North Reich

by Robert Conroy

  Roosevelt was surprised that they would cooperate. Marshall actually smiled. “A couple of them were glad to be free of Hitler and the war, while some of the others wanted to brag about what they knew and how superior the Reich was. One of my officers helped matters by convincing them that if they didn’t talk, they would be taken to a camp run by Jewish guards. He added that the first thing that would happen to them would be their forced circumcision.”

  Roosevelt laughed softly. It felt good. “And you’re certain no German forces remain on our side of the border?”

  “There are no major German forces in the United States,” said Marshall, carefully choosing his words. “The FBI is rounding up every German national or domestic Nazi they can find. We will doubtless pick up the innocent with the guilty, but we can straighten that out later.”

  “What about their embassy?” the president asked.

  “Cordoned off by troops, along with Italy’s,” Marshall answered. Mussolini had followed Hitler’s lead and declared war on the U.S. “We assume they’ve already done the same with our people in Berlin and Rome. We will arrange to exchange them as soon as it is feasible. What we don’t know, however, is how many embassy personnel escaped and how many other potential German saboteurs are still out there. J. Edgar Hoover can say all he wants about the FBI rounding up hundreds of Germans, but the truth is that we won’t know who we might have missed until and if they strike.”

  All three men remembered the declaration by the FBI’s Clyde Tolson that every German would be rounded up. It had seemed to be absurd bragging at the time, and nothing had happened to change their minds.

  “The navy’s not been inactive either,” King added proudly. “We have four confirmed U-boat sinkings and the possibility of three more. We are planning a task force that will interdict shipping between Europe and Canada. We will blockade the port of Halifax and, after eliminating the U-boats off our coast, work our way towards the east and Europe.

  Roosevelt smiled. “Excellent. And I know how much it means to both of you to be able to finally hit the bastards. Has Admiral Vian asked to take his warships out?”

  “Yes. He is a combative man. I admire him even though he is a Brit.”

  FDR nodded appreciatively. “Let him prepare, but don’t let him go off half-cocked. Hold him on a short leash for the time being. Tomorrow, the secretary of state and I will be commencing a number of interesting conversations with countries like Brazil and Argentina and others in our hemisphere who have been smiling at Hitler. We shall inform them that their best interests lie with the United States and not with Germany. If they prove reluctant, they will pay with the lives of their sailors and the crews of their merchant ships. All gloves are off, gentlemen.”

  They drove past a crowd of soldiers and civilian onlookers who cheered and applauded.

  Across the street, Heinrich Stahl watched in stunned disbelief as the President of the United States and his chief admiral and general drove slowly by him and no more than fifty feet away. If he’d had a gun or, better, a hand grenade, he could have changed the course of history like Gavrilo Princep had done in 1914 when the Archduke of Austria’s car had suddenly appeared before him in Sarajevo. Princep had murdered the archduke and set the world on the road to two bloody world wars.

  Stahl, however, had left the embassy without any weapons. If he’d been stopped, the fact that he was unarmed would likely mean nothing more than his forced return to the embassy or wherever the personnel were interned. Carrying a weapon, however, might make the police more curious and he didn’t want that at this time. Stahl had decided to use his network of operatives to help him disappear. He could not help the Reich while behind bars.

  He listened to people talking and tried to gauge their anger. Curiously, they seemed more outraged by this minor attack on Washington than by the more major one at Pearl Harbor. He determined that it did not bode well for Germany if the Americans could sustain their fury. Therefore, he and the men who remained free from the FBI’s clutches had a job to do.

  Sam Lambert and Mike Bradford watched as uniformed Toronto police cordoned off the German headquarters in Toronto. They nodded amiably to those officers they recognized and some they didn’t. Even though they were in plain clothes, they knew they stood out like a pair of sore thumbs.

  “Why are we protecting the pricks?” Bradford snarled. “We should be killing them and the fucking Black Shirts.”

  “Can’t argue, but nothing’s going to happen until Ottawa decides whether or not we’re at war with Germany, America, or nobody. Let’s face it. Canada’s going to be a pawn in whatever happens, and we’re going to be front and center in the fighting. At some point, U.S. troops are going to pour across the border and there will be killing right where we’re standing.”

  Bradford didn’t argue with that assessment. If the Yanks were serious about fighting Germany — and how could they not be? — it would entail a serious effort to expel the Germans, and that could leave Canadian cities in smoking ruins.

  “Have you heard anything from our friends down south?”

  Lambert shook his head. There had been no contact with the OSS since the death of the agent called Sandman. He thought that American operatives were working in the area, but they had not made contact either with him or the little thief, Tinker. Maybe that would change with the United States officially at war with Hitler.

  Several trucks pulled up and dozens of Black Shirts jumped out. Lambert was mildly surprised to see that they were armed with guns. Who the hell authorized that, he wondered. Ottawa, probably. Mackenzie King had made no pronouncement regarding Canada’s official role in the developing conflict except to say that all Canada hoped the fighting would end and that peace would prevail. Fat, fucking chance, Lambert thought. We’re in it up to our asses.

  More Black Shirts arrived and passed through the police lines, forming their own cordon. It was clear that German property would be protected by those Canadians who actively supported Germany.

  “I wonder how our brothers feel now?” Bradford asked.

  He was referring to those cops who either hated Jews or thought the Nazis had the right idea about how to run a country. He was confident that few had given thought to the possibility of fighting the U.S. Army in the streets of Toronto or American paratroopers in the fields outside the city. Even the Black Shirts usually cocky grins seemed a little stressed and brittle. Had they signed on for a war, or had they just wanted to bully people, drink, and get laid? Neither cop thought the Black Shirts were brave enough to fight.

  Alicia hummed happily to herself as she was driven back to Camp Washington. If the two soldiers up front had any idea why she was purring, they prudently kept it to themselves. After driving to the Downing’s house and letting the dog out, she and Tom had cleaned the mud off her uniform. Of course, that entailed her taking it off along with everything else she’d been wearing and he’d happily reciprocated. Fortunately, the only real damage to her clothing was tears in her cotton stockings and she always carried a spare in her purse.

  For three wonderful hours the two of them had gamboled about the house, enjoying and exploring each other’s bodies. Her only regret was that she hadn’t brought her violin and been able to serenade Tom. Next time, she assured herself. She had already decided to keep a change of clothes at the Downing’s and one violin wouldn’t take up much space. Besides, if she found herself with time on her hands and Tom wasn’t free, she could practice without annoying the other women who shared her quarters. Missy had already told her it was all right, and the colonel did what he was told.

  Alicia’s only question was whether she should tell her friend Rosemary about her adventures. She decided not to. Rosie was a friend, but Alicia could not take the chance that she was a gossip. Still, she longed to tell someone other than Tom just how wonderful sex was with someone you love, and that included using ones lips and tongue on various parts of each other’s bodies that were usually off limits. My, my, how far she had come.
Or fallen, she thought with another soft giggle.

  She looked out the car window. Crowds of the curious were still about, checking out the damage. There had been fires in civilian sections of the city, but these, Tom had told her, doubtless resulted in shots being fired in the air, missing as most of them did, and falling down wherever they wished. Miraculously, nobody had been killed and only a handful injured.

  Colonel Downing thought it likely that she would receive a commendation for both saving and capturing the German airman. While lying in bed, Tom said he was getting jealous of her military career. She reminded him that she hadn’t tried to swim Lake Erie. They’d laughed and she’d rolled on top of him and guided him inside her.

  She stiffened. Who was that? Traffic was heavy and the car was moving slowly. She knew that man, but from where? He was on the sidewalk only a few feet away. She remembered. It was the German from the embassy she’d seen talking to the erstwhile traitor, Professor Morris, but what was he doing walking the streets of Washington? Weren’t they all supposed to be interned, virtual prisoners?

  She told her driver to stop, which he did, ignoring the horns blaring behind them. She got out and looked for the German who had vanished. Now she had doubts. Was it really the German or just somebody who looked like him? Either the colonel or Tom would check it out, although she was not going to break into another Pentagon meeting with her suspicions. No, she would leave a message.

  She curled up again and began remembering anew their carnal adventures. Yes, they would get married and damn soon.

  The men and crew of the Walker Simpson, an American transport, were thrilled to have made it through the icy St. Lawrence River and the Welland Canal before the fighting had started. If they’d still been in the Welland, which ran though Canada, it was likely they’d been stopped even though their cargo was a miscellany of items from England and France. The cargo even included several hundred cases of Scotch whisky and French wines. These might just become worth their weight in gold if North America was cut off from Europe.

  Even though they’d gotten safely to Lake Erie, the skipper was nervous. He’d heard rumors that there might be German submarines on Lake Erie. Certainly, there were subs on Lake Ontario which ran directly to the ocean.

  The captain ordered extra lookouts, although he had no idea what he’d do if they spotted a sub besides radio for help and pray. He’d run the crew through several emergency drills and they all understood that the danger was real. They might be drills today, but they could be the real thing in an instant.

  Even with additional eyes, no one spotted the white trail in the water in the fading light. The torpedo hit the middle of the Walker Simpson, just below the bridge, blowing the instantly dead and dismembered captain into the sky. The Simpson’s back was broken and she split into two almost equal halves. The stern sank quickly while the bow stayed afloat, giving the men on that half enough time to get rafts and a lifeboat into the cold waters. Of the crew of thirty, eight survived, although three were injured.

  As they climbed or were pulled into the lifeboat, several of them saw the silhouette of the German sub outlined against the sky. One of the men had been in the navy during the first war, and understood that U-boats liked to attack their prey while on the surface and at night.

  The senior surviving officer was the first mate. It was he who decided that all survivors should go in the lifeboat and huddle for warmth, and that the dead that bobbed about them would be put in the rafts. Even though they weren’t on the trackless ocean, Lake Erie was still very large and no one could see the shore. How long, they wondered, before they were rescued. Even though it was coming on spring, the weather was still cold and the water was deadly frigid.

  The first mate said they should stay close by the floating portion of the ruin. If it sank, they would begin to row their way towards Ohio. In the meantime, they hoped that the wreck was far easier to spot than a lifeboat. All of them wondered if the radio operator, among the dead in the stern half, had managed to get off any kind of SOS.

  They were not spotted until the dawn and by a PBY operating out of Cleveland. The radio operator had indeed gotten off a quick SOS before dying. It didn’t say what ship or where but it was enough to start a search.

  News that at least one U-boat was operating in the western Great Lakes stunned the American planners in Washington, along with the crews and owners of the ships that plied the Great Lakes. Nothing was safe.

  Three days after the assault on the radar line, Colonel Charley Canfield and his battalion found themselves dug in along the coast to the east of the now shattered line at the point where the Niagara River entered into Lake Ontario. They were far from alone. Other units were converging on the area, and scores of anti-aircraft guns poked at the empty sky. The radar towers were being repaired and replacement crews had been assigned. To Canfield it seemed apparent that the advantage held by the Nazis would be short lived.

  The only thing that bothered him was why they were bothering to dig in as deeply as they were. Dubinski had the same thought. “What the hell are we doing making a fortress here? It ain’t as if the krauts are going to invade. They’re going to have a hard enough time hanging onto what they have in Canada once we get our act together. This is too much like that Maginot line in France for my taste.”

  “No argument,” muttered Canfield. The work they were doing was resulting in bunkers made of sandbags and steel beams. Machine guns, anti-tank guns, and rifle pits pointed in all directions. Their position would be enormously strong and easy to defend, but from what? Yes, they were at war with Germany and yes there were Germans across the river, but it was common knowledge that the Nazis didn’t have the landing craft needed to cross the river and didn’t have the manpower to hold any land they seized.

  Canfield shrugged. “The orders come from General Fredendall and I don’t like arguing with generals.”

  Like all of his men he’d much rather be at home and not on the front lines, no matter how safe the bunker might make him. The construction was so obvious the bunkers might also be targets for the Luftwaffe. No, Canfield would much rather be at home with his wife who would probably tell him that joining the National Guard had been a bad idea. At his age, he could have avoided the war altogether.

  Air raid sirens began to scream. Men swore, grabbed their helmets and ran for cover. Canfield and Dubinski had been outside and away from the bunker. They quickly decided it was too far away, so cover in this case meant hiding in a slit trench. Anti-aircraft guns began to fire and he looked up. A flight of German HE111 bombers moved with deceptive slowness across the sky. These were the same type of craft the Germans had used to bomb Washington. Smaller planes, fighters, flew with them.

  “They’re bombing us,” Dubinski said in disbelief.

  The two men hugged the bottom of their trench as the bombs struck around them, making the earth quiver and deafening them. Only faintly did Canfield hear the sound of cheering. He pulled his face from the dirt and looked up at the sky. The precise German formation was breaking up as other small planes darted in and out of the bomber stream.

  “Just look at that, chief, I mean colonel. Those are our planes.”

  Canfield’s hearing was slowly returning. Yes, American fighters were ripping the Germans. As he watched, a Heinkel blew apart, sending pieces of plane and crew towards the ground.

  The brawl in the sky didn’t last long. Burning and damaged planes tumbled while others tried to disengage. More and more American fighters arrived, and the German forces turned back towards Canada with a swarm of American fighters on their tail.

  Dubinski and Canfield got out of the trench, shook the dirt off their uniforms, and headed back to their bunker. There was just one problem — it wasn’t there anymore. A bomb had struck the top, penetrated, and exploded, leaving a smoking crater where their so-called safe bunker had been. He called for the two men he’d left behind and they sheepishly emerged from another trench. They’d apparently taken his absence as an
opportunity to go outside and get some fresh air. He wouldn’t yell at them. He’d done the same thing.

  “Damn,” said Dubinski. “We need better quality control with our bunker-building. That could have been us real easy.”

  “In which case, Mrs. Canfield would start dating again. Damn it to hell.”

  Captain William Landry, twenty-five, loved the army and really loved being a U. S. Army Ranger. He was an aggressive young man even though he was only five foot-six and whip thin, and he always strived for excellence. He’d pushed himself through both airborne and ranger schools and graduated from both with very high marks.

  What he didn’t like was hanging on to a raft and half swimming in a wide, cold river while dragging a bag of equipment that he would need when he reached the other side. If he’d wanted to swim at night in water so cold his nuts were screaming, he’d have joined the navy.

  Worse was the fact that he would be killed if he or any of the dozen men with him were spotted. Worse than that, the damn river had a strong current that was sweeping him well south of his planned landing site. He would land on the German side of the St. Clair River, but nowhere near his destination. Shit-fuck, he thought. Leave it to the army to forget about the strength of river currents. He would not fight the current. That was a sure way to exhaustion and death. He let it take him south and hoped his men understood. The river was less than a mile wide, nothing for a strong swimmer and they were all strong swimmers, but the cold and the current were magnifying the distance and sapping their strength.

  Finally his feet touched the muddy bottom and he slowly moved towards the land. If the Germans had outposts along the riverbank, he was dead. Intelligence said they didn’t but these were the same people who hadn’t told them about the current.

  He crawled forward onto dry land. He was aware of others coming along behind him. There was no sign of life in front of him. Luck was with them. There were no Germans along this stretch of the river, although there was a full German infantry brigade quartered in the area.