North Reich

by Robert Conroy

  Even though Jed considered these to be dark days, he was still confident that Germany would prevail and that he and his men would wind up on top. And if Germany was defeated, hell, he would head west, change his name, and get lost. There would be more than enough chaos to hide him. He’d even gotten some phony ID from a local forger.

  “We’ve got to do something,” he announced to his new best friend, Bruce. Bruce was tall, lean and dark haired. He wasn’t very bright, but he didn’t have to be. He let others do his thinking and his job was to be the enforcer. Like Jed, he too was bored.

  “So what do you have in mind?”

  Jed laughed, “There are a hell of a lot of so-called refugees clogging the roads. I’ll bet you we can find a bunch and work them over, and that includes giving their women a big fat treat.”

  “Great, but will Neumann let us leave here?”

  “We’re guests, not prisoners, Bruce. There are no hooks in our asses. We can go anytime we wish.”

  That night Jed gathered a score of men into trucks and drove off the compound. This time they were all armed. If they ran into resistance they would shoot their way out. They did not wear their black shirts.

  They didn’t have to go far before they began to see clusters of people gathered around the roads. Some of the groups were quite large, with Red Cross and church groups helping out. Smaller groups were often too close to other groups and would likely assist each other if trouble broke out. All of these were off-limits.

  He was beginning to get discouraged, but they finally spotted a group of thirty or so with, he exulted, a number of women. He didn’t care about their ages, he just wanted a fuck.

  Foolishly, this group had separated itself from the main body. They were in a church parking lot a couple of hundred yards off the road. Jed didn’t think the separation had been intentional, just one of those things. They drove past and parked along the road, just out of sight of the group. Nobody seemed to notice. Most of the group looked like they were asleep. A few people were gathered around a dying campfire. They got to within a few yards before anyone noticed and, even then, nobody sounded any alarm.

  “Police,” Jed announced. The refugees stirred and were puzzled. “Everybody, kneel down and hands on top of your heads.”

  Like confused children, they did as told. Jed’s men moved quickly through them, tying them and sticking cloths in their mouths. By now, the refugees realized that the intruders weren’t cops, but it was far too late.

  First, they looted the wallets and purses and then went through luggage for valuables. They gathered a significant amount of cash and jewelry. The refugees had taken all their wealth that they could carry.

  “Fun time,” Jed announced. As leader, he had first choice and he selected a young brunette who looked like she was maybe twenty. His men selected others in order of their seniority with the Shirts. A couple of junior Shirts had to wait their turn since there just weren’t enough women to go around.

  Jed ripped the woman’s clothes off and punched her in the face when she tried to resist. She had a nice slender figure, although her breasts were on the small side, and she was probably younger than he thought. Tough, he thought and punched her again when she tried to wrestle away. She went limp and let him do what he wished. The entire mass rape took less than half an hour. A couple of the guys wanted seconds, but he said no. Sooner or later someone would come down that road and spread the alarm.

  They piled into the trucks and drove back to the farm. The refugees would soon get free and someone would run for help. Police might ask if anyone had gotten a license number, but these had been obscured by tape. The cops might suspect them, but they had no proof and bigger things to worry about, like a war.

  They made it back to the farm without incident. It was time to drink beer and discuss their success. They knew it probably wouldn’t happen again and might have been the last hurrah of the Black Shirts.

  Heil Hitler.

  Heinz Guderian had known that an American attack was inevitable. Even a complete fool understood that. The only question was when and where. Ontario was larger than many European countries, but the strategic area was focused around Toronto. Still, even that was too large an area to defend.

  He had divided his army into three groups and grandly designated them as Army Fronts. Army Front West was commanded by General Erhard Raus and had originally run along the Detroit and St. Clair Rivers. His task was to delay the approach of the Americans led by Patton and he’d been doing a marvelous job of it. The Americans were advancing steadily, but paying a steep blood price for it.

  Army Front South was commanded by General Felix Steiner. Even though he was an SS general and a favorite of Hitler’s, Guderian didn’t hold that against him. He was a tough and capable general who had built a defense in depth along the Niagara River. Those defenses were being battered by American artillery and all indications were that the U.S. would launch an attempt to establish a bridgehead and follow up with pontoon bridges.

  Guderian had not dismissed the possibility of an amphibious assault. He just hadn’t had the resources to defend the entire lengthy lake frontage.

  He concluded that the American attack at Port Maitland had been made at a good spot. The Americans could strike inland and then either hit north at Toronto or south towards the Niagara River. Either would make him shift major portions of his forces, perhaps even causing him to lose the Niagara Front.

  But he had not considered inaction by the Americans. By now he was used to the steady clawing of Patton’s army, which was gradually wearing down Raus’s forces. But the Americans, after landing what were at least two divisions, had dug in and appeared to be waiting for something to happen. Well, he laughed, he would oblige them. Three divisions from his meager third group, his reserves, were en route to this Port Maitland area. He would form them into a classic spear point and smash into the Americans. He would split the American army into two and drive to the lake. They would cause panic and, with only a little luck, the Americans would withdraw, licking their wounds.

  His patrols had located divisional boundaries and he knew they were the enemy’s weakest points. If he could wedge his men between the American divisions, he could drive on to Lake Erie and, just perhaps, roll up the Americans. He might not destroy them, but he could and would give them a terribly bloody nose. The idea of marching several thousand American prisoners through the streets of Toronto was intoxicating. The Fuhrer would love it if he could only get the pictures out. Perhaps the Fuhrer would finally realize that Heinz Guderian was among the best generals the Reich had, if not the best.

  Certainly, he was better than that ass von Paulus who was just about to throw away all of Germany’s victories in Russia.

  He turned to his staff. “Steiner will be informed that he is to focus on the American armies to his front and ignore the American beachhead to his rear. We will attack the American beachhead and I will command that attack.”

  He turned to Koenig who had been listening intently. “Captain, you will fly me to St Catharines where I will set up my headquarters and we will proceed from there.”

  Koenig grinned with pleasure. It was good to have a commander who was decisive and skillful. The Americans were going to pay. Maybe he would finally get promoted.

  Landry watched with dismay as the columns of German tanks and trucks rumbled through the night and past his position. They were clearly en route to the American beachhead. Fortunately, his men were hidden and the Germans had bigger game on their minds than looking for his small detachment.

  At least we can warn the beachhead that bad things are coming quickly, he thought. He had that sad fact radioed to III Corps and was told to stand fast and keep track of things. Since that was what he’d already planned, he concurred. They were well behind German lines, which severely limited his options. He thought they could make it back to American lines fairly easily, but what would that accomplish? Word was that the beachhead was jammed asshole to asshole with GIs, so wha
t would that accomplish? Besides, Rangers were not trained to fight like front line soldiers, although they could if they had to. No, they’d been designed to be sneaky bastards who gave the enemy fits all disproportionate to their numbers.

  He called his lieutenants and platoon sergeants around him and told them his rough plans. He also said that anyone who wanted to go to the beach was free to leave. He wanted volunteers. Landry was not surprised when he had one hundred per cent volunteers.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Sergeant Devin. Devin was in his late thirties and had been in the army forever. Thus, he was not impressed by a mere lieutenant even though he admitted that Landry had done a helluva job so far.

  “Ever been in a car full of people when a wasp gets loose inside? Even though each person in it is ten thousand times larger than the wasp, they all panic and start swatting at it. Sometimes they get so excited by the silly beast that they get all carried away and the car crashes and everybody’s killed. Of course, the wasp flies away wondering just what the hell all the fuss was about, while the cops and the mourning families wonder what caused the tragic accident.”

  Lieutenant Jordan, the senior of the two lieutenants, laughed. “Let me guess, we’re gonna be wasps.”

  “Correct. Now all we’ve got to do is figure a way to get close to Toronto and to contact the OSS or the underground. Then we’ll see about driving that German car off the road and flying away safely. Just so we all understand each other, this ain’t no suicide mission. I plan to get everybody back alive and in one piece.”

  Which just ain’t too likely, he thought sadly.

  The slender young woman with long reddish brown hair walked up to the nurses’ station. She’d made the same journey each day for the last week and gotten the same answer — no change. The patient appeared to be responding to stimuli, but that was about it. She might have been pretty except for the stress and strain etched in her face. Despite that, her trim young figure turned the heads of a number of young male doctors and orderlies.

  The senior nurse, a captain and a woman in her forties, took a deep breath. How would this play out, she wondered. Would it be triumph or tragedy?

  The nurse took the woman’s arm and led her to a chair in the corner of the room where they would have some privacy. When they were both seated, she said, “He woke up for good last night.”

  “Oh God,” the woman gasped. “How is he? How is his mind?”

  The nurse smiled. It was a good question. The boy had been out for some time, although sometimes more semi-conscious and incoherent than actually unconscious. Even so, some people never truly came out of it.

  “Can I see him or do I have to clear it through the doctors since I’m not family?”

  The nurse smiled sweetly and patted her on the arm. “Fuck the doctors.”

  The young man was in a private room befitting his status as a war hero. That happy situation wouldn’t last as casualties from the fighting just a few score miles north would soon begin to trickle down.

  “You have company,” the nurse said and quietly departed. The young man in the bed was facing away.

  The young woman reached down and touched his arm. “Tony?”

  He started as if jabbed. “Go away.”

  Nancy O’Connor pulled over a chair and sat down facing him. His face was bruised and a bandage had been wrapped around his head.

  “No way in hell, flyboy. I didn’t take busses and trains all the way from Baltimore to Albany to be told to go away. And, oh yeah, I’ve been sitting here for a week waiting for you to get around to waking up. If I go it’ll be because I want to and not because any snotty pilot told me to.”

  “I didn’t want you to see me like this!”

  “What? In bed? I thought you always wanted me to see you in bed.”

  Tony smiled slightly. “Yeah, but not like this. Or haven’t you noticed that I don’t take up the whole thing anymore.”

  “When the time comes, that’ll leave more room for me.”

  “I lost my leg just above the knee.”

  “I know.” Nancy didn’t add that the nurses had let her see the raw wound so she wouldn’t be shocked later one.

  “They’re gonna fit me for an artificial one, but my flying days are over. Hell, I won’t even be able to drive a car because I won’t be able to work the clutch. I never could shift gears and drive with one foot like some guys could.”

  “My uncle’s an engineer with General Motors and he told me they’re working on some kind of automatic transmission that won’t require shifting. He also said he could modify a car so you could drive it. In the meantime, I’ll drive you.”

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  Nancy laughed. “Not quite, but I’m working on it. The big thing is to get you out of bed and on your feet and to quit feeling sorry for yourself. Look, you’re a hero. When the time comes they’re going to fly you to Washington for some kind of presentation. You sank five U-boats and are responsible for the destruction of at least two more, and so what if you lost three planes in the process. One was a Piper Cub, for Christ sake.”

  “I lost some good men, Nancy.”

  His last memory of his final flight was of him screaming as the plane skimmed across the waves and breaking into little pieces. He dimly recalled being pulled into a boat, but then he’d passed out from the pain from his mangled leg and the result of his head hitting something hard in the plane.

  “And you think your men would want you to lie here and whimper like a whipped puppy?”

  Tony finally smiled a genuine smile. “I guess not. I just don’t want you to run away when you finally see me naked. You were so shy when we were dating.”

  “I am shy, but not that shy. I just didn’t want a dazzling young pilot thinking he could get me in bed just by smiling. When the time comes, we’ll have a good life together. Besides, I saw your leg. The nurse showed me when you were unconscious. Nasty, but we’ll both deal with it.”

  “You certain?”

  She slid her hand under the covers and down his belly. He gasped as she held his manhood and stroked it until it became hard. “I’m certain.”

  She let go and stood up. “Now hold that thought until I come back.”

  He groaned. “You are so cruel.”

  “I know; a real bitch. But I love you and you love me, and we’re gonna work this out.”

  She left the room and walked past the nurse. “Well?”

  Nancy grinned broadly. “He’ll live.”

  Ike could not hide his distress. The landings had more than stalled. Fredendall had just informed Bradley that he was pulling his more advanced units back into a compact mass that would, in his words, result in a more straitened and more easily defended perimeter. He had also raised the specter of abandoning the site and withdrawing back to Ohio. He momentarily expected a German assault in overwhelming strength.

  “I thought we had a tiger in command, but it looks like we’ve got a pussycat,” Ike said.

  “That’s not quite fair,” said Bradley. “The timing of the landings was all screwed up. We lost an entire day in which we could have landed more men, tanks, and guns and yes, moved farther inland. We all agreed that the krauts would counter-attack and that we should be prepared. If we hadn’t lost that day, we would be in much better shape.”

  “Agreed,” Ike admitted, “But Fredendall still should have landed his troops that first day and now he’s got us jammed into such a small perimeter that there’s no room for maneuver. All we can do is sit there and take it on the chin when the Germans attack. We’ve given him orders to expand, but he’s rejected them, saying that the situation doesn’t permit it and that he’s the man on the ground.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Bradley asked sadly, already knowing the answer. A good man’s career was about to be flushed down the toilet. He and Ike bore responsibility for appointing Fredendall in the first place, regardless of whether or not he was a favorite of Marshall’s.

/>   Ike stiffened. “I’m in overall command and I will make the decision. Why don’t you have Truscott come here immediately?”

  Truscott took the news calmly. He had been half expecting it, half hoping for it. He would immediately relieve Fredendall and take command of the three divisions now trying to dig in around Port Maitland. Finally he would be able to get out of the damned office in the damned Pentagon and lead an army in battle.

  Truscott decided to take a handful of people with him. Among them were Downing and Grant, while others stayed behind in various states of anger and relief. Truscott’s job was to take over III Corps and clean up the appalling mess in Canada.

  Grant had been an unwilling witness to Fredendall receiving the orders confirming his relief. The general had been angry, disappointed, bitter, and, in Tom’s opinion, just a little bit relieved.

  “Lucian, I’ve done nothing wrong and you know it. History will show that I saved this army from destruction by my actions. I didn’t cause the problem that made us a day late and a dollar short with this invasion, but I’m being made the scapegoat, aren’t I?”

  Tom made a move to slide out the door, but Truscott froze him with a hand signal. He clearly wanted a witness. They weren’t at what was derided as Fort Fredendall. Instead, they were in a tent about a mile inland, but still in Ohio. It was far from being a fort, but a number of soldiers were busy digging trenches and shelters. Tom thought the general did need some protection from enemy bombers and infiltrators, but felt that enough digging had been done.

  Truscott put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Lloyd, you’ve done a great job under very bad conditions. You’re going to get a third star out of your efforts.”

  “Which means I’m being God-damned fucked over by being kicked upstairs. Damn it to hell, it ain’t fair.”

  Truscott held back. He’d been critical of Fredendall in the past and saw no reason to make any comment on Fredendall’s performance.