by Ward Wagher
“Well, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Schloss responded, “I had every confidence that we would meet the challenges. I’m also very pleased.”
Goering’s face changed, and he now looked more obsequious. “Might I have a private work with you, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
“Of course, Hermann,” Schloss said, grasping his arm and stepping to the side. “How might I help you?”
“Might I ride back to Berlin with you in your airplane? I came up yesterday on the train, and it’s a long ride back.”
Schloss smiled. “I believe we might find room for you, Hermann. Just tell your driver to follow us to the airport.”
“Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor. That is very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Schloss said.
The overcast deepened, and the wind grew more blustery as Schloss’s entourage left the shipyards. He hoped the weather would hold long enough for them to get back to Berlin. He really did not want to spend the night in Hamburg. He preferred sleeping at home in his bed as opposed to a hotel, no matter how luxurious the suite would be. He knew that Gisela felt the same way.
He helped her into the armored Mercedes 770 limousine and followed her into the back seat. The small parade left the shipyard and included his limousine as well as the one where Goering rode. A phalanx of twenty motorcycle police led the group, and another ten motorcyclists followed them. The streets seemed deserted as they rolled through Hamburg, and Schloss guessed it was because of the worsening weather. He was surprised, therefore, when they rounded a corner to see the street blocked by hundreds of workers who were holding signs and shouting.
Gisela squeezed his hand. “What is going on, darling?”
Schloss swore. “We have some provocateurs who are inciting the workers in several of our cities. It seems they have struck again.”
“This frightens me, Hennie,” Gisela said. “What if they become violent?”
“They have been very polite so far. But it makes me nervous as well.”
The party guard in the front seat next to the driver pointed to a side street, and the driver quickly turned the huge car in that direction and accelerated. The motorcycle riders attempted to form a cordon against the protesters. This seemed to infuriate the workers, and with a roar, they attacked the motorcyclists in mass.
“What is going on back there, Hennie?” Gisela asked.
“Apparently this group is not so polite.”
The driver attempted to work his way around to where they could get on the main road to the airport. He turned right and found this road also blocked by protesters. The remaining motorcyclist swung around them and formed a cordon in front of the car. Schloss leaned forward in his seat.
“Driver, I think you’re going to have to back up and get us turned around. We must find another way to the airport.”
“Herr Reich Chancellor we are blocked from behind,” the driver replied
Schloss twisted around to look out the back window and saw that Goering’s limousine had stopped right behind them. He waved through the window to try to get the driver of that vehicle to back up. Nothing seemed to be happening, and the protesters were getting closer.
It seemed that suddenly they were engulfed by the protesters who pounded on the hood and sides of the car with their fists and clubs. They begin rocking the car, although Schloss doubted they would be able to overturn it. The armored limousine was extremely heavy. Gisela whimpered as the car rocked back and forth and rattled from the impacts.
“Driver,” Schloss shouted, “start backing up. If you bump Goering, maybe they will get the idea and get moving.”
With a crunch, the driver shoved the gearshift into reverse and the engine roared as he dropped the clutch. The Mercedes surged backward and with a bang, they stopped abruptly when they hit the front of Goering’s limousine.
“Take it easy Schloss shouted. “If you took out their radiator, Goering will be in trouble.”
” Sorry Herr Reich Chancellor, I was trying to get his attention.”
In spite of his fear for Gisela, Schloss found a smile creeping unbidden across his face. He wondered what Goering thought when they slammed into him. Suddenly there was an open space as the car behind them backed up quickly. Schloss’s driver immediately began backing up again before the people in the street could surround the car.
With a roar and a whine of gears, the driver skillfully backed the car down the block and swung around the corner from where they had come. Goering’s driver had executed the three-point turn and was now headed straight. Schloss’s driver crammed the gearshift into low gear and with a flailing of arms on the steering wheel, he got the limousine turned and was now following Goering’s car. They were moving quickly now, rather than at their previous sedate pace. He heard the whine of the supercharger, which engaged when the driver pressed the accelerator to the floor.
“Hennie, what about the motorcycle riders?”
“I do not know. Right now, we mainly need to get to the airport, and on the plane. Things have gotten out of hand here in Hamburg.”
“But, why did they attack us?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I imagine they did not recognize us. When a crowd like that gets going, it has its own special form of insanity. It usually takes some harsh measures to break their will. I think that, afterwards, many if not most of them will be embarrassed about what they did today.”
“I don’t think that will help the motorcyclists any, though,” she remarked.
“That is very true, my dear. I’m very concerned about them. But I am mostly concerned about getting you out of here safely.”
With tires screaming, the big Mercedes wheeled onto the airport access road at nearly 80 kilometers per hour. It looked as though Goering’s limousine had shed a tire, but his driver assumed that it was safer to run the rest of the way on the rim rather than attempting to stop for a repair. Schloss had no argument with that decision.
They came to a stop next to Schloss’s Condor airliner and quickly climbed out.
“Is the aircraft pre-flighted and ready?” Schloss asked the pilot.
“The pilot jumped to attention. “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. We can leave at any time.”
“All right, then, let’s go. Things are unsettled in the city. We need to get out of here. The Reichsmarshall will be riding with us as well.”
The pilot looked up at the cockpit windows where the flight engineer watched them. The pilot made a winding up motion with his finger as Goering and his adjutant quickly climbed the stairs to the airplane. Schloss turned to Gisela.
“We should go ahead and board, my dear,” he said. The pilot looked at Goering’s Mercedes. Clouds of steam rose from the radiator, and the flattened tire was smoking. He looked curiously at the road out past the airport gate, and then turned and resolutely marched onto the aircraft. As he climbed the steps into the cabin, the propeller on the number one engine begin to turn. The steward pulled the stairs up and closed the door as the pilot made his way to the cockpit.
Schloss and Gisela strapped themselves into their usual chairs while Goering climbed into the single chair across the aisle fastening his seatbelt. He leaned out towards Schloss.
“Quite the adventure, Herr Reich Chancellor,” he shouted over the noise of the engines. “I haven’t seen that much excitement for months.”
Schloss looked back at the clearly exhilarated Reichsmarshall. “I think I could’ve gone a bit longer without that kind of excitement today, Hermann.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he quickly agreed. “But it was an adventure.”
Gisela leaned out to look at Goering, and now she flopped back in her seat and rolled her eyes.
§ § §
March 10, 1943; 4 PM
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
“Thank you for coming, Gentlemen,” President Truman said. “I apologize for the short notice.”
Arrayed around the desk in upholstered wooden chairs were Corde
ll Hull, William Donovan, and Averell Harriman. They looked curiously at him because he had not given the agenda for the meeting.
“Always nice to be invited to a meeting without knowing what it is about,” Donovan replied with a smirk.
Truman grinned back at him. “I am surprised you haven’t figured it out, Colonel.”
“Considering the august assemblage here, I suspect the meeting has something to do with Europe. And considering the items over there that concern everyone, it must have something to do with the Russians.”
“Right the first time,” Truman replied. “I do not have a lot of time. Bess is hosting a dinner for the Argentine diplomats tonight and I have firm orders to get myself upstairs to change in time to meet them.”
“I wondered why you weren’t afraid of Bill,” Hull commented.
Truman laughed. “Indeed. Everyone comes in a poor second to Bess. And we really do need to get down to business.”
“I would like to make use of Mr. Harriman’s services and send a delegation to Stalin. Colonel Donovan is here because he has picked up intelligence about possible Russian intentions. Mr. Hull is here because I am playing in his sandbox and I need him to run this for me.”
“That’s clear enough, I suppose,” the Secretary of State commented.
“I trust you are not too unhappy about my preempting you, Secretary Hull,” Truman said.
“Not at all, Mr. President. I am a little embarrassed about your proposing an action that I damn well should have thought of myself. I make no excuses for my failure, Sir. Plus, I thought I had better speak before William uttered one of his well-known bits of sarcasm.”
Donovan snorted.
“I am not blaming you, Secretary Hull. I know that you are distracted by certain issues at State. I just thought I saw an opportunity.”
“Has anyone talked to the Russians?” Harriman asked.
Everyone shook their heads in the negative.
“That is something I can certainly take care of from my office,” Hull said.
“Fine,” the President said. “I’ll leave this in your capable hands. Please keep me informed of your progress. And I would like to see all of you one more time before Averell leaves town.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” they murmured.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
March 12, 1943; 10 AM
The White House
Washington, DC
Harry Truman gazed around the Oval Office, taking in his military advisers who sat on the sofas with their cups of coffee. Glancing out the window he could see some of the early cherry blossoms, competing with the remaining piles of melting snow. He hoped that America’s military winter was also ending.
While the politicians, the military, and members of the press had patiently explained to the American people that this would be a long war, the emotional desires seemed to be catching up with rational expectations. The Congressional leadership was reporting that the people’s representatives were beginning to hear complaints from their constituents about how nothing seemed to be happening. As a politician, Truman recognized the inherent dangers of the current state of the war. As a rational leader, he was very aware of the dangers of moving precipitously against the Japanese.
Admiral Nimitz had flown to Washington to spend a week briefing the Congress and the president on the status of the Pacific fleet. Truman had to admire his sangfroid as sitting in this room with the president and a very senior brass did not seem to faze him.
“And so, Mister President, Gentlemen,” Nimitz said, wrapping up his report, “we now have six carrier decks and the Pacific fleet, and have built up the support units so we essentially have one massive task force.”
“It appears that we will get the canal open within another six weeks. This will greatly relieve our logistical difficulties. We should be ready to kick off operations in about two months.”
“Could you initiate anything right now?” the president asked.
“The warships are ready,” Nimitz conceded. “They could use more training, but that always seems to be the case, to be honest. I am mainly concerned about our logistical tail. We have the forces to give the Jap’s a good wallop whenever we choose. However, any sustained fighting will require more fuel and ammunition than we have on hand right now.”
“We have oil pipelines to the West Coast,” Truman commented. “How come we don’t have enough fuel?”
“The Japanese strikes on the West Coast destroyed a couple of refineries and several major petroleum storage facilities. We are just now getting new storage set up, and we can transfer refined products from the Gulf states. However, getting refinery capacity back on the West Coast is going to take some time.”
Frank Knox, the Secretary of the Navy, and General Marshall seemed content to let Nimitz carry the ball. Truman was good at drilling down into the details and was asking perceptive questions. Truman was getting ready to ask the question that had been staring everyone in the face since the beginning of the meeting.
“So now, Admiral,” Truman said, “it seems we have the forces to give Hirohito a massive punch in the face. Where do you suggest we move to take best advantage of this?”
“Mister President, from a military standpoint we almost have to take back Hawaii. The Japanese hold two pieces of American territory: Hawaii and Midway Island. Midway is a bump in the middle of the Pacific that is strategic because of its position. The Hawaiian Islands have half-a-million American citizens who are suffering under the Japanese. Everyone expects us to rescue them. The other option, which some of our people have been arguing for would be another strike against the Japanese home islands.”
Truman stood up and walked around to the beverage cart and poured himself another cup of coffee. He had finished a cup earlier and wanted more. But he mainly needed space to think. He turned around and looked at his assembled guests, as he stood in front of them holding his cup in one hand and saucer in the other.
“There is a certain stark simplicity to our options, Gentlemen,”
There was an undercurrent of mordant humor in the room.
“Mister President,” General Marshall said, “I would like to present the risks in a clearer fashion. While we have the striking power for a successful raid almost anywhere, there is serious concern about whether we can land a force on Oahu and not get thrown back into the sea. And I worry that if we engage in a major strike against the Japanese in Hawaii and not follow up with an invasion, we would have a real problem with the expectations of the American people.”
“Perhaps we should allow the president to determine the expectations of the American people, General,” Secretary Knox said.
Truman set his cup back on the saucer and waved a hand slightly. “No, Mister Secretary. While the ultimate responsibility for the decision and its consequences lies on my desk, the purpose of this meeting is to get all our options on the table. I believe General Marshall has ably laid out before us the dangers we are facing.”
“My apologies, General,” Knox said.
Marshall raised his fingers in a placating gesture but said nothing in return.
“With six carrier decks and a lot of support, can we make an assault on the Japanese home islands worthwhile?” Truman asked.
“Tokyo Bay is a sack,” Nimitz mused. “I would probably like to keep the carriers outside of the bay and send a force of cruisers and battleships in to shoot up whatever we could in Tokyo, Yokohama, and Yokosuka. The sixty-four-dollar question is how much has Yamamoto reinforced the home fleet? I think with the size of the task force we are contemplating, we could handle anything they might throw at us. What we don’t know is how badly we would get hurt in the process, and what kind of losses we are willing to contemplate at this stage.”
“Having a task force get trapped in Tokyo Bay would be unpleasant,” Knox said, thinking out loud.
“Agreed, Mister Secretary,” Nimitz said. “Not so much the hardware. Most of the cruisers and battleships in inventory are obsolet
e. But we simply cannot afford to lose the people aboard. We would lose a lot more than we did at Pearl Harbor — or from the initial attack, anyway.”
Admiral Leahy spoke for the first time. “If we cause enough mayhem in Tokyo, it would cause the Japs to pull back more of their forces, would it not?”
Nimitz nodded slowly as he took the time for another sip from his coffee cup. “We know they pulled back strongly after our raid in January. If we continue to hammer at them, they may be forced to abandon Hawaii.”
“But, do we have the forces to continue to attack them like that?” Marshall asked.
“No,” replied Nimitz. “Not in the short term, anyway. I think we would have to put a couple of million men on the islands to subdue it. We are at least two years away from having that big of an army trained. At this stage of the war, our goal should be to smash as much of their infrastructure as possible and keep them off balance.”
Truman noticed his secretary peeking in the door at him. “We are out of time for today, Gentlemen. My directive is to continue planning for a massive strike with the Pacific Fleet. I want to kick this off in about two months. I will give you my decision later concerning the target of the attack. At this time, I would be inclined to go for the Tokyo option. Thank you for a very good brief, Admiral Nimitz.”
The guests stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mister President,” Nimitz said.
§ § §
March 15, 1943; 12 Noon
President’s Dining Room
Roma, Italy
Galeazzo Ciano, the President of Italy, slipped into the chair at the end of the table in his private dining room. To his right sat Roberto Conti, the Italian Foreign Minister. The two men were old friends and comprised the inner circle of the Italian government. They met weekly for their luncheon to discuss what was happening in the rest of the world.
For Ciano, things were going very well. After the German Reich Chancellor Schloss had negotiated an end to the war, Italy’s commerce had picked up significantly. Her merchants were reestablishing trade relationships with the United States and the United Kingdom. With the war in the Mediterranean ended, trade also picked up with Vichy France and Spain, not to mention Portugal.
