Canaris departed. Himmler sat behind his desk and rubbed his eyes. Only the Americans could make such a mess of their politics. They were almost as bad as the French. But what the devil did all this mean for the future of the Third Reich? How would this Harry Truman react when the Rhine ran red with the blood of American soldiers, and how would he react when Moscow was wiped off the face of the earth by Heisenberg’s bomb and the world realized that Germany had the power to destroy anyone and everything. A rational man would crumble at the prospect. But was Harry Truman rational?
And where would the Americans attack? Luftwaffe reconnaissance flights had not found any landing craft, nor had there been evidence of extraordinary troop buildups. Von Rundstedt had to know these things and Himmler shared that sense of urgency. And now they were confronted with the likelihood that a gray cipher named Harry Truman would shortly lead the armed forces of the mighty United States of America.
Himmler stared at the bad photo that showed a thin little man with a silly grin and cheap wire-rimmed glasses. The Postmaster from Potsdam indeed, Himmler thought and allowed himself a rare laugh. After all, hadn’t he been a chicken farmer?
***
Jessica was called to the scene of the outburst by the military police. By the time she got there, just a couple of miles from the Red Cross’s new offices, the violence had ceased, at least for a moment. An angry group of German women and old men confronted an equally old man and woman in terribly worn clothing who were clearly refugees. The couple stood bruised and bloodied, while the others glared at them.
Jessica found an American sergeant named Haney who appeared to be in charge. A pair of German policemen glared sullenly at the battered couple. “What’s happened and why was I called here?”
“What we have, ma’am, is a property dispute. Do you speak German?”
“Only a little.”
“Okay, I do and here’s what’s going on as much as I can tell. These two people said they lived in this house and that the house was theirs up until just before the war started. This other group represents a kraut family that says they bought the house from the German government; therefore, they say it belongs to them and they have a deed for it.”
Jessica understood the house’s current desirability. It was almost undamaged. A couple of bullet holes in the outer wall were all that showed that a war had passed it by.
The sergeant laughed and gestured towards a belligerent couple in the crowd of Germans. “They say they’ve been paying taxes to Hitler on it for years so we can’t take it from them. Maybe they can apply for a refund.”
With the sergeant translating what she couldn’t pick up, Jessica was able to ascertain that the German government had forced the couple, Jews named Strauss, to sell at a very low price and that the new owners did indeed actually buy the property from the Nazis. They said they had no idea who the previous owners were and had never seen them before. Haney said the story was believable.
The Strausses said they’d been in hiding in France since Hitler invaded and now wanted their home back. They insisted that the Nazis had stolen it from them and had forced them, literally at gunpoint, to sell.
The couple did speak passable French which made it easier for Jessica to understand them. They’d been living in a cubbyhole in a farmhouse outside Marseille and had avoided being swept up by the Gestapo, because the family that had harbored them was able to keep their presence a secret.
“We are realistic,” the old Jewish man said. “Now we know we can never come back here and live safely and peacefully. No one could protect us. You Americans would have to provide around the clock protection for the rest of our lives. No, all we want is some of our possessions that we managed to hide. When the Nazis forced us to sell, they gave us only an hour to pack and then searched us to make sure we weren’t taking anything we shouldn’t. Perhaps we will someday get proper compensation from a new German government, but I am not confident.”
“How long will it take you to search for your property?”
“An hour at most and we will have to crack open a wall.”
When Sergeant Haney explained this to the current owners, they became irate and exclaimed that anything in the house was theirs since they’d bought it legally. Jessica then sweetly asked them what it was they had bought and they, puzzled, couldn’t respond.
“If you don’t know what it is, you can’t claim it as yours,” she said.
Jessica had no idea if that would hold up in any court, but it sounded good and the Germans bought it. After all, she was the representative of the United States of America, wasn’t she?
Haney told the Jewish couple to go in and sent two of his men to protect them and watch them. He told the Strausses to take as much time as they needed. The German owners again complained loudly until Haney stuck a submachine gun under their noses and spoke harshly. Jessica turned and stifled a grin. She knew enough German words to know he’d told them to shut their fucking mouths. Haney then went inside the house.
The sound of smashing wood lasted only a couple of moments. The Jewish couple emerged smiling and carrying a suitcase.
Haney grinned. “They had it hidden inside a wall and plastered it over before they had to leave. Some furniture hid it while it dried. Amazing nobody found it.”
Jessica laughed. “Nobody ever claimed the Nazis were very smart.”
Haney thought it would be fair play to confiscate the house, but decided not to. It was too far away from American facilities to be useful. Then he suggested taking a bulldozer and destroying the place, but again decided against it. Jessica thought it would be decades before all the legal squabbles about forced purchases would be settled and, even then, doubtless to nobody’s satisfaction.
The Germans who’d bought the house could keep it, the Jewish couple told her. It was part of a hateful past and all they wanted now was a new future and the contents of the suitcase would start them on that road. They took her aside and opened the suitcase. Jessica gasped. It was full of paintings. She was no expert but she could read the signatures and recognized the styles. The top two were by Van Gogh. The couple said the others were by older masters and were even more valuable. They said they’d hidden it months before the house was taken from them so the paintings couldn’t be plundered by looters.
Mr. and Mrs. Strauss were put in a Jeep and would be taken to a safe place. “It’s going to take the wisdom of Solomon to settle some of these disputes,” Jessica said.
Haney chortled. “In that case, the krauts are truly screwed.”
“Why?”
“Wasn’t Solomon Jewish?”
***
The Episcopal minister carefully and gently closed the eyes of the gray-skinned man who lay on the bed. He was so frail that he barely made a dent in the mattress. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was dead. Finally. His once strong body had given up a struggle it couldn’t win.
Harry Truman trembled but nobody noticed. All eyes were on the body of the man who’d been President since 1932.
“The stress was too much,” Jim Byrnes said.
Yes, Truman thought, and he was only beginning to feel the start of it. He was finally starting to comprehend the complexity and enormity of the worldwide war operation that FDR was running. Had been running, he corrected.
Truman left the bedroom and the grieving widow. Roosevelt’s other relations, including his sons, would be arriving shortly. After seeming to reach a physical plateau, FDR had suddenly taken a sharp turn for the worse. Truman thought it was a blessing for the family and the nation. How long could they and it have endured with FDR in a coma?
Truman stepped outside and walked briskly, the only way he knew how to walk, to the Oval Office. In the past few weeks, he’d avoided using it lest it seem like he was grasping for power. Now he needed to be there to show everyone that he was the man in charge.
He was aware of the eyes that were on him, ranging from marine guards to secret service to White House staffers and servants. The news had sp
read like wildfire and news bulletins, already prepared, were going out. The waiting and wondering were over. Harry Truman was the President of the United States and, he thought, the hell with Churchill and Himmler and Hirohito and Stalin and all the others. He would be his own man. They knew nothing about him and he thought it would give him a leg up on the opposition, both foreign and domestic.
He didn’t want the job, hadn’t asked for it, but, damn it, he would do it to the best of his ability.
CHAPTER 21
“Jesus Christ,” Morgan thought in disbelief as he read the mimeographed memo.
His hopes were dashed. There would be no leave for him or any of the other troops confronting the Nazis on the Rhine. The word had just come down from Eisenhower and SHAEF that the situation would not permit large numbers of American soldiers to leave their stations for a little vacation. Of course, he thought bitterly, those guys who were working behind the lines probably got as much time off as they wished. Once again, the combat trooper was getting fucked.
Realistically, he knew giving everyone leave was impossible. Where would literally hundreds of thousands of GI’s go, even if they got leave? France was still in a state of chaos, and violence was an ongoing possibility as the remnants of the communist uprising fought on. Large numbers of soldiers taking leave in the occupied Rhineland was also not possible. The United States was still at war with Germany and the German people simply could not be trusted. Again, how would the Rhineland, or any other European country, absorb so many hungry, horny and alcohol-deprived young men?
The notice said that the army would endeavor to make life a little more comfortable at the front. Beer would be provided and it wouldn’t be the low alcohol piss they had been getting. Better, the nonfraternization rule was being relaxed to permit such “social, commercial, and cultural interactions with the German people as would be considered reasonable and in the military’s best interests.”
Jack and the others thought whoever at Ike’s HQ had thought up that phrase must be laughing all the way to the officers’ club. Social, commercial, and cultural interactions would obviously translate into screwing and drinking and paying for it.
The big disappointment was that he could not have a chance to see Jessica and they were both saddened. On the plus side, limited telephone service was now available and he’d managed to make several calls to her. He felt like a teenager who couldn’t get a car and could only talk to his girlfriend by phone. It was great, however, to hear her voice, her laugh. He just wanted to reach out and grab her through the phone. He said it once and she giggled like a school kid and said it sounded like a good idea.
Not getting leave wasn’t fair, he thought and was reminded by Jeb and Roy that life wasn’t fair. “If it was,” Roy said, “everybody would be Jewish.”
“Or Southern,” Jeb added with equal solemnity.
Miles away and in the suburbs of Aachen, Jessica came to a conclusion. If the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, she would go to the mountain. There was an opportunity to get much, much closer to where the 74th was stationed in and around Remagen. A large refugee camp had been set up near the small town of Reinbach and the Red Cross had heard bad things about it. Rumors of starvation and brutality, even rape, were being heard in Washington. Rumors also had German soldiers guarding the camp and keeping the refugees as prisoners. Mrs. Turnbull had asked for volunteers to go with her and see what was actually happening.
It didn’t seem likely that the American army would countenance the creation of a concentration camp for refugees, but it would be checked out. Now all she had to do was let Jack know her schedule.
***
“We have been looking for clues and finally found them,” Admiral Canaris exulted. “Many of the German people left behind when the Americans took the Rhineland have maintained their loyalty to the party and, once again, have provided us with the information we need.”
High resolution photographs were projected onto a screen set up in Himmler’s Chancellery office. “These were taken by General Galland’s jets to confirm the reports,” Canaris continued, “and show a large number of landing craft in the area known to be under Patton’s control. As a result, we are confident that the American attack will be farther south at Coblenz and not at Bonn as was first thought.”
The photographs clearly showed what were called LCVP, which stood for Landing Craft Vehicle/Personnel. Unofficially, they were often referred to as Higgins boats, after their designer, and were being made in the thousands. They could carry a full platoon at nine knots and had a crew of three, and had two machine guns.
“I believe they weigh nine tons and are launched from a mother ship, as was done at Normandy,” said von Rundstedt. “How many are there, how did they get there and how will the Americans get them to the river?”
Varner stifled a smile. He had earlier raised the question with Rundstedt. Himmler looked intrigued.
“By rail,” Canaris answered and changed photos. “Our sources documented them as they traveled from French ports to this spot in Patton’s area. By the way, they counted far more than the number we’ve found. We are looking for the others.
“A spur line was built to this field where the boats are, well, parked,” he continued. “The Yanks are building additional spurs from the staging area to the river where they will be launched.”
Rundstedt nodded. “And how many landing craft did you say you found?”
“At least a hundred. But, as I said, we are looking for the others.”
“Then let’s assume you don’t find any others,” the field marshal said. “Instead, let’s do the math. One hundred craft times fifty men if you stuff them in for a short journey, and you have five thousand men in their first wave. Since they will doubtless suffer casualties, perhaps eighty boats will be available for a second wave and sixty for a third and so on. They would be hard-pressed to land a full division before they ran out of landing craft.”
Canaris flushed. He was not used to having his data mocked. “It is the first such park we have found. There will doubtless be others. Besides, Field Marshal, I believe the Americans’ intent would be to make a lodgment on the east bank of the Rhine and then build pontoon bridges. Therefore, a large number of landing craft might not be needed. I must remind you that the situation is so much different than what occurred last June when the Americans and Brits invaded in large numbers and with massive naval support. At that time, they also required far more landing craft and attacked on a very broad front, neither of which is necessary to cross the Rhine. Please recall that the Allied landing craft had to travel several miles each way, while the Rhine crossing would be less than one mile.”
Rundstedt was unconvinced. “But will they land in the south and not north near Bonn? Admiral, I find nothing wrong with your assumptions; however, we must have accurate data. General Dietrich’s Reserve Army must be on the move before the Americans attempt to cross. Right now nearly three quarters of a million soldiers and eight thousand tanks are scattered and hidden from American planes. If they are to succeed, we must provide them with every advantage possible.”
They all understood that the hundreds of thousands of German soldiers weren’t the highest quality, since the best remaining German infantry were dug in on the Rhine. However, the armor was of high quality, consisting of almost all available Panthers, Tigers, King Tigers, and, of course, the newly acquired and refurbished T34’s.
Rundstedt continued. “Once Dietrich’s army begins to move and converge on the American landing site, they will be vulnerable and we will suffer heavy casualties even before they reach the battle. If they have to move a second time because we guessed wrong, the results could be catastrophic. Even now Dietrich’s soldiers are suffering from American planes as the Yanks either get smarter or luckier.”
Canaris was about to respond when an aide entered and handed him a slip of paper. He read it, smiled, and turned to Himmler who’d been quiet throughout the discussion.
“Reichsfuh
rer, Field Marshal, we now have our answer. We have located two additional fields in Patton’s area with large numbers of these LCVPs camouflaged and parked in neat rows alongside railroad spurs.”
Himmler turned to Rundstedt. “Are you satisfied?”
“No, I am not,” he said grimly, “but it is the best information we have. I can only remind everyone that the Americans used Patton as a decoy to fool us regarding their intentions at Normandy and how well it worked. We spent weeks waiting for an attack at the Pas de Calais that never occurred and involving an army that didn’t exist.”
“Surely they wouldn’t do that again?” Himmler said, looking pained. “Patton is their best and most aggressive general. Would they be so insane as to hold him out a second time?”
Himmler stood and began pacing nervously. He fully understood that a wrong decision would be catastrophic for both him and the Reich. “No, we have to make a decision. Even though we all have doubts, I believe that the crossing attempt will come from Patton’s Third Army and not Hodges’ First and that it will be near Coblenz and not Bonn. Therefore, von Rundstedt, you can begin planning to move Dietrich’s army south and not north.”
Later, as Varner and von Rundstedt walked to their staff car, the field marshal said, “You’re not pleased, are you, Varner? And by the way, congratulations on your promotion. It is well earned and long overdue. However, you are out of uniform.”
Varner flushed. He’d received notice of his promotion to brigadier general earlier that morning and hadn’t had a chance to change his insignia.
“Thank you, Field Marshal, and no, I am not pleased. It seems to me that the Americans went to great effort to let us find those landing craft.”
Rundstedt snorted but seemed amused, not angry. “Go on.”
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