The Germans inside fired again and a cop fell to the ground, his leg smashed. Someone yelled Heil Hitler and four armed men came out screaming and firing. Stahl watched in admiration. They would rather die fighting instead of by hanging or the electric chair. They were heroes.
The police were frozen for a moment, but then began shooting. Bullets from scores of pistols and shotguns hit the Germans. They danced and jumped as they were struck until they fell to the ground where they were shot some more.
Someone called for the firing to stop and the silence was stunning. In a moment the police gingerly moved forward. Along with others, Stahl got to his feet. It was time to leave. He saw the WAC and she seemed shocked by the carnage. Good, he thought, and then had an idea. He had to hide someplace and that idiot scientist might just finally make himself useful to the Reich.
“Why am I not surprised?” said Grant as he shook hands with Detective Sam Lambert. “Are you Maple today or do I use your real name?”
“Hey, you can call me Maple and you can call her Leaf,” he said and nodded to an attractive woman who stood very close to Lambert.
“My name is Sherry,” she said and held out her hand. She smiled but Tom could see sadness in her eyes. “I don’t like trite code names, and I especially don’t like Uncle Sammy’s Used Cars,” she added.
Landry had been listening and he was totally unapologetic. The building now housed his two platoons plus enough transportation to carry them. Thanks to Lambert, they now had enough police uniforms for maybe half of them. He’d been giving considerable thought as to how to free the prisoners at both camps and had suggested that his “police” escort additional “prisoners” into either or both sites and then attack the real guards. Lambert had liked the idea and, after talking with Grant, he too had thought it workable.
Sherry announced that she would be willing to do whatever was necessary. Perhaps as a woman, she might be able to distract the guards or even get in to see someone important. She particularly wanted a chance to get at Neumann. Grant saw how close she was sitting to Lambert and the cold anger in her eyes. To his surprise, Lambert supported her desires. He didn’t appear to like it, but he was not going to argue with her. Tom wondered if he would have given in to Alicia’s going to see the enemy. He realized that his new wife would likely do as she damned well pleased.
They had sandwiches and a chilled bottle of Molson for a quick meal. It was decided that Tom would be given a quick tour of the possible targets — the farm, the two prison camps, and the Gestapo headquarters in Toronto. “We’ll move you at night, of course,” said Landry. “Since everyone does that to avoid being strafed or bombed, it won’t attract any attention. Of course, sir, you realize that freeing those people will only be the first part of our problems. Actually, freeing them might be the easy part.”
Grant saw where the lieutenant was going. “Yeah. What the hell do we do with them afterwards? We’ve got to find a place to stash them until the army arrives.”
“And that might just wind up being a while,” said Sherry.
Lambert started laughing. “Look, you free them and I’ll find a place to hide them.”
Stahl thought the little frame house on a side street in Washington was far less than an outstanding scientist or academic should have. Along with being small, the paint was peeling and the grass on the lawn was a distant memory. Apparently, professors were not as honored in the U.S. as they were in Germany. Of course, Doctor Langford Morris might not be held in such high esteem anymore. If the Americans had indeed been watching their conversation in the rainy park, then Langford might be in the proverbial dog house. However, if the Americans suspected the professor of treason, why was he free? Stahl had checked and there was no sign that the professor was under observation. The only sign of life was an old lady on a rocking chair on the porch of a house across the street.
He knocked on the door and waited several minutes. Lights were on, so Langford was probably at home. Perhaps he was napping?
Finally, he heard scuffling footsteps and the door opened. “Yes,” said Langford, puzzled and unrecognizing. His breath reeked of alcohol.
Stahl gently but forcefully pushed him aside. “We need to talk.”
Recognition dawned. “Oh my lord, what are you doing here?”
Stahl sat on a living room chair. “One might ask what are you doing living in this quaint little ruin?”
Langford flushed. “Since the incident with that little Italian slut, my wife has filed for divorce and all but left me. Whenever I can, I spend a little time here where I don’t have to listen to her or endure the laughter of my so-called colleagues.”
“But you are still working at a secret location and you are still privy to its secrets?”
“Of course, and it’s a shame you didn’t listen to me. I could now be an honored man in Europe and you would have medals galore given you by that Austrian corporal.”
Stahl didn’t like the Fuhrer being scorned as an Austrian corporal, but kept silent. Later, he told himself.
“Would you like a summary of how much we know?” Langford asked.
“But of course.”
“Good, because I’d like to tell you if only to rub it in. To begin with, in the Pacific the American navy has surrounded the Home Islands of Japan and the Japanese people are starving by the millions while their cities are bombed and shelled to ashes. The fools in Tokyo are too stubborn to surrender even though their cities are being incinerated and their children are dying of hunger.”
“That is not news, Langford. It’s in all the papers.”
“Then how about the fact that Stalingrad has been retaken by the Soviets and that Paulus is surrounded? He has asked permission to surrender what’s left of his Sixth Army but has been told to fight to the last man. More than a million German soldiers have been killed, wounded, or taken prisoner with a lot more to follow. If the Reds are able to follow up, they will have very little in the way of German troops to stop them.”
“That cannot be true,” Stahl said angrily. Deep down, however, he knew that the attack towards the Urals might have been just too far and that the Reich might have overreached itself.
“Ah, but it is. It is also true that the Kriegsmarine has lost more than a third of its submarine force and is no longer operating off the American coast in any strength. No more wolfpacks, just solo U-boats. American submarines are operating out of Portugal and Iceland and are making life hell for the German navy. Thanks to America’s hold on Gibraltar, they are now sinking German and Italian ships in the Mediterranean as well. There is now very little that Germany can do to prevent the food convoys from reaching Great Britain. Oh yes, Britain’s Royal Navy did get their hand on some oil tankers from so-called neutral nations and have destroyed the Argentine and Brazilian navies. Brazil has asked for a cease fire and Argentina will shortly do so as well since the Royal Navy is making a nuisance of itself by bombarding their cities. As a part of any cease fire, Hitler has suggested, urged, that the Argentines abandon the Falklands. The Argentines, of course, feel betrayed.”
Stahl’s mind whirled. The loss of Argentina and Brazil meant nothing, but so many U-boats destroyed? It could not be. Success on the seas was critical to the success of Operation North Storm and the existence of the North Reich.
“It gets worse, Herr Stahl. Guderian has informed Hitler that he cannot hold Canada. He has lost too much in the way of men, planes, and tanks, and does not feel he can hold off a vastly larger American force very much longer. After some initial defeats, the Americans are turning out to be fast learners. I give the Germans a few weeks at best. Too many defeats and the Reich might just find herself all alone in the world. Or perhaps Germany will have a new leader once the seriousness of the defeats comes out?”
Stahl could scarcely contain his anger. Replace Hitler? Never. How do you replace a god?
Langford picked up a half-filled glass of what looked like whiskey and took a long swallow. “And do you know what’s even mor
e ironic?”
“I have no idea, Professor Langford.”
“The fucking Italian bitch miscarried. All I had to do was wait and there would have been no pregnancy. I’ve heard that she’s coming back to work and that her absence will be blamed on a stomach condition. Of course, all you had to do was believe me and you might still have your precious submarines since we were picking up all their transmissions. Admiral Doenitz requires them to call mommy every day and the Americans just listen and locate and then kill.”
This cannot be happening, Stahl thought. Could it really be that the Yanks were indeed reading Germany’s prized codes? He could not be certain, but Germany had to be informed of the possibility. But how to let the Reich know?
There was a more immediate problem, however. “Professor, does this squalid palace have a basement, a cellar?”
“Yes, but it has a dirt floor. Why?” he laughed rudely, “Were you thinking of living down there?”
“Show me.”
Walking unsteadily, Langford led him down to the dark and dank cellar. The ceiling was barely five feet high. There were no windows. Stahl smiled. “How much longer is your leave?”
“I just started. Two weeks.”
“Excellent,” Stahl said. He pulled out his pistol and smashed the butt into Langford’s nose.
The professor grabbed his bloody face and collapsed, gasping and bleeding profusely. Stahl hit him several times more. He crumpled on the floor and lay still. Stahl checked for a pulse and there was none. Langford was dead and he deserved to be.
Stahl looked around for something to dig with. He smiled as he saw a shovel leaning against the wall. A grave would be so much better than leaving him to rot like he’d had to do with the skinny nigger who’d tried to rob him. Now he had a place to live, at least for a short while. If any neighbors cared, he was a friend from Camp Washington where he knew they had a lot of foreigners. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to inform Germany that their codes might be compromised and, oh yes, find a way to get to safety.
Alicia had decided that she’d had enough of gunfights and seeing bodies laid out on slabs. She’d been spared the ordeal of telling the police and FBI that none of the dead Germans was Stahl as none of them even remotely resembled him. Agent Dunn had handled that part.
“Just what happened to the naive young school teacher I used to be?”
Missy Downing handed her another glass of cheap wine. They’d come to the conclusion that cheap was all that was available in Washington.
“As we’ve discussed before, it’s called growing up and growing up in wartime is more intense than at any other time. Look at yourself. You showed up a shy little almost virgin and now you’re a combat vet with a Purple Heart and married to boot. When this is over, I don’t see you being satisfied with teaching art and music to adolescent girls.”
“I don’t either and I wasn’t an almost virgin, I was a virgin. But, if I am going to work, what options are open to women? Right now, maybe millions of women are working in factories replacing men who are in the military. When the war ends, the men will return and want their jobs back and I won’t blame them. It’d be a rotten thing to tell a returning GI thanks for saving our country and maybe for getting wounded and maimed as well, but now you’re unemployed because a woman took your place.”
“Life ain’t fair,” Missy said.
Her voice was slightly slurred. They had been drinking for a while. After the shooting, Alicia had been ordered to take a few days off. A couple of days earlier she’d managed to get a phone call through to Tom who joked about her being in more combat than he, but his worries came through loud and clear. He wanted her safe. Well, she wanted him safe as well. She knew there had been heavy fighting and she also knew he’d likely be more involved in the future.
She didn’t want him fighting anyone, not even the Germans. No, she wanted him at home and in bed with her. She wanted her legs wrapped around him and his manhood deep inside her. Sometimes she broke out in a sweat when she thought too much of the times they had and, hopefully, would have in the future. She understood that millions of wives and girlfriends were thinking exactly the same desperate and carnal thoughts and it didn’t matter whether they were American or German.
“Damn war,” she said and held out her empty glass.
Wade Dylan, late of the U.S. State Department in Toronto was getting worried. When he’d volunteered to stay behind in Toronto and work out of the Swiss Consulate, he had no idea that there would actually be a war or that it would be getting so close. He vaguely recalled some military thugs he’d had to chastise for trying to cause trouble in Canada. He wondered if they’d had a hand in starting the war. He thought it was a distinct and unpleasant possibility.
So far, his diplomatic immunity had kept him out of any difficulties with the authorities, although some Germans had looked askance at his American credentials. Fortunately, a friend at the Swiss consulate had solved that problem by issuing him a Swiss diplomatic passport.
He knocked and entered Gestapo chief Oscar Neumann’s office. As usual, Dylan was greeted warmly and offered some cognac which he happily accepted. Neumann, he thought, was quite a gentleman. After a few pleasantries, Neumann came to the point.
“And what can I do for you Mr. Dylan?”
“As you are well aware, my government knows that I remained behind as an unofficial liaison between our two governments.”
“Of course,” Neumann responded with a hint of impatience that went right over Dylan’s head. Damn diplomats, he thought. Must everything be a lengthy and tightly choreographed ballet?
“My people in Washington are concerned about the safety of American civilians and prisoners of war as the fighting gets nearer to Toronto. My government would hope that nothing occurs to harm them.”
“They do realize we are at war, don’t they?” he said acidly. “Bombs are falling and planes are strafing anything that moves. It is more than conceivable that prisoners could be hurt, especially if we decide to move them.”
“Will they be moved?”
Neumann shrugged. “In large part, that depends of Guderian and Eisenhower. Even though I am very confident that your Americans will be stopped in short order and well before reaching Toronto, we cannot rule out that possibility.”
“The American forces will be stopped? Everything I’ve heard is that they are advancing steadily.”
“Of course,” Neumann answered. He wondered just which side this Dylan creature was on. “Guderian has many assets he hasn’t used, along with marvelous and deadly weapons that are quite secret. My real concern is that Americans will infiltrate and try to force the prisoners’ freedom. If that happens, there will be fighting and your American prisoners will be in the middle. It cannot be helped.”
Neumann smiled and leaned over. “Of course, anything you can do to help stop such rash actions would be greatly appreciated.”
Dylan stood and the two men shook hands. Neumann did not give the Nazi salute. That would be pushing it a little too much.
“I will endeavor to keep you informed if I hear anything,” Dylan said and departed.
Shithead, Neumann thought.
Chapter Twenty-three
Tinker slowly and quietly crawled along on his belly. It had occurred to him that he’d been doing a lot of crawling lately, and especially on nights like this. He didn’t mind. If he could do something to hurt the Germans and help his friend Lambert, and his new friend Sergeant Farnum, it was fine by him. If either man thought that a friendship between a petty thief and a career NCO was unusual, they were too polite to mention it.
He and Farnum slid through a gap in a fence that marked the end of a farmer’s field and moved silently through what remained of the crops. It amazed Tinker just how quietly a big man like Farnum could move. It was like he was just a whisper in the night. Whispers, however, weren’t so heavily armed.
“We getting there, Tinker?”
“Soon, sergeant, real soon.”
A short while later, Tinker put his hand on the other man’s arm. “Now tell me what you see.”
Farnum snorted. It came out as part laugh and part snarl. “It looks like a German tank trying to disguise itself as a haystack.”
“That’s right and there are dozens of them like that, all scattered around and hidden. If you were a pilot flying overhead you’d only see a blob of hay, and anyone one the ground is being kept away.”
“Really? I didn’t see any sentries or guards.”
“It’s the middle of the night and they’re getting tired and sloppy. Contrary to what they’ve been told, they ain’t supermen and they need their beauty sleep.”
Farnum silently agreed. If what they’d been told was true, the German army was being whittled down and the men left were under great strain. American planes could be dropping death on them at any time. This reminded Farnum of something.
“Tinker, do our people know about this place?”
“I don’t think so. I just found it yesterday. Why, are you worried you might get bombed?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, sergeant. I don’t think the info’s gotten through to your pilots, and I haven’t seen a nighttime attack by your boys yet. Now we’ve got to get closer to that tank. There’s something else you should see.”
When they reached the tank, they carefully stood up in the shadow cast by the moon. The tank was immense and made larger because it was literally wrapped in hay that enhanced its bulk.
“It’s huge, sergeant.”
“That it is,” Farnum said quietly. There was something different about this tank. Not only was it larger, a monster, but the silhouette was different. It dawned on him.
“Tinker, are all the tanks you found shaped like this?”
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