Hull snorted. “You mean they were being sent to be murdered, don’t you? Do you really think we don’t know what’s going on in your death camps?”
“Those terrible rumors are without merit, sir. Frankly, I’m surprised you even mention them. I must also point out that the Beaufort had diplomatic immunity since she was chartered by the German government.”
Hull shook his head sadly. Did the man really not believe in the existence of Auschwitz and other death camps? Why not, he thought. FDR and the military didn’t tell him everything, either.
“Please, Mr. Thomsen, do not insult my intelligence. The Beaufort is a Canadian flagged ship and her home port is Montreal. All the German government did was contract with her owner to ship a cargo to France. And in this case, it was a boatload of half-dead Jews who were being shipped across the Atlantic to be murdered. There is no immunity involved and there will be neither an apology nor compensation. In fact, I believe the United States is due both an apology and compensation.”
“Why?”
“Because approximately fifty of those Jews you so cruelly treated were American citizens.”
Thomsen was genuinely shocked, “Sir, that cannot be. I’ve been informed that all of them were confirmed to be Canadian citizens.”
“And indeed they all were,” Hull said, “but only up to a point. Your murderous masters neglected to check that some might have dual citizenship. Thus, there were American citizens on that ship and at least two of them are dead, either from maltreatment or in the gunfight that began when your Fuhrer’s SS Storm Troopers began firing into the packed hold.”
Thomsen shook his head. “I was informed that it was the Jews who shot first, right after your marines opened fire on the German soldiers who were guarding and protecting them.”
Guarding and protecting them my ass, thought Hull. He sat back in his chair and smiled benignly. “Well, it looks like we have two different versions of the same story. What a surprise. However, one thing is absolutely certain — we have the ship and crew, the human cargo, and a number of German soldiers in our possession. We will retain all but the soldiers who will be free to either return to German control or remain interned in the United States. Of course the Jews from the Beaufort will be free to do whatever they wish, but I cannot see any of them returning to Canada in the foreseeable future.”
Thomsen stood. The meeting was over. “Mr. Secretary, you are aware that each incident like this brings us closer and closer to war, aren’t you?” he asked sadly.
Just as each day brings us closer and closer to April second, Hull thought. He wondered if Thomsen was aware of what was going to happen on that date.
Barring a miracle, war with Germany would commence in only a couple of weeks. Hull wondered if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Certainly oppressed and brutalized peoples in Canada and Europe would rejoice and pray for their liberation, while other nations, ostensibly neutral, would wait to see how this new war played out. Would the United States prevail, or would the Thousand Year Reich become a terrible reality. And how long would it take and how much American blood would be spilled to bring down the Third Reich?
Hull wondered what the Soviets would do when the spring thaws arrived. Again, there were rumors that either the Germans or the Russians would commence their own war again once the snows melted and the mud dried. Perhaps it was time for another conversation with Andrei Gromyko, the very young ambassador from what remained of the Soviet Union.
There was no question regarding the British. They were totally dependent on others for their food, which meant that the British Isles, already on short rations, could be starved if Hitler decided to impose a blockade. The British would do what they did in the previous decade — they would try to appease the Nazi monster.
B24 pilot Terry Romano was bored to tears, and so was his crew. How many times could they pretend to bomb a make believe enemy ship? They had honed their skills to perfection. Men, plane and weapons all functioned as one.
Neither Terry nor his men were stupid. They knew that it was one thing to drop bombs and fire weapons at a defenseless target and quite another to shoot at one that might just fire back, perhaps wounding or killing crewmen or even shooting down the Vampire. They’d even taken their bomber out over the Chesapeake and pretended to shoot up U.S. submarines that maneuvered and dived to stay away from them as part of their own training.
In briefings, they’d been told that the German’s Achilles Heel was a supply line that extended from France to wherever their subs lay in waiting. Even unopposed, it was a long and dangerous journey for the U-boats from the coast of the United States back to their bases in France along the Bay of Biscay. Thus, only about a third of the U-boats’ total strength could be mustered at any one time. One third would always be in transit to and from France, and the other third would be re-fitting and their crews getting needed rest.
He’d been told that the Kriegsmarine had gathered a number of transports that would be used as supply ships and even had a number of specially designed transport submarines called ‘milch cows.’ The German crews could take their recreation in Halifax, which, while not France, was peaceful enough. A thoughtful German military hierarchy had even imported a number of French prostitutes to service their brave lads. Terry doubted the U.S. navy would ever go along with something like that, although both he and his crew thought the idea had merit. Hell, the American navy didn’t even allow alcohol on its ships, something Terry thought was absurd.
Along with sinking German U-boats, the bombers’ assignments would include killing those supply ships.
Strong rumors had the war beginning shortly. Terry was as nervous and scared as the next guy, but he was confident he would do his duty. He owed it to himself, his crew, and, oh yeah, the nice little girl named Nancy O’Connor he’d met in Baltimore. They’d dated a few times and, even though she wouldn’t let him do more than kiss her, he found himself more and more wanting to be with her.
Nancy wasn’t Italian, but she was Catholic. He thought his family would like her.
Chapter Nine
General George C. Marshall was his usual expressionless self as he sat across from President Roosevelt. For his part, the president was, as always, uncomfortable in the presence of his senior army commander. Marshall was a man who intimidated almost everyone.
“Mr. President, I would like you to reconsider my request.”
How many times had the man asked and how many times have I turned him down, FDR wondered. The denial was Marshall’s own fault for doing such a splendid job in Washington as the army’s chief of staff.
“No, general, I cannot spare you. I don’t think I would sleep well if you weren’t here to guide me. I understand fully just how much you want a field command, but I need you here. We are still at war with the Japanese and we need you to coordinate and control those efforts as well as the likely coming war with Germany. You nominated Eisenhower to command the forces arrayed against the Nazis and we are both confident that he will do a fine job.”
Marshall knew he was whipped. His dream of leading an army in battle would not be fulfilled. He’d held a staff position in France during the first war, and performed brilliantly, but he’d never held a combat command and it ate at him.
Marshall, of course, totally agreed with Roosevelt’s assessment of Eisenhower. Ike might not be a great strategist, but his skills as an administrator and facilitator would prove invaluable. Not only would he have to deal with his own subordinates, but he would have to mollify the Canadians while their country was destroyed by a war that was none of their choosing. When the fighting began, it was more than likely that the British would also come into the fray. In particular, the Royal Navy ships now in the Chesapeake and elsewhere were commanded by the dashing and charismatic Admiral Sir Philip Vian, a man who also craved action. Vian was a fighting admiral and Marshall thought that would mean a lot with King. Marshall’s own sources told him that the Brits were chomping at the bit to storm out o
f their sanctuaries and take on the German U-boats.
Ironically, his own secretary of state disagreed. He felt that the potential food situation would keep the Brits on the sidelines until they felt it was safe. We shall see, the president thought.
The two men reviewed the command structure. Along the St. Clair and Detroit Rivers, Lieutenant General George S. Patton commanded the U.S. Third army which consisted of two corps of two divisions each. They were located inland from the city of Detroit and both the St. Clair and Detroit rivers and would not move into position until and if the Germans attacked. Both FDR and Marshall knew they might be excoriated by future historians for not moving preemptively. But an early move would tip off the Germans who would likely cancel their operations and wait for another and more propitious day. Such would result in even more American casualties. No, it was better to bite the bullet and wait for April 2.
A similar situation waited on the Buffalo-Niagara line. There the American Fifth Army, consisting of three corps of two divisions each, was commanded by Lieutenant General Lloyd Fredendall. Marshall was a strong supporter of Fredendall and was confident that he would do splendidly in battle with the Nazis. Marshall admitted that had heard the rumors that Fredendall was a swaggering braggart, but so was Patton. Even if one of his chosen commanders failed, there were others waiting in the wings, and those included people like Omar Bradley and Lucian Truscott.
FDR looked thoughtful. “Ten divisions will not be enough to conquer Canada, will it?”
Marshall stifled a grimace. How many times had they been over this point? The president had been very forgetful lately. The stress of his office must be getting to him. He hoped it wasn’t some other health-related problem. The nation needed FDR’s calming strength even though he sometimes drove Marshall crazy.
“No sir, but it should be more than enough to stifle a large German raid. We will need at least one more army group to properly invade and conquer Canada when the time comes. Those troops will begin to arrive as soon as war is declared.”
This point did not make the president happy. He’d gone to congress after the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor and rallied a nation. But would he be able to do it a second time? Wouldn’t the public wonder just how he could have been hoodwinked again? Yes, he’d get his war declared, but his reputation might just wind up in tatters if it was found out that he knew that the Germans would attack on April second and did nothing to head it off.
The expansion of the army in the American northeast would have one pleasant side effect. Dwight Eisenhower would soon be in command of the largest American army in the nation’s history, far eclipsing that commanded in the Pacific by the very annoying Douglas MacArthur. He wondered if MacArthur might want to return stateside and take over Ike’s forces. FDR decided that he would not allow that to happen. MacArthur was wrapping up the liberation of the Philippines. He’d declared victory even though more than fifty thousand Japanese soldiers were still active in the islands. No, he did not want MacArthur taking over and proclaiming he’d won with a German army still on North American soil.
Captain Heinrich Stahl waited nervously and wished he was back in the German embassy. The park bench was cold and damp, and he was uncomfortable with the White House in view across the street. It was a reminder that the United States was an undeclared enemy of Germany and he might soon be interned as a prisoner for a very long while. He thought that people were watching him and that police and Secret Service would soon run out and arrest him. They wouldn’t, of course. It was just his imagination running wild. And, even if he was questioned, he still had diplomatic immunity.
That it was raining lightly didn’t improve his mood. At least he hadn’t had to sit there all day to ensure that this particular bench was available for this rendezvous. He’d given that dubious honor to a very junior staffer who was now in the embassy trying to warm up with some Schnapps. Stahl was almost certain the meeting would be a waste of time, but almost certain was not absolutely certain.
He shivered and wondered how many FBI agents were watching him. He turned as a well-dressed and educated looking middle-aged man carrying a bag lunch approached cautiously. “May I sit here?” he said. “It’s a wonderful view of the White House.”
“Of course, it’s as pretty as a postcard.”
The banal dialog identified each to the other. “As I stated in my letter, I have a proposition for you,” the older man said after he settled himself and looked around.
They all do, Stahl thought. “First, who are you and why should I listen to you?”
The poor fool looked surprised and Stahl couldn’t help but be amazed at the man’s naivete. Didn’t he expect to be interrogated? Of course he already knew who the man was, but Stahl would never let on.
“Sir, I am a scientist working for an intelligence gathering operation outside Washington in a place called Camp Washington. We have many secrets and I would like to trade a very important one for a way out of the United States.”
Stahl decided to be firm. Despite an arrogant and calm facade, the man’s hands were shaking. He was so frightened that he might be bullied into giving away more information than he’d planned.
“Why?”
“I am in trouble, woman trouble. A young lady, an Italian no less, is going to claim that I am the father of her bastard child and that will destroy my reputation as a scientist at Camp Washington, as well as gravely angering my wife. She can be very vile at times. My life here will have no purpose or meaning; therefore, I would like to return to Europe.”
Stahl had a hard time not laughing. The sanctimonious old fart had used his cock instead of his brain. “Are you the child’s father?”
“I don’t believe that’s important,” the man said stiffly, confirming the fact that he was.
“Then what’s your name?”
“Langford Morris, Ph.D., and I’ve been working on breaking Germany’s codes.”
Another one, Stahl thought. Perhaps he’ll also claim to have invented an anti-gravity machine. “I presume you’re going to tell me that German codes have been compromised, broken, and that the Americans know all our secrets.”
“I am. I will even tell you that the Americans know that you will attack on April second.”
“First of all, Dr. Langford, far too many people suspect that April second will be the day of the attack, which means that it isn’t that much of a secret. It is entirely likely that the Americans have already gotten the information and are trying to decide if it is true. Since they appear to have done nothing about it, there is little likelihood that they believe their good fortune, if indeed it is true.”
Stahl stood and laughed harshly. “And as to your laughable assertion that the Americans have broken our codes, let me assure you that they have not. Our codes have so many millions of variables that they cannot be deciphered by our enemies, as you doubtless know, although I am also certain that they are trying very hard to do so. Let them. They will accomplish nothing other than to waste their time.”
Langford looked at Stahl in disbelief. “I assure you I am telling the truth.”
“Doctor, you are a liar and a fraud. I am not going to go to any effort to get you out of the United States so you can escape your responsibilities. Good day, sir.”
Stahl walked briskly back to his car and the short drive to the embassy. It was a shame he had to suffer fools, but it was part of the job. With Langford put in his place, Stahl was content that he could spend the rest of his time preparing for war.
Across the park and sitting cozily on another bench across from Stahl and Langford, Captain Art Baldwin of the Pentagon Provost Marshal’s office sat with Alicia Cutter. Even though she’d only seen him a couple of times, her job was to positively identify Langford. Although she didn’t think Langford would have recognized her, she covered her blond hair with a dark wig and covered it all with a scarf. Never take a chance, Baldwin had said and she agreed. His arm was around her shoulders and her head rested on his. To
the world they were just another pair of lovers finding a private moment.
Instead, they were listening to the conversation between Stahl and Langford that was being broadcast from a microphone under the bench the two men occupied. Their conversation was being transcribed on a wire recorder, and a couple of stenographers were taking down the dialog.
“I think we can get up now,” Alicia said. Baldwin was married but it seemed that he was enjoying the situation a little more than was necessary. He was cute, but not as cute as Tom Grant.
“Darn,” Baldwin said with an unrepentant grin.
“Now tell me again why we didn’t involve the FBI.”
“Because it’s an army problem and there will be an army solution. Also, what was being discussed is top secret and the FBI has a tendency to leak things to the press, especially if it makes the bureau look good. The last thing we need is for some cheesy columnist like Walter Winchell telling the world that we’re trying to break Germany’s sacred codes.”
“So, have we broken their codes or not?”
“How would I know — you’re the one who works there. So what is happening at Camp Washington?”
“Well, I’m not important enough to know secrets, although I think it’s highly unlikely we’ve broken any major codes. I do know that we are working hard on it, but what that German said about millions of variables is correct. Even if we should somehow manage to translate a coded message it might be months after the fact and be totally useless by that time. Langford was trying to feather his nest. What is going to happen to him?”
They’d walked to a staff car. Baldwin opened the doors and they both got in. “I think he’ll be warned and watched. His career is effectively over, although he won’t be arrested or charged with anything. Nobody will want any possible publicity. When we play the recording for him, he’ll probably crap.”
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