Robert Conroy

by Red Inferno: 1945: A Novel

  “The Nationalists are losing, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir, they are.”

  “We may be backing the wrong horse in that war. What about Russia?”

  “The situation in the Soviet Union is utter chaos. With Stalin confirmed dead—Beria shot him—there are little wars all over the place. The Baltic republics have proclaimed their independence, and Marshal Rokossovsky has suddenly remembered that he’s Polish. He’s leading a Polish army allied with the Czechs and Hungarians to defend those three countries, even though they sometimes hate each other, against Russia. There’s a strong possibility the Ukraine will break away and join him. In the south of the Soviet Union, the republics of Armenia, Georgia, and Kazakhstan have, temporarily at least, put away their ethnic hatreds and are fighting a common enemy, Russia. That madman, Bazarian, is in charge in their war against Koniev’s Russians.

  Truman looked puzzled. “Bazarian? Isn’t he the man who was shot by one of our boys and a couple of refugees? What’s happening with them?”

  “Well, sir, thanks to your decision to reconstitute the OSS, we have places for all three of them. They’ve shown a real knack for more than survival under adverse circumstances, so we’re keeping them on. In return for their secrecy, they get real good government jobs.”

  “Speaking of secrecy,” Truman muttered, “I wish we could have done something about that Burke and his wife and the book they’ve written.”

  “In hindsight, sir, it was definitely a mistake to discharge him so quickly. Of course, his wife’s resignation from the State Department couldn’t have been helped. On the other hand, he tells the story of his involvement in the war and the decision to use the first bomb fairly accurately. He was not a witness to the decision to drop the second on Koniev’s army or the third on the Japanese at Hiroshima that finally did end the war. I don’t think there’ll be very many repercussions. Now that we have some additional atomic bombs, perhaps it will be good to keep reminding people.”

  “General, I’m not too sure anybody needs reminding. Thousands of people are still dying and much of the Weser River north to the ocean is polluted with radioactivity. The Germans are angry as hell, but that’s tough shit as far as I’m concerned. After all, they’re the ones who started the war, along with the Japs, that is. We are the world’s only nuclear power and we should be able to keep it that way for the foreseeable future.”

  “I’m not concerned about the Germans’ anger, Mr. President. We saved their country and they know it. Now that the war-crimes trials are about to start, I think they just want to distract public attention from that issue.”

  Truman agreed. Some of the big fish in the Nazi regime, like Goering and von Ribbentrop, were scheduled to go on trial. Doenitz and Speer, as leaders in the new German government, were exempt. This did not make Truman comfortable. At least they had gotten confirmation that Hitler and Goebbels were dead, and that Himmler had killed himself. Some others were missing, but they would be found sooner or later. Rumors had them heading for Argentina, but he’d have Marshall read the riot act to the Argentines. They’d cooperate or suffer the consequences.

  They spoke of a few other things, like Churchill’s replacement as prime minister by Clement Attlee. Attlee was angry that the bombs had been based in England. Too dangerous, he’d said. They should have been told. Screw him, Truman had replied, although more diplomatically.

  As he left, Marshall turned. “At least the boys are coming home. We have that to be thankful for.”

  “Yes, we do,” Truman said softly.

  Alone for a moment, Truman speculated on his future. Once he had been terrified at the thought of being president. Now he realized he liked it and had thrived on it. The next election would be in 1948 and he would have to begin planning and campaigning for it if he was going to be able to continue in office. He liked Marshall’s ideas and wanted desperately to see them implemented. He was especially intrigued by the plan to provide money for GIs to go to college. Slowing the return of millions of military personnel to the workforce would alleviate unemployment and possibly enable the nation to avoid another depression.

  Some people told Harry Truman his political career had ended when the war did. Talk like that simply made him even more combative than he usually was. Hell, hadn’t he won the war against Germany, Japan, and now Russia? He was confident he would win in ’48 against whomever the Republicans sent against him, and now he damn well wanted to. He wanted to wipe away the stain of being what some called an accidental president. He had long ago decided he liked power and the opportunity to do something about his world.

  But Marshall had been right about one thing. The boys were indeed coming home, and thank God.

  THE EASY, ROLLING motion of the train was restful and allowed him to think. He had gotten on in Pittsburgh after a first train had taken him there from New York. Even though it had been jammed with passengers, his uniform and the fact that he had lost so much weight that he looked like a prison-camp refugee had prompted a middle-aged civilian to give him a seat. That he limped didn’t hurt either. He was feeling a lot better, but he still needed rest and couldn’t put weight on his leg for very long.

  A couple of his fellow passengers wanted to talk about the war, but he rebuffed them politely. There was still just too much to think about. He had dreamed of this homecoming for so very long and now it was finally going to happen. But at what price? Sometimes the pain of all he had lost overwhelmed him. Not the physical pain—that was endurable and fading—but the inner pain and the memories of faces lost and voices never to be heard again.

  Logan shifted his still aching leg into what he hoped would be a more comfortable position and tried to review what had happened to him. He would probably never remember the last few minutes in the bunker when, somehow, the one-armed Singer had dragged him through the collapsing ruin and then through the falling bombs to another shelter where a medic had given him first aid.

  From there it was on to the field hospital where he spent the next several days in and out of delirium while doctors tried to save his shattered leg. They were successful. However, he would limp for a long while, and would probably always be able to predict rain, but the doctors said he would someday be able to walk normally, perhaps even run. He wanted to thank Singer, but Singer had been evacuated early and returned stateside. He’d gotten a letter that said Singer and his wife were together and that he and Marsha were going to start a family. Singer invited him to visit them in Boston, where Marsha had gone back to school. Jack wrote back and said sure, but in a while. Maybe a long while, since he would be finishing his own schooling as well, courtesy of a tuition payment plan developed by General Marshall.

  How many friends had he lost? Bailey was dead, as were Dimitri and Crawford. Why them and not him? It would be a long time before he figured that out, if ever. The doctors and a chaplain told him it was normal to wonder about the luck of the draw and, no, he shouldn’t feel guilty about being spared. He agreed. It was just luck that he was alive, and not divine intervention. He had a life to live and would live it without guilt. At least he could begin to purge his guilt when he got over his feeling of emptiness and pain.

  Jack recalled General Bradley and General Miller visiting him in the Potsdam hospital and telling him everything was going to be okay. Later, he’d gotten a Silver Star directly from Eisenhower. He wasn’t certain exactly what he had done except destroy that tank, but he accepted it. Singer got a Bronze Star for saving him.

  The worst pain was the fact that Lis and Pauli had disappeared, which left him to deal with the reality that he’d made the wrong decision. America had won the battle and the war; thus, safety for them would have been in Potsdam and not on a small plane.

  When he was finally shipped to England and was better able to communicate, he had tried to locate her, but to no avail. Some nice ladies at the Red Cross were helpful, but they had nothing on her or the boy. They tried to be kind and told him that there were many millions of unregi
stered people wandering all over Europe, and that she might yet be one of them. Or she might have gone to a refugee camp and the information had just not reached London. As yet, he was told, there was no central file of those now referred to as displaced persons.

  On a hunch he had tried to find the correspondent, Ames. A sympathetic person at Reuters News Service had checked and found that Ames had never shown up either, which further devastated him.

  Logan felt the train begin to slow. They were approaching Port Huron and, for him, home. Until the inner pain went away, it would be an empty home.

  The train slowed to a stop. He put on his overcoat and, with his duffel bag over his shoulder, gingerly stepped out into the brittle cold of the early February day. There were crystals of ice in the air, and he felt them redden his cheeks. The train station was by the St. Clair River where it emptied into Lake Huron, and was probably colder than a lot of other places in the area. But it was also within walking distance of home.

  The station was empty. What the hell? Hadn’t they gotten his telegram? He hadn’t expected a brass band, but it would have been nice for someone to have met him. He shrugged and started to walk.

  “Hey, soldier.”

  The voice came from behind him and froze him. He stopped and paled. He couldn’t breathe. He turned slowly. The hair was still dark, but it was clean and longer. The face was slightly fuller, but it was still the same face and the smile was the same one he’d recalled every night since Potsdam.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” she asked.

  His voice came out a barely controlled whisper. “Lis?” The duffel bag dropped to the ground with an unheard thud. “How?” he asked as she came into his arms. “I couldn’t find you, Lis. I tried so hard.”

  She smiled and hugged him tightly. Her eyes were glistening. In a rush she told him that Ames put down to refuel and crash-landed. He was badly injured, and she cared for him until he died.

  “We stayed with some German civilians who were absolute saints. Finally, we were picked up by German soldiers who passed us through to the Allies.”

  She pulled back and smiled up at him. “Would you believe the first Allies I saw were Canadians? They flew us to Canada so fast you wouldn’t believe it. Since then, I’ve been trying to find you. I located your family rather easily thanks to the note you gave me so long ago, and kept in contact with them, waiting for you to show up. They said you were wounded but on your way home and couldn’t be reached. I moved in with them last week to wait for you. I’ve been sleeping on their couch ever since. They really are nice people.”

  He recalled his parents’ house as being fairly cramped, and he laughed at the thought of Lis on the small couch. “Where’s Pauli?”

  “In Toronto. My relatives are going to adopt him. He’s very happy. He’s starting to forget the horrors.”

  “Good for him. Ah, Lis, where’s my family?”

  She released him and stood back, still holding his hands. “That was my idea. They’re waiting at home with all the relatives and friends you ever had and half the food in the world. I said I wanted the chance to meet you alone at the station and see you first.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, dear Jack, we had something very special and wonderful in Germany. I wanted to know if it was still special for you. I hope to God it is, but if it isn’t, I’ll understand and go away quietly. This way neither of us has to be hurt too much or be embarrassed.”

  He took her face in his hands. “Lis, I’ve thought about you every day and every night. I still can’t believe this is real. No, you’re not going anywhere without me. Special doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about you. I love you.”

  He grabbed her again and held her tightly and listened to her say that she loved him as well. If it was a dream, he knew he didn’t want to ever wake up.

  A car drove by and the driver gleefully honked at the couple embracing in the cold. They didn’t hear it. Nor did they see the dozens of people running down the road toward them.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is my fifth alternate history novel, all published by Random House’s Ballantine division, and I hope there will be many more. History has taken so many twists and turns that there is no lack of intriguing alternate history plots, only a lack of time to write them. My personal list of possible what-ifs is extensive and I suppose that is true of other writers of the genre. As they say: so many books, so little time.

  I would like to thank my wife, Diane, my daughter, Maura, and all the other friends and family who have supported me and even made suggestions. I would also like to thank Ryan Doherty at Ballantine for his advice and patience, and for putting up with my sometimes warped sense of humor.

  And finally, a word to my young grandsons, Quinn and Brennan. Sorry, but you’re still way too young to read my books.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ROBERT CONROY is a semiretired business and economic history teacher living in suburban Detroit.

  This is his fifth alternate history novel.

  Some of the characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance between these characters and actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The dialogue and specific incidents described are products of the author’s imagination and creativity. They should not be construed as real.

  A Ballantine Books Trade Paperback Original

  Copyright © 2010 by Robert Conroy

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Conroy, Robert (Joseph Robert)

  Red inferno: 1945: a novel / Robert Conroy.

  p. cm.

  “A retelling of what might have happened had America done what Churchill,

  Patton, and others had wanted: ordered the Allied armies to move toward

  Berlin in an effort to keep Stalin from establishing rule over much of Europe.

  In Red Inferno: 1945, this act causes the Russians to turn on their allies,

  the U.S., causing a chaotic new phase of ruthless warfare.”

  eISBN: 978-0-345-51962-7

  1. World War, 1939–1945—Fiction. 2. United States—Foreign relations—

  Soviet Union—Fiction. 3. Soviet Union—Foreign relations—United States—

  Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3553.O51986R43 2010 813′.54—dc22 2009050830

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.0