Robert Conroy

by Red Inferno: 1945: A Novel

  If Truman was upset by Marshall’s late arrival he gave no sign. He gestured people to their seats, and the truly important people along with Marshall sat at the main table along with Truman. Aides like Burke arrayed themselves behind their principals in inverse order according to rank. As junior in the army delegation, Burke found a plain wooden chair along the wall beside a navy commander who smiled politely. They kept their silence and would do so until called upon for information by their leaders. It was highly unlikely they would address the group.

  Truman called the meeting to order. His face showed strain and anger. “General Marshall, please give us all an update on the military situation.”

  Marshall pondered a sheaf of notes. Much of the information had been received only a few moments before he had left the Pentagon for the White House, and updates were still being called in by telephone.

  “Mr. President, much of my report is going to be incomplete and dealing in generalities. Too much has happened too quickly for specifics and details. First, Miller Force was ambushed at two major points by large Soviet forces. The point of the column, a fairly small armored group of ours, was attacked by an overwhelming tank force. It took heavy casualties and was forced to retreat.”

  Secretary of State Stettinius interrupted. “I have spoken with Ambassador Gromyko, and he says the Americans violated their space by entering Berlin, and that the Americans opened fire first on the Russians, and, therefore, that the Russian response was purely defensive.”

  Marshall’s eyes turned sad. “According to reports from the handful of survivors, that may be correct. There is evidence that Colonel Brentwood’s force was still moving forward after being ordered to halt, and that it fired first in the mistaken belief that the approaching tanks were German and had shot at them. We now believe the Reds were shooting at another target.”

  “Aw, Jesus,” Admiral King said.

  Marshall continued. “For whatever it’s worth, Brentwood was killed in the fight, so we’ll never know his version of what happened.”

  Otherwise, Marshall thought grimly, the overly ambitious SOB would be looking at a court-martial. Marshall had the nagging thought that Brentwood’s exceeding his orders had given the Reds an excuse to attack. If, of course, they had needed the excuse.

  Truman nodded. “But he had been ordered to halt.”

  Marshall grimaced slightly. “Yes, sir, he had. Why he continued on, even for a little bit, we may never know.” The general shuffled through his notes.

  “The second Russian attack was a truly massive one and it hit the column approximately half of the way down its length from the point where Brentwood was attacked. It also occurred at almost the same time, which makes the Russian claim that we started it utter nonsense. I believe both attacks were planned.

  “Reports are sketchy, but they indicate hundreds of Russian tanks took part along with coordinated infantry, air, and artillery support. They struck the column where it was weakest, as the greater portion of Miller’s armor and infantry strength was, logically, at the front of the column. What remained at the rear was more in the way of a rear guard, including administrative and follow-up units. In a way that was a blessing since much of Miller’s armor and artillery are still intact. Miller is attempting to establish a defensive perimeter in the city of Potsdam.”

  “What about casualties?” Truman asked softly. The look in his face said that he really didn’t want to know, but had to. All the casualties would be his responsibility. He had ordered the advance beyond the Elbe. He wanted to be sick. How could this have occurred?

  “Sir,” Marshall replied, “once again specifics are unknown. General Miller has reported that he has three hundred dead inside the perimeter and at least that many wounded. He has, altogether, about ten to fifteen thousand men fit and remaining in his command.”

  Truman bolted from his chair. “But he had thirty thousand men!”

  Marshall nodded sadly. “Yes, sir, he did. When the Red armor hit the rear third of the column it severed it and apparently rolled it up toward the Elbe. While many, perhaps most, of those men are still alive, we have to consider them missing in action and very likely to become prisoners of the Russians. There is very little chance that many will make it back to the Elbe.”

  Truman’s face was pale. “Fifteen to twenty thousand casualties? I can’t believe it,” he said, sitting down slowly. Truman’s mind was in turmoil. His bold gesture to stand up to Stalin’s lies and belligerence had resulted in a catastrophe that was all his fault. There was a sign on his desk. It said “The Buck Stops Here.” God, he wished it had passed him over.

  Secretary of State Stettinius again interrupted. “Consistent with his first statement, Ambassador Gromyko has stated that the American column opened fire on Russian tanks that were passing the Americans on their way to assume their rightful place on the Elbe.”

  Marshall’s face flushed red. “He’s a liar. It took planning and effort to have those Soviet units in position to attack as they did.”

  Truman had regained control of himself. “We know that, General. Tell me, was the battle all that one-sided?”

  “Fairly so, but not totally. Our fighters did knock out some of the Russian tanks at the point of our column, and our armor and artillery acquitted themselves well, at least until they were overwhelmed. That and other fighters flying cover for the column did take on and shoot down a number of their planes without loss to our own. Altogether, we estimate that we killed about fifty of their tanks and a dozen planes, along with an unknown number of their infantry. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Russians suffered at least a thousand casualties overall.”

  “War,” murmured Stettinius in disbelief. “We have another world war on our hands.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” said Marshall. “We have got to end this quickly before the situation does expand into a full-scale conflict. Despite this terrible provocation, we do not want to take on Russia in a land war.” He turned to Truman. “But if it should come to that, sir, we cannot fight the Russians and the Germans at the same time. We are now involved in a two-front war, with the Nazis and Japan. If we add a third front with Russia, we will most surely lose.”

  There were gasps from throughout the room. Marshall had hinted, and none too subtly, at the need for a separate peace with Germany, or even Japan, should the need arise. It was unthinkable. Or was it?

  “Amen,” Truman said slowly, barely controlling his rising anger at the thought of peace with the Nazis or the damned Japs. “But we have suffered so many dead and wounded and, if you are correct, General, they have taken thousands of our boys prisoner. They will be hostages in any negotiations to resolve this. It may not be so easy to avoid a war. Which”—he sighed—“brings me to another point. What is the current status? Is there still fighting?”

  There was a short pause while an aide whispered to Marshall.

  “Sir,” Marshall responded, “apparently things are fairly quiet. As I said, General Miller is establishing a perimeter in and around the city of Potsdam and is digging in. With the Havel River at his back and lakes to his flanks, he is in a fairly strong position and should be able to defend himself, at least for a while. Despite fueling problems we are flying air cover over the perimeter and the Russian planes are staying away. The Russian ground forces have pulled back as well. It looks like the beginning of a waiting game.”

  Which, Truman thought, is better than a shooting game. “How long can Miller’s boys stay there?”

  “We are air-dropping supplies to them now. If the Reds don’t do anything rash, they could remain in Potsdam for quite some time. If they do renew the assault, it would depend entirely on the strength of the attacking forces. As it appears right now, the bulk of the Russian armies around Berlin are either closing in on Hitler’s Chancellery, where he may already be dead, or have bypassed Potsdam and are heading for the Elbe. The future will be determined by what the Russians do when they reach the Elbe.”

  Truman gasped at the
implication. “Are you intimating that they might not stop there? Our boys are already along that river. It would mean outright war and no way of turning back from it!”

  Marshall agreed. “Ike is beginning to prepare for that contingency.”

  Truman sagged. Events were so terribly out of his control. The nation was reeling from news accounts of the “incident.” Censorship was in effect, but it had proven impossible to stifle word of the battle; too many people had been involved. He would have to meet with congressional leaders to get their advice, which he didn’t want, since congressmen were always running for reelection. In his opinion, Congress was as useful as tits on a boar. As a former senator, he saw the irony of his thoughts, but a committee of several hundred could not run a war. Also, he would soon have to deal with Churchill, who had openly urged the Allies to move to Berlin.

  The meeting broke up and Burke left with Marshall’s entourage. There would be a number of late nights while they tried to fathom Russia’s intentions. At best, the Russians would hold American prisoners and the soldiers in Potsdam as hostages for concessions to the Yalta agreements, which many Americans felt were already skewed in Russia’s favor.

  At worst? Burke’s mind boggled at the enormity of it. At worst, another world war was about to start and with a whole new cast of characters. His return to the faculty of Notre Dame could become a distant fantasy. On campus, he was safe from the problems of the world. Now he knew there wasn’t safety anywhere. Like it or not, he had become a part of the action, and he found that he liked it. Someday he’d go back to South Bend and spend fall afternoons watching jocks try to kill each other playing football, but not for a long while.

  He desperately wanted to talk with Natalie, but she had been busy at the State Department doing essentially what he was doing for War Plans and General Marshall.

  No matter what time he got free, he would call her.

  MARSHAL ZHUKOV DID not look pleased at having been pulled from his army group headquarters for consultations with Stalin in Moscow. Prudently, he did not say anything. If Josef Stalin wanted to speak to him, then so be it.

  Stalin entered the room and went through the familiar ritual of lighting his battered pipe. He sucked deeply and released a cloud of smoke. “Is Hitler dead?”

  Zhukov was unperturbed by the question. “He may well be, Comrade Stalin, but we haven’t yet received proof. Our army is within sight of both the Reichstag and the Chancellery. Dead or alive, he will be rooted from his cave in a very short while. The Third Reich now consists of a few blocks in the center of Berlin.”

  “And, Marshal Zhukov, what of the American force that reached so near to Berlin?”

  “Pinned down in Potsdam, Comrade Stalin. We have, at last count, taken several thousand American prisoners and more will surely fall into our hands as our soldiers round up their strays, who are wandering about in total confusion.”

  Stalin nodded, pleased. Thousands of hostages, he thought. The Americans were so sensitive regarding the lives of their soldiers. When the time came they would do anything to get them back. “What are you doing about the American perimeter at Potsdam?”

  “At the moment, very little,” Zhukov replied. “I have a reinforced second-echelon infantry corps under Major General Bazarian watching them and blocking any attempt at withdrawal toward the Elbe. The main part of my army is concentrating on finishing the task in Berlin and on reaching the Elbe. The Americans in Potsdam can wait. They will be there when we want them.”

  The Russian army was so huge that the name of General Bazarian did not ring a bell with Stalin. Obviously, the man was Armenian. Second echelon meant that Bazarian’s troops were shit.

  “Good,” said Stalin. “All is in order. Instruct this Bazarian that the Americans are to be let alone for the time being. Now, however, I have a change in plans for you, Marshal Zhukov. Very simply, I wish our armies to move westward across the Elbe, crush the Americans, and put an end to their presence in Europe.”

  Zhukov could not hide his astonishment at the blunt and unexpected order. “Comrade Stalin, I am honored. When shall this assault commence?”

  Stalin leaned forward grimly. “Immediately.”

  Zhukov was further taken aback. “Comrade Stalin, our armies have been fighting heavily and are exhausted. Our supply lines are stretched, and we still have the remaining German armies to destroy. Please let us finish the Germans and then prepare for a proper assault against the Americans. A week for the Germans and another two or three weeks in preparation—”

  “Immediately,” snapped Stalin. “Ignore the Germans. They are finished. When we have bagged Hitler, the remaining German armies will disappear into the mist. Your advance units will be reaching the Elbe within hours, if they have not done so already, and major units will be in place in a couple of days. I will give you forty-eight hours from that time to regroup and resupply. You will then cross the Elbe and attack the Americans.”

  Zhukov paled, but he knew better than to argue. His armies were exhausted, had suffered heavy casualties, were short of ammunition, and their tanks and trucks desperately needed maintenance. Food was not a serious problem. They could simply take from the Germans, and nobody would care if they starved as a result. However, a T34 could not move without diesel nor could it shoot without ammunition. Still, he would carry out his orders.

  Stalin stood and paced the room. “I understand your concerns, comrade, but the disarray of our forces will be more than matched by the confusion and panic within the American and British armies. The capitalists are weak. They will crumble under your onslaught.”

  “Yes, Comrade Stalin.”

  “Excellent. Now for the command arrangements. My day as overall commander is done. General Zhukov, you will assume control of the entire western front.”

  Zhukov blinked in surprise and Stalin continued. “You are doubtless wondering why the sense of urgency. I know you have heard the rumors that the Allies will send their armies home or to Japan once the war against the Hitlerites is over, and, if true, the rest of Germany could be ours for the taking anytime we wished. Is this not correct?” Zhukov nodded like a student listening to a particularly stern lecturer.

  Stalin folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I can only say that there are forces and events emerging that could change everything. The opportunity for success is now. If we wait, the opportunity will surely be lost.”

  After Zhukov left, Stalin was alone in his office. He pulled the one-page intelligence summary from the center drawer of his desk and read it for the tenth time. Events at a place called Alamogordo in New Mexico were at a critical stage, but success was more than probable. Indeed, it was highly likely. Stalin chuckled slightly when he recalled how he had told Zhukov of “forces emerging.” If only his generals had any idea of what was emerging from that base in New Mexico.

  CHAPTER 7

  All in all, Major General Christopher Miller was not displeased by what he saw when he toured the defensive perimeter in his jeep. Getting out and checking things was a lot better than staying in the old German imperial barracks and staring at maps. It was also good for the men to see that at least one general had survived the ambush. His aide, Captain Roy Leland, hadn’t been thrilled, as there had been sporadic sniper fire from either the Russians or die-hard Nazis in the area, but he had been overruled.

  “Not bad,” Miller said, “not bad at all.”

  The soldiers within the perimeter had been reorganized where necessary and now had coherent chains of command. They had spent their time digging furiously in anticipation of further assaults, and the perimeter now bristled with bunkers and trenches. Miller could wish for more barbed wire and a greater number of tank traps, but they would come in time. If, he thought ruefully, the fucking Commies gave him some time. They had been quiet for a while but that was no guarantee the solitude would continue.

  An area near the river had been cleared and an almost continuous stream of C-47s flew overhead and parachuted supplies in
low-level drops. It had taken a couple of tries, but they had stopped dropping their loads in the river. Again, the Reds had made no effort to stop the resupply efforts. It was puzzling. It was as if they didn’t care.

  Miller voiced his thoughts to his aide. “Roy, why the hell are the Russians so quiet? I mean, they jumped us, chewed the shit out of us, and now are leaving us alone? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Leland, who was the soul of discretion and very used to being a sounding board for Miller’s thoughts, shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, sir, I just don’t think we are all that important to them anymore.”

  Miller nodded. “That’s what I feel, too. Battling us served a purpose and now that purpose is over. We can’t advance and we can’t retreat. All we can do is sit here and wait for them to do something. In the meantime, we just grow old.”

  “Well, sir, we will be prepared for them this time.”

  “Yep,” Miller said without qualifying the response. He knew that he was vastly outnumbered by the Russians. If they should decide to turn against him in all their fury, his newly built defenses would be overrun in little time. He understood that he and his men were pawns in a larger game being played out in Moscow and Washington. It was a frustrating and helpless feeling.

  “General Miller?”

  They wheeled at the sound of the new and accented voice. With both men deep in their thoughts, a German civilian had managed to walk right up to them. Or limp up, as the man was on a crutch and had only one leg. The jeep’s driver reached for his carbine and Leland pulled his pistol. The civilian balanced himself on his crutch and held out his hands.