have flankers out whenever possible, although the damned hedgerows hinder that. Second, we will have heavy weapons mixed in among the helpless so they can fight back. In sum, Morgan, you did well. Perfect? No. But well. You actually did something while others were hiding in the grass and crying for their mommies.”
“Colonel, I was scared shitless, too.”
“But, like the colonel said, you actually did something,” said Whiteside, “and you learned a dirty little secret today. In combat, many, many men will simply freeze and not fire their weapons.” He handed Jack a small box. “This just came for you, Captain.”
Puzzled, Morgan opened it. His jaw dropped. It was a Bronze Star. “What the hell is this for, sir?”
“Your actions on the LST,” said Whiteside. “You saved a man while the ship was blowing up, or don’t you remember? A Commander Stephens put you up for it. There was some bureaucratic disagreement as to who should give you the medal, the army or the navy since you saved a GI but were on a navy ship. It was decided the army should do it since you’re one of us. Congratulations. You’re now an official hero. “And oh yeah, you’re getting a Purple Heart as well, or had you forgotten about your shoulder and that ugly cut on your face.”
“Frankly I had, sir.”
Stoddard stood and they shook hands. “Yeah,” said Stoddard, “you’ve proven to be a pleasant surprise. Now go back and have some of Levin’s clandestine wine and tell him to bring me some, too. I need it after today.”
CHAPTER 4
VARNER ARRIVED at his Berlin apartment dirty and late for dinner. He didn’t bother to change. He sat and ate slowly and without enthusiasm. He endured their stares because Magda insisted that he needed to eat to keep up his strength. Margarete, little Magpie, gazed at him, wide-eyed. She had never seen him in a filthy uniform before. She was a bright little girl and both he and Magda loved her deeply. Although, at fourteen and with her figure ripening, perhaps she wasn’t so little anymore. Regardless, she knew when to keep still. The only question she asked was whether Hitler was dead. Rumors, she said were flying. He told her he didn’t know. He hated lying to his daughter, but he couldn’t take the chance that she might say something to a schoolmate that could get back to the damned Gestapo.
When she was done eating, Margarete kissed him on the forehead and announced that she had studying to do. Magda then informed her husband that he was filthy and it was time for him to clean up.
Varner grunted and went to the bathroom where he filled a tub with hot water, stripped, and lay down in it, letting its warmth cleanse him in more ways than one.
He toweled down and walked naked into the bedroom. He was mildly annoyed that Magda hadn’t brought any underclothing to the bathroom. His annoyance ceased when he saw her lying naked on the bed, her long blond hair undone and strewn across her pillow. He grinned wickedly. “Is it Christmas?”
She smiled and beckoned to him. “No, but you can open your present anyhow.”
They made love with an intensity that had been lacking in the last few weeks as his job had overwhelmed and exhausted him. Magda was no longer the slender student he’d married almost two decades ago, but he thought the slight plumpness she’d gained in certain areas of her body was highly desirable. He proved the point by caressing her intimately, in preparation for a second time. She moaned and sighed. “Magpie will hear us,” he said.
“I think she understands.” They caressed each other with their lips, fingers, and tongues until he again entered her and they climaxed, totally spent.
Later, they lay side by side, sweaty and sated. Varner felt it was time to bring up an unpleasant decision he’d made. “You and Magpie must leave Berlin. When the bombs were falling and I was cowering in some filthy stinking basement and trying not to shit myself, all I could think of was the two of you and what danger you were in. And when I helped pull that boy out of the rubble, I thought I would weep in despair. We have no defense against the Allied bombers, and the next raid, or the one after that, could easily kill you.”
Magda was not surprised. In fact, part of her welcomed it. She wanted to be by Ernst’s side in Berlin, but she also wanted to protect their daughter. And she was not too proud to admit that the bombings, an almost daily ritual now, terrified and horrified her. She counted it a blessing that, so far, the sirens hadn’t sounded this night.
“Now that I’m assigned to von Rundstedt’s staff, I can get authorization for you to go to your sister’s place.”
Magda’s sister Bertha and her husband Eric Muller lived in a village near Hachenburg, many miles farther west and near the Rhine. To her knowledge no bombs had fallen there, although Hachenburg itself had been hit.
“Agreed,” she said, “and there is another problem that would be solved. Do you remember Volkmar Detloff?”
“Of course. Pure Aryan from a totally Nazi family, he’s a fanatically Nazi Youth, and thinks he’s a new god even though he’s only, what? Sixteen?”
“Well, he told Margarete that if she wanted to be a good young Nazi, she should let him fuck her. For the glory of the Reich, of course.”
Varner lit a forbidden cigarette. He’d borrowed a couple at the Chancellery. “Did he actually use those words?”
“Yes, but don’t think our precious Margarete hasn’t heard them before.”
“I don’t care. Young Volkmar certainly has a way with words. A shame he is going to die violently at such a young age.”
Magda giggled. “She told me she told him she’d rather lose her virginity to a frog.”
Varner’s anger faded. He knew he would do nothing about Detloff. The boy’s father was a fairly high ranking member of the Nazi Party and the SS, and a minor aide to Himmler. “I think an immediate move to your sister’s at Hachenburg would be good. How do you think Magpie will feel about this?”
“She’ll go. She’ll miss some of her schoolmates, but she comprehends quite a lot. She even asked me too if Hitler was dead.”
“What did you tell her?” He had told Magda the truth, knowing she could and would keep the secret.
“Just like you said, I told her I didn’t know. She told me that meant he was dead. She said that if I knew he was alive, I would have said so. She’s very smart, don’t you think?”
Colonel Ernst Varner declined to respond. He was sound asleep.
* * *
Military, political, and economic were the three problems confronting Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler as he assumed control of what remained of Hitler’s empire. The political situation was somewhat stable, so that left military and economic. Albert Speer had proven himself to be as knowledgeable about the economy as anyone in the Reich and, at the tender age of forty, was Minister for Armaments and Production. If the Reich was to survive, it was imperative that Speer provide the sinews of war.
Himmler had just concluded a predictably unsatisfactory discussion with von Ribbentrop in which the very undiplomatic foreign secretary stated the obvious. The neutral nations most sympathetic to Germany—Sweden, Spain, and Switzerland—were confused. Just who was in charge in the Third Reich, was Hitler gone for good or just for a little while? Who gave Heinrich Himmler the right to appoint von Ribbentrop as a go-between, or to even think of commencing negotiations that would end the war? The Americans, British, and Russians had all previously issued statements stating that they would fight on until Germany surrendered unconditionally, which was totally unacceptable to the Nazi hierarchy. They understood fully that their heads would roll.
So what was going on, the neutrals wondered, and why did Germany think the Allies would change their stance on negotiations?
Ribbentrop had argued that an announcement regarding Hitler’s death must be made soon, almost immediately. Rumors of his demise were already swirling. Some of the people who had seen his broken body couldn’t resist blabbing.
Himmler agreed and said that steps were underway by Goebbels to prepare Germany for the terrible announcement that would shock all of Germany and the world. Himmler was also taking other steps which he kept to himself. Ribbentrop would be pushed aside as chief negotiator and Franz von Papen, the sixty-six-year-old relic of the First World War’s failed diplomacy, would be recalled from his ambassadorial post in Turkey. The Turks were also neutral and Himmler wondered if they might function as a conduit to the Allies. At any rate, von Papen was a more subtle diplomat and not rough edged like Ribbentrop, who had gotten his position because of his slavish devotion to the late Fuhrer.
His secretary announced that Rundstedt and Speer had arrived. He told her to send them in and they seated themselves. The young Speer looked uncomfortable, and why not? However competent, and he was indeed that, he was Hitler’s creature and he’d just been told that there was a new regime.
“Let me blunt,” Himmler said to von Rundstedt. “I asked you how we could win the war, and you said we could not in the traditional sense. You said we must shorten our lines and give up many of our conquered territories. Is this still your plan?”
“Indeed, and to do that I need at least a million more men, Reichsfuhrer, and I need them as quickly as possible. However, they do exist. Four hundred thousand men are languishing in the Courland peninsula in Latvia. Hitler refused to withdraw them as such retreats were unacceptable to him. He consistently refused to give up conquered territory. Hitler is dead and I need those men. If I don’t get those and others, we are doomed. Right now there is a corridor available for them to use and they must take it before the Soviets cut them off. Even though many of them are far from the best men, they will do well in the defensive. Kindly recall that too many of our very best soldiers are dead.”
Himmler nodded. “Do it.” Again he had the nightmare vision of himself as a prisoner of the British or the Americans, or even the French with their damned guillotine.
“Then, I want every available man from Norway. Another four hundred thousand men are doing nothing there but wait for an Allied invasion we now know will never come. Hold onto Oslo if we must, but send me at least another two hundred thousand men from a country that isn’t fighting.”
Again Himmler agreed, albeit with more reluctance. If the Allies realized that German forces were exiting Norway, they would invade and Norway was next to “neutral” Sweden which supplied so much of Germany’s war-fighting materiel. The army would have to figure out a way to pull its troops out secretly.
“And as to Italy,” Rundstedt continued, “several hundred thousand of our best and most seasoned combat troops are tied up fighting the Allies in the mountains north of Rome. I propose that we withdraw most of those men to Germany and leave a rear guard to defend the mountain passes. I’ve heard it said that Churchill feels it is the soft underbelly of Europe and that the Allies should attack up that route.” He laughed harshly. “Let them try. Even a small force defending a mountain pass can ruin Churchill’s hopes.”
“Anything else?” asked Himmler. He was clearly unhappy but not arguing.
“Yes, Reichsfuhrer. Yugoslavia, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Rumania must also be stripped of German soldiers. Let the Croats and the Serbs kill each other like they’ve been doing for centuries. I don’t care.”
Himmler chuckled. “I don’t either. What more do you want?”
“I want control of your SS forces. They are not very good as an army but they can be used to slow down the Reds.”
Himmler glared b
ut did not respond. He had a higher rating of the fighting qualities of the SS divisions than did the regular army’s generals. Also, the thought of giving up his personal army was repugnant.
Rundstedt continued. “If you are concerned that I will make myself the new Fuhrer, don’t be. I am nearly seventy years old and a soldier, not a politician or a governor. I want to save Germany, not rule her.”
Himmler nodded weakly. It would be done as the field marshal wanted. “Are you finally through?”
Rundstedt laughed. “In a way I’m just beginning. In both France and Russia our armies must be allowed to fight a defensive war, and a fluid war at that. There must be no proclamation of fortresses that must be held to the last man when armies can be saved and used again. In other words, no last stands as at Stalingrad, and no North Africas. Those debacles cost a half million of our best men. I would like to have them today, wouldn’t you, Reichsfuhrer?”
Himmler writhed internally. Everything the hateful old general was saying was true.
“In addition,” Rundstedt continued, “I want at least two million men culled from the workforce and drafted into the army. How they will be replaced in the factories is Herr Speer’s dilemma. The men drafted will construct and man defensive positions. We will also use civilians from occupied lands along with prisoners of war we hold. Can you do that, Herr Speer?”
Speer spoke for the first time and to Himmler. “If you will permit me to draft women, boys, and older men to work in factories and in other war efforts, yes.” Using women had been anathema to Hitler. They were supposed to stay home and produce new little Nazis.
“And if you will also permit it,” added Speer, “I recommend increasing the food rations of foreign workers so they don’t die in such numbers that they always need to be replaced. And that includes the Jews.”
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