Inconsequential Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “Herr Gorber, congratulations. We have a strike.”

  Gorber stood up and shook Chase’s proffered hand and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s great news, Vincent. Let’s go see what our team has done for us.”

  There was no gusher, however, the oil was definitely flowing. The team was already arranging to fit a device known as a Christmas tree over the wellhead casing. This was a combination of pipes and valves used to manage the products coming from the well. The arrangement of protuberances resembled something from the Christmas season. A whistle of natural gas escaping also to also told him they would need to be very careful and not spark a fire. They would have the devil’s own time getting something like that stopped.

  Gorber turned to Chase. “Make sure they get the Christmas tree in place correctly. And have them start cleaning up the site. I need to get on the radio to Berlin and get things moving from Germany. Also, you need to get some samples to ship off so that we know what we’re looking at.”

  “I got a glance at it,” Chase said. “It looks like light, sweet to me.”

  “Even better,” Gorber said sticking both thumbs up.

  He returned to his tiny office, whistling. His nose for oil had not let him down this time, and he was always happy when that happened. Herr Ribbentrop would be pleased with him, and so would Herr Schloss.

  § § §

  January 30, 1943; Noon

  Reich Chancellor’s Apartments

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “It was good you could take a day off, Hennie,” Gisela said as they worked through their Saturday lunch. “You are starting to look very tired again.”

  “I feel very tired again,” Schloss replied. “I thought things would be quiet for a season after we concluded the treaty with the English.”

  Frau Marsden wheeled into the dining room and set the main course between them. The roast beef with vegetables smelled wonderful. Schloss smiled as she walked out again.

  “She doesn’t have much to say today.”

  “I believe she is satisfied that you are resting today,” Gisela said with a smile. “The argument yesterday was epic.”

  “It amazes me that she is not out looking for a new job.”

  Gisela grasped his arm and leaned against his shoulder. When dining alone, they preferred to sit next to one another.

  “She only has your best interests at heart, Darling.”

  “I have to keep telling myself that. Germany does not realize it has a closet Fuhrer.”

  “Oh hush!” she slapped his leg. “You just told me you were feeling very tired.”

  “Okay, I surrender,” he said. “I spend every day during the week arguing with people. I don’t have the energy or desire to argue with the most important person in my life.”

  “I am glad you are so wise, Hennie,” she giggled.

  “Yes. Well, let’s start on the roast before it grows cold.”

  Spending the Saturday with Gisela was a rare treat for Schloss, and he intended to make the most of it. The new threats facing Germany guaranteed he would have little time for a vacation anytime soon. He was delighted to capture a day like this, Frau Marsden notwithstanding.

  “It was good of Peter and Rennie to take the children, today,” Gisela commented.

  “I’m glad to see Rennie feeling better.”

  “The morning sickness is tapering off, I think. She had a rough time there for a while.”

  “That she did,” Schloss said. “I was surprised she was able to continue to work.”

  “She’s a determined lady. A lot like her brother, I’d think.”

  “I’ve never had morning sickness, so I couldn’t say,” Schloss said drolly.

  “You seem to be spoiling for a fight, Mein Herr,” she threatened.

  “Oh, never,” he grinned.

  The conversation subsided as they ate. The peacefulness was relaxing. Frau Marsden had ensured Schloss would not be interrupted on his day off. Kirche was generally able to threaten, cajole or intimidate to make sure the Reich Chancellor governed effectively. However, he didn’t mess with Frau Marsden.

  “I have given some thought to a residence for the Chancellor,” Gisela said.

  Schloss laid down his fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Is that so? Did you have something specific in mind, or just in general terms?”

  “I have looked around Berlin, Darling. I didn’t think you would want a castle...”

  He laughed. “You certainly called that one correctly, Schatzi. The Reich Chancellor needs something imposing, but not overwhelming. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  She laughed with him. “Of course, I understand. We need a Heinrich Schloss home. Not a Heinrich Schloss Castle,” she said, playing on the German word for castle, which is, of course, Schloss.

  “I have discovered several plots that contained bombed out buildings, and a couple of them are government property. One is over two hectares.”

  “You are obviously thinking ahead of me,” he said. “Would you have already considered an architect?”

  “Of course, Darling. And I asked Willem to speak to Ribbentrop about reserving the property for the Chancellor’s villa.”

  “And where might this property be?”

  “It is near the Brandenburg Gate, facing the Tiergarten.”

  He nodded. “I see. I suppose we shall have to look at this.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” she stated flatly.

  “I did not say that,” he argued. “I merely said I would like to look at the property.”

  “You do not trust my judgment.”

  He shook his head. “Do not put words in my mouth, Gisela. My concern is to make sure there are no political questions around this piece of property. If everything else works out, I am happy to let you proceed with the project.”

  “You mean that this is my project?” she asked.

  “That is what I said. Clearly, I do not have time to deal with it. I can think of no one else to entrust this to. I do desire to keep the budget under control, though. Once Hermann latches on to this, he will want to gold-plate everything. We cannot have that.”

  She giggled again. “I understand, Hennie. I will make sure Emmy keeps Hermann under control.”

  “That is all I can ask.”

  “Do you suppose,” she asked tentatively, “that we might go look at the property this afternoon?”

  “Why not? I had planned to spend the entire afternoon with you. I think it will be interesting.”

  “I think it will be fun.”

  She leaned out to catch the eye of the party guard who stood along one wall. She immediately had his attention.

  “Please arrange for us to travel over near the Tiergarten this afternoon, Klaus.”

  The guard clicked his heels together. “At once, Frau Schloss.”

  Schloss watched as the guard slipped out of the room. He looked over at Gisela.

  “You do that well.”

  “What?”

  “The way the guards snap to attention when you speak to them. You do not even raise your voice.”

  She laughed. “Oh, give over, Hennie. The guards are simply polite.”

  They continued eating and a few moments later the guard slipped back into the room and resumed his station along the wall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  February 1, 1943; 9 AM

  The Communist Party Secretary’s Office

  The Kremlin

  Moscow, SSSR

  “We have not succeeded in quelling the unrest,” Beria said.

  “And why is that so?” Stalin asked.

  “I would revisit the conditions that brought us to this point, Comrade Secretary. Our efforts to rid the country of recidivists and Capitalist running dogs have damaged the economy. The collectives are not producing and the goods they have harvested spoil waiting for transportation to the cities.”

  Stalin once again puffed on his pipe as the two men conversed.
It was as much a trademark or a prop for the communist leader. It also gave him time to think.

  “Who can fix this?” he asked in his mumbling grunt.

  “Nikita,” Beria replied immediately.

  “I am not happy with Nikita at the present,” Stalin said. “He was insufficiently aggressive in purifying the Ukraine.”

  Beria had learned over time how to manipulate Stalin. He had no problems, himself, with purging someone as highly placed as Nikita Khrushchev. Yet doing so would reinforce the problem they had created for themselves.

  “I can pull him in at any time, Comrade.”

  “Yet you have not done so,” he waved his pipe at Beria. “Are you growing soft, yourself, Lavrentiy?”

  “You know I have not,” Beria answered.

  “Bring him back to Moscow,” Stalin ordered. “I will speak with him. If I am satisfied, we can task him with fixing our economy.”

  Beria wondered if anyone was capable of fixing what the leadership had broken. It seemed that it would be a no-win situation for Khrushchev. Yet, the man was an enthusiastic Communist and possessed good leadership skills. He had survived to the present, which was no mean feat in the Soviet Union.

  “I will send the recall notice today, Comrade Stalin.”

  “Very well. Is Zhukov outside?”

  “He awaits your pleasure, Comrade.”

  Stalin waved his pipe again. “Well, get him in here. We have a lot to accomplish today.”

  General Georgy Zhukov marched into the office and snapped to attention in front of Stalin’s desk.

  “You may relax and be seated, General,” Stalin said. “We need to talk.”

  “Of course, Comrade.”

  Zhukov eased himself into the chair and crossed his legs – carefully, to avoid mangling the crease in his trousers. He had a tall, regal persona and his performance reviews noted his professional military attitude.

  “We need a war with Germany,” Stalin stated. “We have discussed this before. How have you prepared?”

  “We have significantly reinforced our border with Germany in Poland. I have moved about one-thousand tanks toward the front. We have also greatly increased our training tempo. We should be ready sometime in June.”

  Stalin’s pipe had gone out and both Zhukov and Beria heard him suck air through it. He made no move to relight it. Zhukov had learned that Stalin would not refill his pipe when he was angry.

  “Do you not suppose I was serious in suggesting a February attack, Comrade General?”

  “And did you know the risks of attacking so soon?” Zhukov immediately argued.

  “Pah!” Stalin sniffed, waving a hand. “You are an old woman, Georgy.”

  “Comrade, Stalin, I know that our equipment is at least as good as Germany’s and better in some cases. However, after we advanced into Poland, we have only bivouacked. Germany proceeded to beat the British, and the French in Western Europe. Rommel then beat Montgomery in North Africa. We would make a serious error in underestimating the Germans.”

  “But they are not prepared for winter warfare,” Stalin shouted. “The Red Army fights in the snow.”

  “And in late March the spring rains come. And all of Poland and the Ukraine becomes a sea of mud. The Germans won’t be able to move, and neither will we.”

  “And all of this armor that we have constructed at great cost is worthless, then.”

  Zhukov tilted his head as he studied Stalin. It was sometimes difficult to know whether he was arguing for a course of action, or if he was playing devil’s advocate.

  “If we allow our tanks to sink into a sea of mud, then they will be worthless to us. Comrade, I believe we can beat the Germans. But, never think that it will be easy. They have a battle-tested army and air force. And they will not have to face anyone except us.”

  “What is the earliest you could attack then?” Beria asked, trying to defuse the argument.

  Zhukov looked over at him and then back at Stalin. “Once the ground firms up in early May, we could kick things off.”

  “And how will we keep Schloss from realizing what we are doing?” Stalin demanded.

  “A maskirovka, of course. We need to have the Germans looking in the other direction when we attack.” The general was speaking of a Russian military deception.

  “And what would this maskirovka consist of?” Stalin asked.

  “We have several ideas, but nothing I would be confident in presenting to you, Comrade,” the general replied.

  “In other words, you have no idea,” he spat.

  “Please, Comrade, I am just a soldier. I wait to be taught in this area.”

  Stalin laughed, breaking the tension. “Just a soldier. And Beria is just a policeman. Let us not fool ourselves, Georgy. You are a general because you are better at what you do than eighty percent of the Red Army. Very well, I will direct you and Lavrentiy to develop this maskirovka. You will present it to me in two weeks.”

  Beria and Zhukov both stared at Stalin, waiting to be dismissed. Finally, he looked up and waved his hand, as though brushing off a fly. “All right. We are done here.”

  When they stepped out of Stalin’s office the two men looked at each other.

  “You know,” Beria said, “I ought to have you shot for what you just did to me in there.”

  The man normally breathed terror, but at the moment there was a twinkle in his eye. Zhukov rolled his eyes as he looked at the head of the secret police operations.

  “Comrade Stalin loves his little games. But, you and I both know he was also very serious. When should we sit down to hammer out our maskirovka?”

  “It needs to be soon,” Beria replied. “Give me a couple of days to see what my people can come up with. I’m sure you will do the same.”

  “My people have been working on this since we settled the border with Germany. Everyone knew it was a matter of time before we were at war with one another.”

  “Very well, Georgy. I hope for our sakes you have some good ideas because I am not optimistic about the ability of my people to come up with something.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Lavrentiy,” Zhukov said with a grin. “When faced with the prospect of being shot, people get amazingly creative.”

  “Very funny, Georgy.”

  General Zhukov walked to his car in good humor. He normally did not indulge in twitting the head of the NKVD. Sometimes the result could be gruesome for the person in question. However, it was amusing to see the little man put on the spot.

  § § §

  February 2, 1943; 2 PM

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  General George Marshall, Admiral Leahy, and Frank Knox sat on the facing sofas in the Oval Office. President Harry Truman sat in the wing-back chair positioned to be facing the sofas as though crossing the T. Each carefully sipped his coffee while watching for Truman to put his cup down. After a pronounced aaahh, the President place his cup and saucer on the table, signaling the start of business.

  “I always thought the coffee in the Senate Dining Room was the best I had tasted, but I believe this is better yet.”

  “It’s very good coffee, Mr. President,” General Marshall said.

  “Very well,” the president said, “let’s get down to business. We need to determine how to deal with our misguided cousins across the Atlantic.”

  “I am very glad to have them engaged in the war against Japan,” Frank Knox said. “Finally. But, they are not approaching it rationally.”

  “Precisely,” Leahy agreed.

  “Forgive me if I sound blunt,” Truman stated, “but, might this simply be sour grapes on the part of our military? I mean, the Brits seem to be developing a plan, and it makes sense to me. And they are in a position to see some positive results.”

  “I don’t think that’s really fair, Mr. President,” Marshall said. “With all due respect. We were on our own against the Japs because we couldn’t get Churchill off the dime to settle the war with Schloss. Then
they tell us they are basically taking over management of the war since they clearly know better.”

  Truman looked over at Knox, who was rubbing his face and appeared to be amused.

  “What do you think, Secretary Knox?”

  Knox continued rubbing his face as he struggled to maintain his composure. Finally, he spoke.

  “While it’s true we have had to single-handedly manage the war heretofore, we have not acquitted ourselves well, the recent Tokyo raid notwithstanding.”

  “The Brits didn’t exactly cover themselves in glory in the recent fracas,” Marshall shot back. “Rommel captured, what, a quarter million Brits in North Africa?”

  “But the Germans didn’t put the British Atlantic fleet on the bottom,” Knox argued.

  “The Scapa Flow raid was nearly as devastating as Pearl Harbor,” Marshall was up to a shout. “And the Brits had far less excuse.”

  At about the same time it seemed like they all noticed the broad grin on the president’s face.

  “Okay, Mr. President,” Marshall said, “it seems to me as though you are preparing to make a point.”

  “Thank you, General,” Truman replied. “The point is this. We are not in a position to do much right now to take the war to the Japanese. Our Tokyo raid was an enormous propaganda victory, but it had little strategic value. The British think that they have an opportunity and they are moving heaven and earth to make it happen.”

  “If they sail into the Eastern Indian Ocean, all they are doing is giving the Japs an opportunity for target practice,” Leahy said. “Look at what happened to their Far Eastern fleet at the beginning of the war.”

  The secretary of the Navy raised a finger.

  “Yes, Mr. Knox?” Truman said, recognizing him.

  “The British got caught with a small squadron in an impossible tactical situation. The end wasn’t in doubt, but I suspect the Japs were surprised at how tough it was to take them out. The Brits are surging most of their Atlantic fleet into the Indian Ocean, and I think the Japs will discover that it is an entirely different kettle of fish.”

  “You are obviously leading up to something, then, Secretary Knox,” the president said.