by Ward Wagher
“I hope he knows what he is doing,” Peter said. “I agree with you, Hennie, that something is getting ready to happen.”
Frau Marsden slipped into the room and refilled the coffee cups, and then withdrew again. Schloss thought it interesting that, when she wanted to, the old woman could move as silently as a ghost. Renate suddenly jumped to her feet.
“I almost forgot! There was something I needed to ask Frau Marsden about.”
She walked quickly from the room following the old lady into the kitchen. Schloss looked over at Peter.
“What was that all about?”
Peter shrugged. “I have not the slightest. You know how your sister gets sometimes.”
Schloss chuckled. “She is probably interfering in somebody else’s life. The poor soul, whoever it is.”
“That’s not funny,” Gisela said, slapping his arm. “Just be glad she pays more attention to people than you do.”
Schloss grinned at Peter, but neither commented further.
“Yes, Frau Schreiber?” Frau Marsden said as Renate stepped into the kitchen.
“I have a request, Frau Marsden. It comes from the first secretary of the American Embassy, Misty Simpson.”
“I know who she is,” Frau Marsden stated. “An impressive girl.”
“She said that she needed some confidential advice, and you were the only person she could think of to talk to. I wondered if I might arrange for you to meet her?”
“I will be happy to speak with her,” the old lady replied. “I will take care of the arrangements.”
“Just like that?” Renate asked.
“It is no problem for me, Liebling. I will take care of it. It seems to me that I often get calls for advice.”
“Thank you, Frau Marsden,” Renate said. “Misty Simpson seems like a good person. And as you may know, Karl Rainer is rather taken with her.”
The old woman chuckled deep in her throat. “I suspect Herr Rainer is the reason for the request. She may not want to hear what I will tell her.”
“Peter always says that if you don’t want to hear something, you shouldn’t ask.”
“Peter has the right of it,” Frau Marsden said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
March 1, 1943; 9:30 AM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
Werner Heisenberg and Herman Goering sat across from Schloss in his office that Monday morning. Schloss would have made coffee and pastries available to help Heisenberg relax, but he feared having Goering monopolize them. The Reichsmarshall was looking more svelte than in the past, and Schloss wanted to encourage him to continue losing weight. He had continued to wonder if the Reichsmarshall was well. He looked haggard, although most of the leadership did these days.
“I appreciate the concise reports you’ve been sending me on a weekly basis,” Schloss said. “However, I get a better feel from these face-to-face meetings.”
“Are you unhappy with the work I am doing?” Heisenberg asked quickly.
“Oh no, I am very pleased with your work. I only wish that we could fund you to a greater extent. What you are doing is important.”
“I have been impressed with how you have pulled your team together,” Goering commented. “It is sometimes difficult to get scientists to all pull in the same direction. No offense.”
“And none taken,” Heisenberg replied. “I believe that within a few years we may have an experimental atomic power module generating electricity for the Fatherland. I have made that my goal.”
Schloss leaned back and studied the slim scientist. In Schloss’s former world, he had a history of advocating for peaceful nuclear energy and was generally opposed to building weapons.
“There is an item I would like to discuss,” Schloss said quietly.
Heisenberg looked up quickly. “I serve the Reich.”
“I know that,” Schloss nodded. “I have allowed you to set the direction for your research because I believe that made the most sense for us. However, we may soon find ourselves in a war, not by our own choosing, and we may need any weapons that can fall to hand.”
“So, you want me to change my efforts to developing atomic weapons?”
“Unfortunately, I believe I do. I generally share your opinions and think the use of such weapons on European soil would be very wrong. However, under desperate conditions sometimes our choices become very limited.”
“Excuse me for asking,” Goering interrupted. “But what is it about this class of weapons that you think is immoral?”
“Well, for one thing, a very small amount of uranium could produce a catastrophic explosion. We also fear that such weapons would release poisons that would affect the site of the bombing for thousands of years.”
“We certainly would not want to release something like that on German soil,” Goering used. “It would make quite a statement, however, if we exploded such a device in Moscow.”
“Why would we want to do such a thing?” Heisenberg asked excitedly.
Schloss raised his hands in a placating gesture. “The Reichsmarshall was speaking theoretically. We have some concerns about Herr Stalin’s intentions, though.”
Heisenberg shook his head. “I fear letting that genie out of the bottle. Once something like that roams the earth, I do not think we could return it to the bottle.”
“Nevertheless,” Schloss said, “we may be forced to do something like this if an enemy threatens the existence of the Reich.”
Heisenberg looked down at his shoes, and then back up again at Schloss. “What would you want of me, then, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
“You have said that it is possible to build atomic power generators that produce more fuel than they consume?”
“Yes, yes. The chain reaction inside a power module contains two types of neutrons. The fast neutrons interact with the uranium-238 and transforms it into plutonium-239. This material can be separated from the nuclear ash, so to speak, and used in other power modules, or perhaps in weapons.”
“Do we have such a transformational device in operation?” Schloss asked.
“No, Herr Reich Chancellor. We have constructed a small, experimental device, and have achieved nuclear fission on a small scale. There will be engineering challenges to scaling that up to be a useful device. If all goes well, I believe we might have a usable device in about eighteen months.”
“That is just completely unacceptable,” Goering shouted. “The Reich Chancellor expects results sooner than that.”
Schloss held up a hand again. “No, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Schloss said. “I recognize the huge challenges we are facing in this program. We are still not able to provide funding at the necessary levels. Herr Doktor Heisenberg will have to do the best he can, and I will understand.”
Goering looked back and forth between Heisenberg and Schloss. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn. I did not think about the funding question.”
“No matter,” Schloss shrugged. “We all have a lot to worry about. But we do need to continue to consider the military potential of this research.”
“I understand, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Heisenberg said. “I will begin assembling a team to do research and design along this path.”
“Is something like this even possible?” Goering asked.
Heisenberg laughed shortly. “Well, no one has ever done it before, obviously. Theoretically, though, it is certainly possible. The energy released by a single bomb potentially could level a small city.”
“I believe I am beginning to understand your concerns,” Goering commented. “That would be a very powerful bomb.”
Schloss looked at the clock hanging on the wall between the windows. They had nearly used up the allotted time for the meeting.
“Before we wrap things up, is there anything in particular that you need my help to accomplish?” Schloss asked.
“At the moment things are going very well,” Heisenberg replied. “My teams are able
to work without interference and we’re making much progress. Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss placed his hands on his desk and stood up. The other two men also stood as Schloss walked around the table to shake their hands.
“Thank you for coming today meine Herren. I would like to meet again before the end of March. If anything occurs that would impact the project negatively, you will, of course, let me know immediately.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Heisenberg murmured.
After the two men left, Schloss sat down again and began reading Heisenberg’s report more carefully. Kirche walked in with a fresh thermos of coffee and slid a cup in front of him. He barely noticed as he focused on the report, once again laying the point of his pencil on each paragraph while reading. Heisenberg was apparently modest since it appeared to Schloss that the project was moving much faster than anyone expected.
He finished the report and leaned back in his chair and thought about what this all meant. He liked to take the time to ponder as he savored the coffee. In his other world – the Germany of the 1980s – nearly twenty nuclear power plants dotted the country. There were widespread concerns about the safety of the plants, as well as dealing with the waste byproducts. He had questioned the logic of the burgeoning green movement. Germany clearly needed a solution for long-term storage of nuclear waste, but every proposed solution was condemned.
Being in a position now where he could rule by fiat, perhaps he could choose a solution and get it implemented, and the inertia of that solution would keep things stable when a democratic government was eventually elected. He then chided himself, wondering if he was succumbing to the temptation of the powers that he currently exercised. Being a historian, he was well familiar with Lord Acton’s statement that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Would he listen to that siren call and find himself walking down the same path that Hitler and Mussolini followed? He certainly hoped not.
He looked up as Kirche came into the office and stood in front of his desk. “What is it, Willem?”
“I had a conversation with Major Kron.”
“That would be…”
“The Reichsmarshall’s adjutant.”
Kirche waited and finally spoke. “What did Major Kron have to say?”
“He said that Herr Goering has been visiting his doctor on a weekly basis, recently. There are no signs he has resorted to the morphine again.”
“Did Kron tell you that?”
“Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. However, Goering has been secretive about the appointments. Kron does not know what is going on. He said he would know if Herr Goering was on the morphine again.”
Schloss thought carefully about what he had heard. “Very well, Willem. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
§ § §
March 1, 1943; 12:30 PM
British Naval Base HMS Highflyer
Trincomalee Fortress
Ceylon
Admiral Charles Forbes stood in the center of his office and tapped golf balls towards the cup laying on its side at the other end of the room. The organization now known as the British Pacific Fleet was in the harbor at Trincomalee and was re-victualing and preparing for further action. Forbes had hoped for an opportunity to play some golf while the fleet was at Ceylon, however, the two good courses were on the other side of the island and there was no time to make the trip. If it wasn’t for this infernal war, he would have been safely retired and playing as much golf as he desired.
The time spent on the links was where Forbes did his best thinking, and the possible further actions of the fleet required a lot of thought. There was considerable debate among his staff as to the comparative benefits of sailing to attack Singapore or making directly for Australia. Australia was a popular choice since it was the largest territory in the British Empire that the Japanese were squatting on. Strategically, though, he wasn’t sure he had the resources to retake Australia. Singapore was a dagger pointed directly at Ceylon, and it made more sense pragmatically to head in that direction.
The Prime Minister and the First Sea Lord had very carefully not instructed him in either option. They were, for once, leaving the direction of the war to the professional officers. The downside was that whichever option he selected, he would hold the responsibility for the choice.
After a quick two-knock on the door, his adjutant stepped in.
“Sir, Admiral King has just arrived, and requests a moment of your time.”
“Who the devil is Admiral King?” Forbes asked querulously.
“Sir, he was sent to replace Admiral Creighton.”
Forbes leaned on the handle of his putter and sighed deeply. “Typical of the Yanks not to send me the name of Creighton’s replacement. Very well. Send him in.”
The tall, ramrod straight man in the American flag officer’s uniform marched into the office. “Sir, Admiral Ernest King reporting.”
Forbes carefully tapped another golf ball to the tumbler laying across the room. The ball rolled into the cup, tipping it upright. He turned and stretched his arm out to shake King’s hand.
“Glad to have you aboard, I’m sure,” Forbes said. “I must say you Yanks moved with alacrity to get someone out here after poor Creighton dropped his final anchor.”
“Well, President Truman told me that someone needed a golf partner out here, so here I am.” King’s sarcasm was barely veiled.
“Does the Yank Navy teach proper etiquette, Admiral?” Forbes snapped.
“Of course, Admiral. And, we also know when to subordinate it to the mission.”
“I see,” Forbes said icily. “Very well, Admiral, what are your orders?”
“The American fleet, what there is of it, when it arrives, will be placed as a separate unit under your control. It will be designated as Task Force 57 and under my command. I understand we will be designated as 5th Fleet (Combined).”
“You are… rather senior for this command, are you not? It seems to me, if I recall correctly, that you were in line be the next to CNO.”
“I do not know how you Limeys do things,” King growled, “but in this man’s Navy when the commander-in-chief gives an order, we answer aye, aye sir, and do the job to the best of our ability.”
Forbes quirked a smile. “How do you expect your officers to respond to your appointment, Admiral?”
“I hope they will be properly horrified. We hammered this fleet together in a great hurry, and there are way too many rough edges to file off.”
“We all have a lot of rough edges, Admiral. Welcome aboard.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
March 1, 1943; 11:30 PM
First Secretary’s Apartment
American Embassy
Blucher Palace
Berlin, Germany
For some reason the heating in the Embassy was inconsistent. Misty Simpson was happy to retreat from her overheated office to her personal apartment at the end of the day’s work. The only downside to her hiding place was that it was chilly in the wintertime. With the end of the war and the normalization of relations between Germany and the United States, she could have sought an apartment in Berlin as had many of her compatriots. However, she liked the convenience and solitude of living in the Embassy.
Before settling down for the evening, she had dressed in a pair of slacks, a sweater, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. The apartment had one comfortable chair, so that’s where she was sitting, with a blanket over her legs. She sipped on a cup of hot cocoa, even though she would’ve preferred a cup of coffee with a hooker of gin. She was mindful, though, of her father’s injunction against drinking alone. This was a sure way, he said, of letting the blues take control of your life, and she hated not being in control.
The German novel was modestly interesting, and she mainly purchased the popular books from the German bookstores in order to improve her German vocabulary. She wasn’t quite to the point of speaking German like a native,
however her pronounced American accent had faded considerably over the previous year.
She worked her way through the book and she stopped to ponder her actions over the past few days. She was now having second thoughts about what she did during the previous night’s diplomatic reception. Approaching Renate Schreiber, the Foreign Minister’s wife had been brassy on her part. Being brassy had never been a concern of hers, however, she did worry about whether it would have a potential impact upon her position at the Embassy and her work to gain insight into the German culture.
Frau Schreiber had looked surprised when she had made the request, and at that point, Misty questioned her own judgment. Nevertheless, it was done. And now she waited to see if anything would come of it. This drove her thoughts back to her relationship with the two men in her life, or actually the three men. Her father was her lodestar, and she measured everything she did against what she thought he would think. But, having two men who were romantically interested in her was something new.
Misty tended to be a loner. Occasional boyfriends had come into her life since her high school days, but she had never taken such relationships seriously. Not only had she long since concluded that the best company was herself, but her career focus often stymied those who showed more than a casual interest.
Then she had met Karl Rainer. She was deeply attracted to his sense of duty and honor. He was also a worthy conversationalist and a lot of fun. She would never have considered developing a serious interest in a senior member of the Nazi government, and so as a business relationship developed into a friendship and then bloomed into something more, she was at a loss as to what to do about it.
And then Major Lane Johnson appeared with the American contingent involved in transferring one hundred bombers from the United States to Germany. She was immediately attracted to the major, and his corresponding devotion to duty and honor. He was also very good-looking. Once again, the business relationship developed into a friendship and then something more. In both cases, this was something she neither desired nor sought. And now that she was in the predicament, she did not know what to do. And now, having requested the help of the old woman who had perhaps single-handedly foiled the German General staff mutiny, she wondered if she had taken a complicated situation and made it impossible.
