Resolute Nazi

by Wagher, Ward

  He smiled at his daughter. Despite the Reich Chancellor breaking a tooth on a piece of bone in his sausage one time, the place had become a favored luncheon venue for both Herr Schloss and Herr Rainer. And Ilsa always served them.

  “I know. I simply want them to be happy with the service,” he said.

  “As always,” the willowy blond repeated.

  “I know,” he repeated. He made shooing motions with his hands. “Go on then, daughter, do not keep the customers waiting.”

  She smiled at his nervousness and walked gracefully into the dining room.

  “Your usual, Fräulein?”

  “Um… could I have a bratwurst?” Misty Simpson asked.

  “It would be our pleasure,” Ilsa replied.

  “And what would Herr Reichsprotektor wish?” she asked, turning to Rainer.

  “I will have my usual,” Karl Rainer replied. “Sausage and potatoes.”

  “We have some early green beans today,” Ilsa said. “Would you like some?”

  “Yes, that would be very good,” Rainer said.

  Ilsa returned to the kitchen to place the order, and Rainer looked up to gaze at Misty.

  “I must say you are looking lovely today,” he stated in his usual forthright manner.

  She blushed slightly as he watched. He thought the petite brunette was very attractive.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the fräuleins, Karl,” she replied.

  “Yes, but in this case, I mean it.”

  She said nothing but fiddled with the silverware on the table. Then she looked up at him.

  “What is going to happen in this war, Karl?”

  He looked up as Ilsa delivered two steins of beer to the table. “Thank you, Ilsa.”

  The waitress nodded and slipped away again. He looked back at Misty.

  “This war will not be over quickly,” he said. “This is not for general publication, but we are pulling out of Warsaw, rather than fight for it.”

  “So, you cannot stop them?” she asked.

  “The Red Army has suffered heavy losses, and we wonder how they maintain cohesion. But they keep coming.”

  “And the Wehrmacht keeps pulling back,” she stated.

  “We trade kilometers to preserve our armies,” Rainer explained. “We have something like a ten to one exchange ratio in casualties. General Guderian begrudges every German life.”

  “Good for him,” Misty stated firmly. “War is a horrible thing.”

  “Very true,” Rainer replied. “Unfortunately, we must fight one. And to be perfectly honest, it is not just our concern for German lives, although that is important. We have fewer lives to spend. We are short of the most critical resources, but when we spend our human capital, it forecloses on the future.”

  “That is a very wise statement, Karl.”

  Rainer looked sheepish. “I cannot claim the thought, Misty. When you listen to Herr Schloss, and he gets into his lecture mode, one learns much.”

  “Where do we stop the Russians, finally?” she asked.

  “We?” Rainer repeated.

  She blushed again. “I find myself identifying with the Germans. Perhaps I have been in the country for too long.”

  “I think if we do not stop Herr Stalin, he will consume Western Europe. Then he will cast his eyes towards England. The Americas are not outside of his desires. They love to talk about International Socialism, and they are serious about it.”

  “The week I spent in Moscow was the most frightening of my life, Karl. Those people are monsters, and they do not realize it. They see themselves as cultured, but they are barbarians.”

  Karl took a sip from his stein and set it carefully on the table. “But are not the Nazis the same way?”

  “They were. Perhaps many of them are still that way. I think you and Herr Schloss and Herr Schreiber have pulled Germany back from the abyss.”

  “Are pulling Germany back from the abyss,” he corrected. “Things could still go very wrong.”

  “As in our country,” she commented.

  “You have the advantages of a very stable government,” he said. “And you do not share borders with enemies. That confers great advantages.”

  “And I almost forgot,” she said as she reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “Director Donovan wishes to inform your government about some things.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he slid the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. “And I have something for you.”

  She smiled as she accepted the heavy envelope from him. “I’m sure my government will appreciate it.”

  “We captured several examples of the Russian T34 tank. You have a copy of our analysis. General Guderian asked if your army would like us to ship one of the captured tanks to America.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “That would be an enormous act of generosity, Karl.”

  “The Reich Chancellor is serious about developing good relations with the Americans.”

  He raised an eyebrow and continued, “And here comes our lunch.”

  Ilsa noiselessly eased the platters on the table and departed. Misty’s bratwurst was served in a long bread roll that overflowed with mustard. A generous helping of potato salad shared the platter. Rainer looked at her plate and then his and commented.

  “I think your lunch looks better than mine.”

  “Do you want to trade?”

  He laughed. “No. But, thanks. I may do the bratwurst the next time we are here.”

  “Herr Isengast sets a good table,” she commented. “The food is always excellent here.”

  “It is a convenient spot for lunch. The Reich Chancellor and I came here one day after he had walked out on a lunch with the Reichsmarshall. He has since taken a liking to the place.”

  “He walked out of lunch with the Reichsmarshall?”

  Rainer stopped. “Perhaps I have already said too much.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “Goering represents a bridge back to the old regime,” Rainer explained. “Herr Schloss is often impatient with him because of his insensitive nature and poor manners. You did not hear this from me.”

  “Of course, Karl,” she leaned forward. “But, this is interesting.”

  “Our Reichsmarshall is capable of great courage and can be ruthless when he desires.”

  “But he is not always so?” she asked.

  “He was on his way towards becoming something of a laughingstock before the Fuhrer’s death. He was rapidly losing the respect of the rest of the government. Herr Schloss was successful in putting some backbone into the man. And I should not be telling you this.”

  “Is this something I should not tell my government?” she asked, wondering what she would do if he said no.”

  “Your government is likely aware of it,” Rainer replied.

  They dined in silence for a while. Later, Herr Isengast walked over to the table.

  “Herr Reichsprotektor, I am sorry to interrupt, but you have a telephone call.”

  Rainer looked at Misty. “Please excuse me for a few moments.”

  “Of course, Karl.”

  He returned a few minutes later and seated himself. “It seems Frau Schreiber has gone to the hospital to give birth. I hope you will not mind if we cut the luncheon short. I would like to visit Peter at the hospital. I asked for a car to pick us up out front. They will take you back to the embassy.”

  She wondered what it must be like to have a friend as concerned as Karl Rainer. But then she decided that he was her friend, too. And then she wondered, once again, if they would ever be more than just good friends.

  § § §

  May 17, 1943; 2:30 PM

  Charité Hospital

  Berlin, Germany

  “How are things, my friend?” Rainer said as he shook Peter’s hand.

  “The doctor said things were fine, although he thought it might be a bit early. He said he could hear a strong heartbeat from the baby.”

  “That is good news then.
”

  “I hope so,” Peter replied. “But I worry about all the things that could go wrong.”

  Rainer looked around the waiting room. The furnishings consisted of straight-backed wooden chairs arranged along the walls. A few lamps on utilitarian tables provided a bit of warm light.

  “They do not spare any luxuries for the fathers, do they?”

  Peter snorted. “The sister told me to stay in this room and not bother them. They would let me know at an appropriate time.”

  “Kind of them,” Karl murmured.

  “It was good of you to stop by,” Peter said, “but don’t feel obligated to stay on my account. I know you are very busy.”

  “We are all very busy, Peter. Don’t worry about it.”

  Rainer walked over and selected a chair and sat down. “No danger of getting too comfortable here.”

  “I sometimes think Germans have a fear of getting too comfortable. I have tried to get Renate to replace some of the furniture at the house, but since they give her memories of her parents, she is reluctant.”

  “I can understand that,” Rainer said. “After our parents passed, my sister and I divided up the furniture. But I went out and bought an easy chair where I spend most of my evenings. I think sadists manufactured the other furniture.”

  Peter laughed. “Well said, Karl.”

  The conversation subsided into companionable silence. Peter spoke again a few minutes later.

  “What are we going to do about the Russians?”

  Rainer shrugged. “We are bleeding them badly. I think Schneller Heinz is doing all the right things. Any rational man would have given up by now. Stalin must be desperate.”

  “There is a phrase in poker called betting on the come. Do you suppose Stalin believes that if he can win the war, he can rescue his economy by despoiling us?”

  “That may be a Ribbentrop question,” Rainer replied. “He understands the economy better than I do. My opinion is that Western Europe looks like a glittering bauble to Stalin. He is reaching through a thorn thicket to pluck it. He is so intent on his goal that he does not realize how badly he is bleeding himself.”

  “And Gehlen said that Stalin just shot his two best generals.”

  “Yes, isn’t that interesting? The bite we took out of them on the opening day of the war had repercussions, apparently.”

  “But it still does not answer the question,” Peter stated. “How do we get this war stopped?”

  Rainer stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it and looked into the hallway before closing the door and returning to his chair.

  “I get a little concerned about who might be listening, Peter. I think Guderian has the right idea to use the Strategic Reserve to swing in behind the Russians and cut them off. Without their supply lines, they would wither within a few weeks. But we think Stalin has a million men at the front. When they realize we have cut them off, they will thrash around and be extremely dangerous.”

  “In other words, once we sink our teeth in, we may well wonder what to do next.”

  Rainer laughed. “That is exactly the problem. Once the dog chasing the car fastens his teeth to the bumper, he wonders what to do next. Stringing out the Strategic Reserve like that is risky. And I don’t think we can afford to lose it.”

  “Has Guderian made mistakes before?” Peter asked.

  “Not many. Rommel and Model know what they are doing, too. If things get too hot, I think Model can extricate himself from the sack. But it is still risky.”

  “Has the OKW said when they are going to do this?”

  Rainer shook his head. “Hennie told Guderian to get things lined up, but that will take two to three weeks, even if things go well. I think he wants the Russians to get fully invested in Warsaw. And Hennie will give the final approval on the operation before it kicks off.”

  Peter folded his arms as he sat in the chair. “I wonder why it is taking so long.”

  “It takes time to move that many troops and equipment.”

  “No, I meant the doctors. Shouldn’t we hear something by now?”

  “I hate to tell you this, Peter, but we might be sitting here all night.”

  Peter gave Rainer a disgusted look. “You are just full of happy thoughts today. And what do you mean, we?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Rainer replied. “If my office needs me, they know where to find me.”

  Peter stood up. “I think I’ll go give Hennie a call. He is naturally concerned.”

  “Good idea, Peter,” Rainer said. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  May 18, 1943; 6 AM

  General Staff Encampment, Red Army

  East of Warsaw

  Colonel Ivan Smirnoff stepped out of the mess tent and stretched. In the distance, he could hear the continuous pounding of the artillery, but here the morning was peaceful. Considering the current state of affairs, he expected things to go downhill from here. As the Chief of Staff for Major General Vitally Menschkin, he was tasked with putting an impossible war plan into action for a general who was the recipient of impossible demands from Moscow.

  Menschkin indulged in his frustrations by screaming at those around him, including the hapless Chief of Staff. Well, getting yelled at never killed anybody, and Smirnoff took it philosophically. What did concern him was the collateral damage when Stalin had Zhukov and Budyonny shot. The carnage included the generals’ immediate staff, which put one Ivan Smirnoff directly in the line of fire.

  It was a hell of a thing really, he thought, that one was more afraid of NKVD bullets than German bullets. He had a hard time adopting the fatalism of the average Russian. He fervently wanted to live to a ripe old age and bounce grandchildren on his knee. The current adventure seemed to preclude that.

  The Germans knew they were coming as well as when and where. The welcome they prepared was impressive in the worst meaning of the word. The Red Army was unable to grapple with the Germans. Each time they thought they had the Huns in a position to destroy their forces, they seemingly vanished, only to pop up elsewhere and eliminate another regiment of T34s. It frustrated him to face an enemy they could not come to grips with. It was like wrestling with fog.

  One of Menschkin’s very few good qualities was that he preferred to take his breakfast alone and in peace. That meant Smirnoff had another fifteen minutes of quietude. He decided he would stroll around the encampment. If anyone asked, he would tell them he was doing an inspection, which he was. He decided that he even had time for a cigarette. As he struck a match, he heard a peculiar low-pitched buzzing sound, but couldn’t localize it.

  The first hit of the nicotine in the morning was the very best. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head back as he blew smoke into the air above him. The buzzing grew louder, and his perplexity turned into fear. He thought the sound was coming from the southeast. He turned in that direction to try to see the source of the noise.

  As he scanned the area, the noise stopped. He was curious. The sound was mechanical, but he had never heard anything like it. Ten seconds later, an enormous explosion erupted one-hundred yards beyond the perimeter of the encampment. He jumped and stared at the expanding cloud of dirt and debris. They were under attack, but he could not determine the nature of the threat.

  Two-thousand meters above the encampment, Captain Erich Felter scanned the ground with binoculars.

  “I make it 250 meters to the south, Major,” he said over the intercom.

  “Acknowledged,” Major Helmut Wohlke replied. He banked the JU-88S into a broad circle. At this altitude, the aircraft was much more controllable than at his usual 18,000 meters. But Germany generally controlled the air over the battlefield, and the flight of Me-262 jets orbiting above him kept things that way.

  “Sergeant, call it in. They need to aim about 250 meters to the north.”

  “250 meters north, acknowledge,” Sergeant Otto Putin replied.

  The aircrew had been together since before the war started and wa
s a capable team. The high-altitude version of the Junkers JU-88 had enabled them to observe the Russian buildup and the disposition of forces while the Russian air force couldn’t touch them. In truth, Wohlke thought, the Russians didn’t know they were even there.

  Two-hundred kilometers to the west, a Wehrmacht Special Ordinance crew had finished mounting another V1 pilotless aircraft on the launching rail. Lieutenant Oscar Melton carefully checked the bird over.

  “Lieutenant, we have the targeting report,” Captain Wilser called.

  “Yes, Sir,” Melton replied.

  “We need to shift 250 meters to the north.”

  “Captain, that is within the circular probability of error.”

  “Just do the best you can. I think we are getting those buggers’ attention.”

  “Right, Captain.”

  He climbed up on the ramp and opened the control hatch on the aircraft. He made a minute adjustment to the compass but did not change the timer. He closed the hatch and double-checked the latch. He then jumped to the ground and trotted over to the launch control truck.

  “All set, Captain.”

  “Very well,” Melton Wilser called. “Make sure the launch site is clear.”

  Melton carefully looked around. It wouldn’t do to have anyone caught in the back-blast of the rocket. These portable launchers required a rocket booster, and they tended to be messy.

  “All clear, Captain.”

  Wilder blew the truck horn three times. Ten seconds later, the booster rocket ignited, and the buzz bomb sailed off the launcher. The booster separated successfully, and the small aircraft quickly climbed to its cruising altitude.

  Thirty minutes later, Colonel Smirnoff had a team of men inspecting the crater from the explosion. An intact wing told him that an airplane had crashed. From the size of the hole, he concluded it was carrying a bomb. He had heard no air battle, and so assumed the aircraft had suffered a mechanical failure and had crashed. That is what he would report to the General.

  In the distance, he heard that low buzzing sound again. He looked wildly into the sky. All he could think was that the Germans were using some kind of suicide aircraft. He reminded himself that the crater of the previous explosion was probably the safest place to be. He was correct.