by Ward Wagher
“As per your instructions, Goering said, “we have focused on the V1 project. The tests have gone well, and we have begun production. I believe we have several hundred in inventory already.”
“Is work still ongoing for the V2 weapon?”
Goering managed a one-sided smile. “It is really difficult to pry von Braun away from his rockets. We diverted some of the funding to pay for the jet engine program, but Wernher is still making good progress.”
“Thank you for that report, Hermann,” Schloss said. “The news is not all bad. We have the V1, we have the Messerschmitt Swallow, and we will shortly have 100 Boeing bombers in Germany. What I would really like us to do today, meine Herren, is to put our heads together and come up with a way to cause Herr Stalin to over-balance. I want him to feel as though he has placed his hand into a meat grinder. Perhaps if we succeed in destroying their morale of the Red Army, we can destabilize the Russian government. But, understand this: we want to be very sure that this war will be paid for in Russian blood, not German.”
§ § §
February 21, 1943; 4 PM
The Pentagon
Washington, DC, USA
Flag lieutenants are a nervous bunch. Their job is to anticipate every whim of their admirals and satisfy the need to immediately. Admirals are unpredictable creatures, especially during time of war. So when Admiral Leahy marched into Admiral Harold Stark’s office on this Sunday afternoon, their dog robbers were rapidly trying to catch up with events. Following the arrival of General George Marshall along with his aide-de-camp who was a full Colonel, the flag lieutenants went to full alert. Such meetings were unusual, and the brass had not confided in their aides.
The three men gathered in the office of the Chief of Naval Operations, and Harold Stark’s flag lieutenant happily had brewed a full pot of coffee fifteen minutes previously. He had prepared a tray of fresh cookies expecting they would be needed for the Monday morning meetings. Leahy’s flag lieutenant quickly moved to help serve the officers and the soon each had a fresh cup of coffee and several cookies. Marshall’s aide-de-camp stood back against the wall, apparently not deigning to lower himself to mere servant-hood. Consequently, the two flag lieutenants simply ignored him.
“Thank you for coming this afternoon, Admiral, General,” Stark said by way of introduction. “I know it was inconvenient, but this is important.”
“I got the note about Creighton,” Leahy said. “I assumed that was what you needed to talk about.”
“Isn’t Creighton the commander of the American part of the joint fleet in the Indian Ocean?” Marshall asked.
Start nodded. “We received an urgent radio message this morning that Admiral Creighton had dropped dead of a heart attack. The flag captain is holding things together, but we need a flag officer out there just as soon as we can get him there.”
“Who is the flag captain?” Marshall asked.
“Bob Heinlein,” Leahy replied, with a look of disgust.
“What am I missing?” Marshall asked.
Stark sighed. “Captain Heinlein is, or was one of Admiral Creighton’s protégés. That is not a problem in another itself, of course. However, Creighton liked to micromanage everything. Now, Creighton was very capable, however, no one believes Heinlein knows how to use the head without permission.”
“Have we heard anything yet from the Brits about this?” Leahy asked. “I don’t mind telling you that the president is very concerned that we work smoothly with them, all things considered. I assume that is something you are keeping in mind in choosing a replacement.”
“That is part of why I wanted us to meet,” Stark replied.
Leahy groaned. “Okay, Harry, what is it I don’t want to hear?”
“The only flag officer we have who is available and has the necessary experience is Ernie Rey.”
Leahy lowered his head and slapped his hand over his forehead. “Oh, my God. You can’t be serious, Harry?”
“It would have to be either him or me,” Stark insisted. “Now, I think pretty highly of my own capabilities. But, I believe the Brits see me as a paper shuffler. Admiral King has clearly demonstrated his leadership capabilities.”
Marshall pasted a false grin on his face. “Roosevelt told me one time that Ernie King shaves with a blowtorch. Rumor has it that his leadership capabilities involved reducing captains and commanders to tears. Besides that, I’ve heard that he hates the British.”
Stark was shaking his head. “General, I believe that characterizing Admiral King as hating the British is perhaps putting it a bit too strongly.”
“He has said in the past that he is afraid of their influence,” Leahy said. “However he has always worked well with them.”
“Blowtorches aside,” Marshall snorted. “Admiral, we probably should tell Admiral Stark what we had in mind for him.”
Admiral Leahy looked at Marshall and then back at Stark. “Okay, General. Harry, we are going to need someone at a high level in London to liaise with the Brits. We have discussed this with the president, and have come to the conclusion that you are the best candidate for this.”
Stark looked shocked. “I know I have been under a cloud since Pearl Harbor, but I thought we were past that.”
Leahy waved a hand. “It has nothing to do with that, Admiral. You have done an exceptional job in this role, and nobody who truly understands what happened in Hawaii blames you for it. No, I want someone I can trust over in London. Someone whom I won’t have to second-guess continually. You have a history of making good decisions. No, let me correct that. You have made a series of excellent decisions. You have gotten the Navy back on its feet and made some very good preparations to conduct the war. Now, we need somebody in England to make sure that the Allied navies are on the same page.”
Stark leaned back in his chair and gazed into the distance as though in a daze. “Honestly, gentlemen, I did not see that one coming. I, of course, serve at your pleasure and that of the president. How soon do I need to plan to be in London?”
“This has turned into a bit of a rush,” Leahy said. “We would like you there before the first of May. I think the president will want to make an announcement sometime next week.”
“Gosh,” Stark muttered. “Very well. I guess I had better get busy. It does leave open the question of who my successor will be.”
Marshall chuckled ruefully. “Until today it was going to be Admiral King. I think Ernie Rey needs to be on an airplane to India tomorrow, if not the next day. Now, if your flag lieutenants could see their way to refilling our coffee cups and bringing more of those splendid cookies, we need to put our heads together and figure out who is going to be the next CNO.”
Stark turned to the lieutenant who was pouring the coffee. “Jack, as soon as you are finished, please cause the paperwork to get started to transfer Admiral King to the Indian Ocean squadron. And give his flag lieutenant a heads-up. King is going to have to scramble.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Lieutenant John Kennedy said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
February 22, 1943; 4 PM
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
“So, Lavrentiy, what do you have for me today?” Stalin asked as he puffed on his pipe.
“Our fraternal allies in the German Communist Party have agreed to demonstrate for higher wages and better working conditions. I believe we shall be able to include the usual provocations.”
Stalin rocked slightly in his chair. He looked down at his desk and frowned.
“I agree that this is a worthy strategy in and of itself, but how will this help us in our coming contest with the Germans?”
Beria studied the party chief and considered the best approach to the discussion. Using the right words was critical. It was like playing a game of chess. He had several objectives – first to advance the cause of international socialism, secondly to manage Stalin and most importantly to preserve his skin. The danger was that both men knew exactly what they were doing. Stalin had
several of the same goals, plus he thought it was entertaining to place his deputy in this position. Beria caught glimpses of a sardonic grin on the party chairman’s face. That did not make things any less risky, however.
“We would hope to destabilize the German government. If we can get them fighting among themselves, it will make the invasion much easier.”
“You may be hoping for too much, Lavrentiy.” Stalin pulled his pipe from his mouth and waved it around as he spoke. “You were convinced that the leader of the Alsace would rally other malcontents to his banner when he rebelled against Berlin. It seems to me that the rest of Germany hardly noticed the event. I believe the German government has coalesced around Schloss much more rapidly than we expected.”
“Perhaps, Comrade Stalin. I confess that I was disappointed our efforts in the Alsace did not bear fruit. Nevertheless, if we have the proletariat in the streets of all the major German cities, they cannot help but be a distraction to Schloss.”
Stalin began packing more tobacco in his pipe. Beria suppressed a wince at the vile smell of the stuff. The man seemed to smoke nonstop, and Beria wondered why he had never poisoned himself with all the tobacco he used.
“I believe we need to plan this carefully,” the party chairman said as he held a match over the open end of the pipe. He then waved the match out in the air and tossed it into the ashtray. “We should work backward from the scheduled invasion date. We can arrange for friends we have in the newspapers to publish sympathetic stories about the downtrodden workers. We must be careful about this, Lavrentiy. We’ll escalate in stages and turn the protests into riots. If the German cities are burning, then hopefully Schloss will be looking in the wrong direction when we kick off the invasion.”
“Yes, of course,” Beria replied. “I think that standard agitprop will work well.”
“And what is the status of the Red Army?” Stalin asked.
“Still not what it needs to be, Comrade. The new officers are working into their units, and we’re seeing improvements in discipline. Cohesion needs to be improved, but they seem to be working diligently at it.”
“And what of the weaponry?”
“My people are preparing a report on the weapons status,” Beria said. “I should have it for you in the next week. To summarize, however, we are in full production on the T34 Tank. The artillery production is coming along very well. We are working through bottlenecks on the aircraft production.”
Stalin laid his pipe down and rubbed his hands together vigorously. It was a bit chilly in the office even though the heat had been running nonstop. Of course, it was frighteningly cold outside.
“Do you think the Red Army will fight aggressively?”
“Khrushchev has been giving me good assistance on the morale front. Plus, the project to integrate political officers into the Army units has been working exceptionally well. I have received no complaints about it.”
Stalin hummed tunelessly to himself as he listened to Beria. He glanced around the room, and up at the windows and then back to the NKVD chief.
“And how are things going in dealing with the local unrest?”
Beria became visibly nervous. His eye twitched. “We are no longer seeing the large-scale protests, Comrade Stalin. What we have seen is an upsurge in vandalism and other crimes against the people. It seems to have spread to Leningrad and Stalingrad. We have had some incidents in Minsk.”
Stalin pulled his pipe out of his mouth and waved the stem at Beria. “I am counting on you to quell the unrest, Lavrentiy. Do not fail me.”
“Of course, Comrade Stalin,” Beria stammered. “We absolutely cannot allow this hooliganism.”
“See that you don’t. Both of us well know that our lives depend upon it. You must be vigilant.”
“Always, Comrade Stalin.”
§ § §
February 23, 1943; 11 PM
USS Hessian
Western Pacific Ocean
Commander Alan Carper scanned the horizon with his binoculars. They were German, made by Leitz. They were given to him as a gift from the team from M.A.N. who had traveled from Germany to repair the diesel engine in his U-boat. What everyone thought was going to be a multi-month drydock job the Germans had accomplished in two weeks. After replacing the broken connecting rod, they had welded a heavy steel plate over the hole in the bottom of the engine caused by the malfunction.
Carper’s chief engineer had looked askance at the repair, and he was himself uncomfortable with being so far from friendly shores with an engine that had proven unreliable once before. But so far both diesels were running well and had given no cause for complaint.
He thought about the engines every time he used the Leitz binoculars, yet the optics were as superb as anything he had ever seen. The light gathering power of the instrument was remarkable. Even in the inky blackness of a night with no moon, he was able to pick out shadowy details of the area near the boat.
A couple of miles to the Starboard and slightly aft he was able to pick out the slight phosphorescence of the USS Lentz, another U-boat in his small Wolfpack. It was on the surface as Hessian was, taking the opportunity to charge the batteries and route fresh air through the boat.
Carper had been brevetted to Commander and sent back to sea with five of the U-boats in an attempt to use some of the German tactics against the Japanese. So far, the mission had only achieved minor success. The sightings of multiple U-boats in the area seemed to have brought numbers Japanese destroyers scuttling in as though in search of food. During previous trips, Carper had learned to respect the Japanese antisubmarine assets. The Jap destroyer skippers were formidable, and not to be tangled with lightly.
So far, at least, he could still account for all his U-boats. But for the expenditure of eight torpedoes, his small flotilla had sunk only a single enemy freighter. The Germans had learned that the tactics worked much better when there was a condor lurking overhead to coordinate the operations. Unfortunately, there were no aircraft in the U.S. Navy inventory with the range necessary to help here.
The officer of the deck tapped him on the arm and pointed to the port. He swung the glasses to the left side of the conning tower and begin to scan the darkling sea. Against the black background of the sky, he could see a darker black, and then recognized that he was seeing smoke. Lowering the glasses slightly he could see the phosphorescence of a bow wave
“Put the Aldis lamp on the Lentz, and give them three flashes,” he shouted. “Time to pull the plug. We’ve got to dive.”
Communications between U-boats was difficult on the surface, and nearly impossible when submerged. Carper had arranged a series of codes which he could transmit via signal lamp to the other U-boats while on the surface. Three flashes indicated that the enemy was in sight and he was submerging. He hoped the lookouts aboard the Lentz were alert and spotted the signal.
The OD shouted, “Aye, aye, Sir.”
Carper stepped to the hatch and slid down the ladder to the control room. He quickly stepped out of the way so that he would not get hit as the watchstanders hurtled down from conning tower. Control room ratings were quickly readying the boat to dive. He felt his ears pop as the engineering team closed the air intake before the engines had completely stopped rotating.
The executive officer, Lieutenant Greg Rogers, had the con and was supervising the dive.
“What have we got, Skipper?”
“Looks like a destroyer bow on,” Carper replied. “Take us to 100 feet, and rig for silent running.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Rogers acknowledged. “Do you have a heading in mind?”
“Steady as she goes, Jolly. If he really did spot us, he’s going to expect me to reverse direction. If he didn’t see us, I’m going to get on his port beam, and see if we can take a shot.”
The boat tilted down slightly as the ballast tanks filled with a gurgling, boiling sound.
“If he didn’t see us before, Skipper,” Rogers said, “he surely saw us submerge.”
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bsp; Carper rocked his hand back and forth. “Even money, Jolly. We were moving at steerage so we may not have thrown up a lot of spray when we went under.”
Rogers looked skeptical. “You say so, Sir.”
“But I’m not betting on it.”
“Quiet on the boat,” Carper said in a normal voice. “Turns for 5 knots.”
Rogers studied the gauges in the control room and finally turned back to the captain. “100 feet, Skipper, and turns for five knots.”
Carper nodded. “Very well, Jolly. Captain has the con.”
“Captain has the con,” Rogers repeated, “aye, aye, Sir.”
Carper walked over to the hydrophone operator. “What have we got?”
“Sounds like maybe a Momi class, Sir. They’ve got so many different types of ships it’s kind of hard to tell. Sounds like turns for maybe fifteen knots. He’s probably 5000 yards out.”
Carper leaned against one of the equipment racks and tapped a tooth with his fingernail. “Okay, so he probably didn’t see us. Let’s drift out to 1000 yards or so, and then come around and see if we can get him.”
“Are you going to need to take a look topside, Sir?” Rogers asked.
“No, I think we’re going to have to do this by ear. He is going to be going right by us. I don’t want somebody to see the periscope feather.”
“Right, Skipper,” Rogers said. “Which tubes are you going to want to use?”
“Suggestions, Exec?” Carper said to Rogers with a smile.
“Suggest tubes three and four, Skipper. Those fish have been sitting in there for a while.”
“Make it so then Mister Rogers.”
“Bearing, range and speed?” Carper asked the hydrophone operator.
“Sixty degrees Starboard, relative,” the operator replied. “Still making turns for fifteen knots. I make his course at 270 relative. He’s going to come across right in front of us.”
