“I don’t speak German, I won’t understand anything,” the time traveler replied.
The strongman adjusted a chrome helmet on his bald head, he wore an Alpini uniform with elaborate filigree work on the sleeves. “Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.”
The German ambassador dressed in soft gray tones, a perfect counterpoint to the Italian peacock. He indulged his host by speaking in German. “You summoned me, Excellency?”
“The situation has taken an alarming turn, His Majesty has become quite concerned.” He waved the diplomat to an armchair.
“Italy is now surrounded. The Americans are now on our left and right with powerful air forces. The English in Egypt are a dagger at our Libyan treasure house. My security apparatus is tracking Anglo-American spy networks in this very city.” He spoke German. He waved his arms in Italian.
“We have no indications of a danger to Italy, Your Excellency. The Allies have a taste only for German blood.”
“So far yes, but our oil is vital to the German economy. We are surrounded and our defense inadequate. An attack can come at any time. We appeal to our neighbors for fraternal fascist help.”
“You are requesting troops? Here?”
“No, a single German uniform could be enough to provoke them. We must not give them an excuse.
We require increased deliveries of arms to defend ourselves.”
“Certainly, I understand, Excellency.”
“The ministries have prepared a list of what we must have to protect our people and your oil.” He placed a linen envelope on the coffee table. “It is our intent to pay for these purchases with our oil, for it is all we have to give.” Mussolini swept his arms wide, palms to the sky as an expression of poverty.
“Of course, I shall communicate this to the appropriate officials in Berlin this afternoon.”
“Thank you, the Italian people rely upon our German brothers for so much. But now I must address the Parliament and see to the mobilization of our military. As I have said, we fear an attack from any quarter with no warning.”
“It is always a pleasure to meet with you Excellency.” Both men shook hands, the ambassador bowed as he left, a sly smile on his face. Both men knew the custom was already archaic, but habits died hard.
The German delegation drove in an armored Mercedes back to the embassy. “What did he have to say?” the Chief of Mission asked.
“He cut off our credit.”
Chapter 20: Odds & Ends
“We did not build National Socialism for some garlic-smelling Wop to try to squeeze us for our last drop of blood.” Hitler raged.
Speer seemed oddly unmoved. He held a handwritten report in his hand, “The have us in a bad spot, we are faced with a very nice problem indeed. The Italians are providing the vast majority of our oil.
Without it we,” he paused to find the words, “we have no wind in our sails. Motionless. Our reserves allow less than four months operations at our full tempo.”
“What we need, we will take, and Russia is the key,” Hitler had calmed a bit. “We must smash the Bolsheviks, with them out of the way we can deal with the Italians. The British and American incursions come after that. One, Two, Three.” He waved his finger like a conductor of an orchestra. “If need be, we can offer negotiations to distract the English; to free our hands for the Italians. But first we must fulfill our historic destiny to pound the Communists into the dust.”
Hermann could see this was the turning point, perhaps of the war, perhaps of history itself. “The Russian offensive has petered out short of Moscow, they are vulnerable to a counterattack. One more good push.”
An Army general objected, “We can say the same for the situation on the North Cape or in the South of France. These incursions are not yet secure. A hard blow will puncture them.”
Speer looked doubtful, “I can manage to reduce some oil consumption. We should also be able to increase production from Ploesti by some factor. We can hit one place or another.”
Hitler nodded, he had made up his mind, “First is the attack on Russia, next is preparing for taking Italy, then air defense. Active operations against the Americans and English will have to wait for now. I expect the Foreign Ministry to help us on that front.”
The Swiss Embassies in London, Washington and elsewhere around the world represented German interests in the enemy capitals. Rippentrop called for his Swiss ambassador and asked for the “use of the good offices of the Swiss” to deliver a message. The Swiss encoded the German message and transmitted it to be delivered as quickly as possible.
In Washington, this meant a visit by a minor Swiss official to the State Department duty officer at Foggy Bottom early on a Sunday morning. The functionaries exchanged carefully noncommittal niceties before parting.
The President was in Syracuse, New York presenting awards to local worthies. His voice carried around the room in Washington from the tiny telephone speaker, “He’s on the ropes then. Playing for time. Does he really think we’ll fall for this?”
“Probably he does, Mister President. He would jump at the chance if the situation were reversed. He cannot see it from our point of view,” Winston replied.
“Does the other Winston know about this?”
“The British Oversight people notified us as soon as it came in.”
“And the British position?”
“Churchill is ready to publicly announce, and renounce, the proposal in Parliament in a few hours, he wanted you to know.”
“Notify the Russian Ambassador at once that the Allies together reject this attempt to separate us from our Soviet co-belligerents. Also tell him we do not ask for and will not accept any truce or terms that do not restore the status quo antebellum. This comes personally from me to Chairman Stalin. Personally, understand?”
“We will notify the Secretary Hull, Mister President.”
“I’ll call Hull. I’m canceling the rest of my junket; I need to address the nation. I guess if I can do that best from New York.” The line went dead.
The four men looked at each other in silence.
“Why is everyone so dead set on making this public?” Winston asked.
“Not my area, but I suppose they figure Joe will hear about it anyway,” Larry replied.
“Also, I can’t imagine anything worse for German morale than the news Hitler is ready to talk,” Tom added.
Bob was on the phone, he cupped his hand over the receiver, “This could be it.”
The Commander of United Nations Forces Far East read the message with anger. “We have just about sunk the entire Jap fleet, we have them cut off from the oil in Sumatra, we have an entire Jap army ready for the killing blow and they do this?”
“King is taking his fleet north, priority is shifting up that away,” the chief of staff extended his hands in despair.
“Okay, he’s what we do,” Ike pulled in deeply on a cigarette, “Move the attack on Formosa to the back burner. Far back burner. Get those units up north, at least we’ll keep our eye on the ball, God knows what Washington is thinking.”
At Dutch Harbor, Alaska, trains from Marine Corps bases all over the United States discharged fighting units and thousands of tons of equipment. Amongst the piles were huge amounts of perforated steel plating, the kind used to build and repair runways.
The Riviera Lodgment reached a rough equilibrium a week or so after the initial landings. The Germans were forced back toward their bases, while the Americans found their supply lines growing longer with each advance. The liberators were forced to pause to gather strength. The defenders were given a pause to improve their positions.
In the same way, the British forces in Murmansk went over to the defensive as more and more ships unloaded at the recaptured port.
Only in the sky did the Allies continue the war. The German airfields on the French Atlantic coast were neutralized, their aircraft evacuated or destroyed. With the last Condors left the final hopes of isolating Europe from the New World.
As autu
mn turned into winter, 1942, the maps in the newspapers seemed static, but the unending stream of convoys from America assured Allied strength was waxing as the Germans were waning.
Slowly.
After four months, Omar Bradley was ready to strike again. He preferred a simple headquarters, in this case a caravan parked in an olive grove. He convened his three army commanders under a tarp away from the winter sun.
“We are going to go for Brest, Giant Two,” he began. “With Brest we gain another Atlantic port, we close off the last threat to the Atlantic and improve our air link to London.”
“What of Paris? What of Giant One?” The French commander was prohibited from smoking in front of Bradley, but the man reeked of tobacco.
“A political target. We cannot divert ourselves from the military realities to chase a political goal.
Breast gives us more advantages, Paris gives us a million more mouths to feed.”
“We object to leaving Paris in German hands during the winter months. People, French people will freeze.”
The commander of the Allied Airborne Army, the only British representative around the table changed the subject. “We must go next week. Then we have the partial moon my units will need to make the jump. Three divisions laying a carpet the mechanized units can roll on all the way to the sea.”
Bradley continued, “First French Army on the left, Patton will be on the right, Allied Airborne Army to the front. An operation built for speed. Another advantage of Giant Two is we will have only one open flank.”
“A race for Brest!” Patton switched into his accented French. “I have one hundred francs that says I will meet your first units on the docks.”
“I’ll take it,” the Frenchman replied.
The meeting broke up and the commanders walked to the motor park.
“This is unacceptable,” the French commander said in his own language, “The Provisional Government insists on taking Paris as soon as possible.”
“How can you insist?’ Patton smelled conspiracy in the air.
“Watch and learn, subtly in the political arts is a French specialty.”
“Okay, I will meet you under the tower then. With a glass in my hand.”
“In your dreams.”
In the East, the lines stabilized for the deep freeze. The Germans accommodated an entire corps in Moscow itself, along with the SS Special Action Groups that swept through the city time after identifying, capturing and disposing of ‘destabilizing elements.’
Leningrad and Stalingrad remained in Soviet hands, both being secondary targets in the initial campaign. The Germans extended their railheads deeper into occupied Russia. Soviet partisans delayed the effort killing Polish slave workers and German troops alike. At the same time, the Soviets gathered their strength for a climatic battle.
Stalin had set up his government in the Crimea. He himself lived in a seaside villa built years before for some forgotten prince. Cynics observed the Politburo could escape to Turkey if the need arose. Wise cynics kept this observation to themselves.
“It has begun,” the dictator looked up from a telegram to his war cabinet. “Attacks toward Stalingrad from the north and west, here and here.”
“He is coming for us,” Sukov said quietly, “it will go very badly for him this time.”
Stalin nodded, giving him permission to explain the secret troop deployments..
The marshal addressed the other men in the Stavka. “At the direction of Comrade Stalin, we have gathered our mobile strength for a threat to the Nazi’s oil at Ploesti. By coming to the south, the Hitlerites are bringing themselves into the reach of our most deadly formations. Further the defenses around Stalingrad are stout, the strongest in the world. This will be their final battle. Three shock guard armies are refreshed and rearmed and already two additional armies have arrived from the Far East. Now we need not defend, we can take the fight to them.”
Stalin continued, addressing the other senior commanders, “He has been bled white. His plea for peace with the Imperialists has been rebuffed. Hitler’s invaders are clearly on their last legs.”
He turned to his son, now the commander of an air force that no longer existed, “Go to Murmansk, I want you to ensure the greatest possible support from the Allied bombers. With that we can ensure our victory.”
The French Post Office maintained an independent network of telephone lines connecting its facilities throughout the capital. A radio operator used a codeword to activate the resistance cells across the city.
Their orders were to ignite an uprising, something the Parisians had a long history of.
Franklin Roosevelt’s voice did not boom across the scratchy transatlantic link. Still his tone was unmistakable. “I will not have those jackbooted thugs bringing Paris down around the ears of the Resistance. Do I make myself clear?”
“Certainly Mister President. We have a plan we can use to get there in less than a week.”
“Wonderful, wonderful Omar, I knew you would understand the political realities of all this. History is watching us all you know.”
Bradley called another meeting in the olive grove in less than an hour.
Chapter 21 Russia Again
Late November 1943 the Russian mud had been replaced by hard frozen ground. Ideal for heavy vehicles. The German tanks moved slowly, really no faster than a man could walk, but relentlessly, not delayed by bad roads, streams or anything sort a major effort at defense. This they met at a nameless junction of cart-tracks optimistically marked on the maps as roads. The Battle of Stalingrad began well northeast of city.
The corps commander ordered his command vehicle, a Panzerbefehlwagen, to the top of a nearby hill. No spotter plane was available so he judged the situation by the sound of battle and the reports on his radios. No small-arms fire, instead the high-pitched whine of the panzers firing hypershot and the thicker roar of the Russians replying with their rockets and smooth-bore guns.
He ordered his lead division to take up battle formation and be prepared to rescue the reconnaissance element on the left front. His order to such experienced commanders took less than a dozen words, they had done it a thousand times before; maximum speed, flank the defenders on their right. They could do it in their sleep.
The gray machines were coated with brown dirt. As they rolled by the running gear made an annoying warble to contrast with the engine noise. Some younger soldiers stood and cheered their commander as they rode past. He returned the salutes with a smile, but was most impressed by the seasoned veterans who seemed to be nodding off in the back of their carriers before yet another battle.
The battle ahead took the expected form, the commander even felt himself begin to doze under the warm sun when another noise reached him. More tracked vehicles, but not German. With his binoculars he could see them, earth-brown T-37s, the best they had. A few boxy APCs followed on their heels. He reached for his radio to bring his other units into line of battle. Then he made a quick call to the Army commander who seemed unperturbed.
“Ivan is coming out of his damn holes, I am swinging fifty-seventh corps to pass through you when you break them. Keep moving.”
The corps commander was experienced and confident, but the morning had certainly taken an unexpected turn. A motorized regiment rushed by him to plug the hole. Mounted infantry against marauding tanks was not the ideal solution, but would have to do. The unit raced to reach the protective defile offered by the low ridgeline, they crossed a footpath and began to hit the landmines.
The corps commander saw at least four vehicles explode as the counterattack fell into confusion. He ordered his vehicle to move back to the previous rise, there he got out and personally directed the next regiment to arrive into a hasty defensive position.
A single German tank did not show up on the navigation radar, even with the new ground-surveillance upgrade, but eight columns of armored vehicles converging on the middle of a near-featureless plain gave a distinct radar echo. The raid commander began to o
rbit, directing the incoming bombers with colorful flares to the targets eight miles below.
Each B-29 carried a mix of scatterable mines and bomblets. While it was impossible to see the enemy at such a height, hitting the few road junctions ensured the critical wheeled support vehicles, the fuel tankers, ammunition trucks and ambulances suffered decimation.
By the end of the fourth day, the Germans had fought the Soviet counterattack to a standstill, and had shattered two of their own corps doing so. Another Russian attack had already begun further to the south.
Later Churchill would call Stalingrad “The Hinge of Fate.” The Soviets fought like savages, the Germans for the final victory they had sought for two years. The result was the biggest armored clash in history. The Germans, rebuffed by artillery rockets that blackened the sun outside the city itself threw a bridge across the Volga to the south. Hitler ordered his last reserves to cut off the city. Unknowingly, their path carried within a hundred kilometers of Stalin’s secret headquarters.
“Then what happened?” Winston asked.
Bob was laconic, “We don’t know for sure. It seems Beria tried a coup. He may have even pulled it off, but then someone took a shot at him and now nobody seems to be in control.”
“So the Soviets are out of it? Have we lost?” Tom’s voice was full of weary disbelief.
“Hard to say. I would never count out the Russians, darn hard people, insanely patriotic.” Winston replied. “A whole new ballgame though.”
Professor Hermann arrived back at his Berlin apartment surprised to find a hole in his closet’s floor. A ladder led up from the apartment below, and on the ladder was a smiling colonel in a black SS uniform.
“Good evening Herr Doctor, I hope you will excuse the intrusion. The door to your flat is always under observation.”
The time traveler let the officer help him down the ladder where in an apartment just like his sat a half-dozen men in shades of gray and black.
Paul Adkins Page 14
