by Ward Wagher
The silence grew as Lane pondered the statement. If nothing else, the weasel was honest. Well, Lane was, too. Pa beat him almost senseless the few times he had lied to him.
“Oddly enough, so do I,” Lane replied.
Karl pondered that for a while. “She could not figure out how to reconcile her work for the United States government to marrying a German official.”
Lane pondered that for a while. “I think she had difficulty visualizing being married to a hayseed from Western Illinois. And, to be perfectly honest, I have a girl back home. I have been trying to work out something that would work.”
“The Americans tend to frown upon polygamy,” Rainer said with a smirk.
“There is that,” Lane agreed. “Do German women cause German men to go insane?”
“I believe that is common the world over.”
A few moments later they both began to chuckle.
“How did we get ourselves into this situation?” Lane asked.
“Major, I suppose the most important question tonight is how to keep her from going to Moscow,” Rainer said.
“You can call me Lane.”
“And I am Karl.”
“When you made me get into the car, I thought about stories I have heard about the dungeons in the basement of SS headquarters,” Lane said.
“Would you like to see them?”
Lane shuddered. “No thank you, Karl. I believe I’ll pass on that tonight. I was merely asking if that might be an option in keeping her off the train.”
“It would be, but it is also probably more than my life is worth to make something like that happen.”
“But you have a reputation for being ruthless.”
“Yes, but ruthlessness has its limits.”
“So what do we do about Misty?” Lane asked.
“I don’t know. This requires careful thought. I apologize for being so quatsch earlier this evening.
“That means angry? Don’t worry about it. That woman seems to bring out the worst in us.”
“Very true, Lane.”
They rode along in silence for a while before Karl spoke again.
“I have not had my dinner yet, tonight. And it seems to me you were not able to finish yours. Would you care to join me?”
“Why not?” Lane responded. “Having sensible company will be a pleasant change.”
“Very true. I know a place where Herr Schloss likes to take his lunches. If you do not mind that, the main menu item is sausage and potatoes.”
“That sounds fine to me, Karl.”
They smiled at one another.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
March 29, 1943; 8 PM
The border between the German Reich and the USSR
When Misty Simpson thought of the frontier, she pictured the American west of the 1830s with people carrying flintlock rifles and wearing coonskin caps. The Polish-German frontier and the Polish-Soviet frontier looked like nothing so much as Midwestern farmland. A closer look showed a more primitive lifestyle, but farms were farms.
The American delegation was forced to switch from their luxurious wagon-lits to a Russian passenger car because the Russian rail gauge was wider than the German. The Russian train seats were simple wooden benches without padding. Misty was privately amused to see the shocked looks on the faces of the American delegation. She was surprised herself but expected to quickly adapt. The Harvard and Yale men in the group probably expected something along the lines of the wagon-lits, or perhaps the club car on a New York Central train. They probably had no idea how backward the Russians were.
She settled into her seat and arranged herself to be as comfortable as possible. She expected a long ride to Moscow. If the Soviets were truly planning to invade Germany, they would be moving all manner of matériel to the West. That meant their train would be repeatedly shunted to sidings so that military freight trains could pass. That would be data she could pass on to Donovan in Washington. When they returned to Berlin she would have a conversation with Harriman to get some idea of how much of this information she could pass to the Germans.
Misty felt a bit guilty about sneaking out of Berlin. But the two men in her life had both become surprisingly unreasonable in their demands that she not travel to Moscow. They both tended to forget that she was an employee of the United States government, and she had a job to do. She felt that her job was no more dangerous than when Lane flew a B-17 across the Atlantic, or when Karl faced down a group of radical Nazis. What business of theirs was it, she snorted to herself.
She looked up as Averell Harriman slipped into the seat across from her. She had managed to frighten the rest of the delegation enough so that they left her alone, but she needed to be available to speak to Harriman.
“A long ride, Misty,” he said with a slight smile.
“Are we even halfway there?” she asked. She could probably read maps better than him, but it was always good not to advertise one’s skills.
“This half of the trip will probably take longer than the first,” he commented. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you to keep an eye on the military traffic.”
“I sort of think we will see a lot of it.”
“That’s what everyone is afraid of,” he said. “Bill Donovan has trained you well. There is probably little instruction that I need to give you. You did a wonderful job setting up the logistics for this trip. Thank you.”
She nodded to acknowledge the compliment. “Simply doing my job, Sir. But thank you.”
“There is one concern I have,” he said. “You tend to take the initiative and run off by yourself. That would be very dangerous in Moscow.”
She studied him carefully and wondered how to respond. “I think the chain of command has been made very clear, according to the letter from the director. You are in charge, and I will follow your instructions, of course.”
“Beyond the required tasks for the delegation, my directives are for you to stay with the delegation and keep a low profile. Beyond that, I expect you to use your own initiative.”
“I understand. I won’t do anything to call attention to myself, and I won’t embarrass everybody.”
He smiled again and stood up. “That’s all I can ask. I trust you will find this trip to be very useful.”
It was beginning to grow dark, and the row of lights in the ceiling of the rail car came on, that is, those that weren’t burned out. It would be too dark for her to read the book she brought along, so she contented herself with watching out the windows. It was a long trip, and she had tried to sleep as much as possible while in the German railcar. Fortunately, she had this seat to herself and she could curl up using her purse for a pillow. But she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet.
Riding the Russian railroad was nerve-racking. The cars dipped and swayed over the uneven roadbed, and each joint in the rails sent a solid impact up through the structure of the car. Everything about the train ride indicated a primitive and ramshackle operation. By comparison, the American railroads were professional operations. However, the Soviet railroad employees had a can-do attitude and did not seem to be challenged by their primitive work conditions.
Before it got completely dark, she watched out the window as trains moved past in the opposite direction toward the West. The speed of the trains was low enough that she was able to catch more than a glimpse of the other traffic. Tanks and artillery were chained to the flatbed cars, along with heavy trucks and other implements. This seemed to be consistent with the traffic. Stalin was moving in an incredible amount of matériel to the West. Somebody was getting ready to start a war, and she did not think it was Germany.
During the night, the train stopped on several occasions, she assumed for coal and water. This was confirmed when the train started up again and she could see the coaling station in the dim lights hanging from wires over the areas. During the trip, they never pulled onto a siding to let other trains pass them. She concluded the Soviets ran all their trains at the same speed, which was not
fast. But, that was one way to preserve the condition of the rails and the rolling stock, as well as avoid accidents.
After three long days and two nights, the train pulled into the railway station in Moscow. The American delegation was delighted to finally escape the rolling torture chamber. Misty, however, continued to gather information. This place was more primitive than she expected, however, it was being managed by some very smart people. She had long since learned not to casually dismiss people because they were less fortunate. She thought perhaps the Americans were underestimating the Russians. She was confident the rank-and-file Germans did. Karl had told her that Herr Schloss took the Russian threat seriously. But, even Karl seemed skeptical.
Once arriving at the American Embassy in Moscow, Misty was looking forward to a long hot bath. The accumulation of road grime was considerable, and she needed the restorative. This was not to be, though, because the ambassador, William Standley, had arranged for a reception within a half hour of their arrival. She had time for a quick sponge bath from the sink in her small room, and to shake out a dress from her luggage for the reception. There was barely time for her to touch up her makeup and comb out her hair before leaving.
Since this was ostensibly a diplomatic affair, the bulk of Harriman’s retinue was from Foggy Bottom. They searched out the denizens of the Embassy and were busy trumpeting their status calls. Misty was happy to stand in the background and sip carefully from a glass of white wine while she watched the herd in action.
“Ah, there you are, Misty,” Harriman said. “I wondered where you had gotten off to. Come, you need to meet the ambassador.”
She followed him across the room as they wove between the groups of conversationalists. He led her to a craggy looking man in a neatly pressed suit.
“Ambassador,” Harriman said, “allow me to present Miss Misty Simpson. She is functioning as my aide de camp for this trip.”
Standley nodded slightly and took her hand. “Charmed, Miss Simpson. And, what is your role in the State Department?”
“I am actually First Secretary for the Embassy in Berlin,” she said demurely. “Mr. Harriman selected me for this trip because I already had experience in Europe.”
Standley cocked his head as he looked at her. “And, might Howard be your father?”
“Yes. I wasn’t aware that he knew you.”
“Howard Simpson and I have crossed paths from time to time over the past 10 or 15 years. He is a very capable businessman and has given me good advice.”
Misty smiled. “I think that’s what daddy probably does best is give good advice. He has certainly helped me out over most of my life.”
“What were you doing in Germany, then? If your father wasn’t such a patriotic American, I could picture him kneeling before the Queen.”
“Daddy does like all things English. He was not happy with my assignment in Berlin, but he has come to see the value of it.”
“Indeed, indeed,” the ambassador said. “If you see him before I do, be sure to tell him hello. I am sure he will be fascinated to hear that I met you in Moscow.”
Misty looked into the twinkling eyes of the ambassador and decided that she liked him. He was not very unlike her father in many ways. Harriman guided her over to meet the First Secretary of the Moscow Embassy, and some of the staff. He also introduced her to Colonel Mark Barnes, the military attaché.
“Pleased to meet you, Colonel,” Misty said. “I assume the coding clerk reports to you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Chief Gunnery Sergeant Bierman can assist you in taking care of your radio traffic.”
“Thank you, Colonel. What’s your opinion of the Soviet war preparations?”
Barnes’ eyes opened wide as he quickly glanced at Harriman and then around the room. “This room is not very secure, Miss Simpson. If you like, we can arrange to sit down in a secure room and discuss these things.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” she said, “I will certainly make those arrangements.”
Harriman glared at her as he guided her away from the flustered Colonel.
“I’m sorry Mister Harriman,” she said, “I dropped that one right on his toe, didn’t I?”
“Barnes has a reputation for being a stickler on security,” Harriman shrugged. “Don’t be too concerned about it.”
She looked speculatively at Harriman. She had thought that he was more sensitive to security issues than that. His background was as a diplomat, though. He was managing this mission for Donovan because the president had asked him to.
Fortunately, the evening ended early. Misty was able to retreat to her closet-sized room for the first real sleep in days. As she lay in her narrow bed pondering what would come next, she could still feel the bumping and swaying of the rail car. She hoped the mission would not be more interesting than the trip.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
April 2, 1943; 8 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Office
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
“I am not sanguine about our prospects for avoiding war with Russia,” Heinrich Schloss said.
He sat behind his desk and looked at his guests. Herman Goering and Reinhardt Gehlen sat in the two chairs flanking the small refreshments table. Heinz Guderian sat in another chair towards the right of the desk looking nervous.
“We are starting to make some connections with people inside the Kremlin,” Gehlen said. “Stalin seems to be determined to attack us, in spite of the misgivings of his staff.”
“I can understand the misgivings of his staff,” Goering snorted. “He would be about as successful if he just stuck a gun barrel in his mouth.”
“I think we would be remiss if we underestimated him,” Schloss said.
Goering shook his head. “He has an army of peasants, and he has shot a lot of them. I don’t think his army has cohesion.”
“I have met several of the Russian generals,” Guderian interjected. “They seemed pretty competent to me.”
“Oh, come on, Heinz,” Goering argued back. “Half of their Army is drunk on any given day.”
Schloss leaned back and watched the unfolding argument. He was going to have to slap Goering down again, but he thought he would wait to see if he learned anything new.
“Do not mistake what I am saying, Herr Reichsmarshall. I think we can beat them. But the most dangerous foe we can have is the one we underestimate. Whatever we can say about their economy and their government, we know they are not stupid. Marshall Zhukov is running the Army, and I think he will manage to surprise us no matter how well we are prepared.”
“No, no, no,” Goering replied. “The Wehrmacht has no peer on earth. We went through Poland in less than 30 days. We swung through the low countries and forced France out of the war in less than 60. I am not worried about a bunch of peasants with World War I equipment.”
Schloss looked over at Gehlen, who had not ventured into the argument. “What do you think, Colonel?”
“I believe they are both wrong, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
He heard Goering’s intake of breath but continued to look at the intelligence chief’s face. “It looks as though you have shoved your chips onto the table, Colonel. Tell me what you think.”
Gehlen licked his lips. “Herr Reich Chancellor, I believe if we get into a war with Stalin, we will have the fight of our lives. It is true that a lot of their equipment is substandard compared to ours, but they know how to use it. Zhukov has trained his people and is training them even now. We recently picked up information on a new model tank, the T34. If they have it in series production, it will be a serious threat. No, meine Herren, we must approach this very carefully. We need to be prepared to act aggressively and use unorthodox tactics.”
The Colonel leaned back and subsided. Goering looked furious, and Guderian looked thoughtful. Schloss played with the pencil on his desk for a few moments and then looked up again.
“Very well,” he said with a smile, “we have the Colonel’s thoughts on th
e matter. Does anyone wish to add a comment?”
“I think we are jumping at shadows,” said Goering. “I cannot believe the Russian Army is that good. Oh, we will have to be very careful I admit, but we have some very determined soldiers in the Wehrmacht.”
“When can you give me a report on the new tank, Herr Colonel?” Guderian asked. “That is something I really need to know about.”
“I completely agree, Herr General,” Gehlen quickly said. “I told my people to verify as much as they could before they put the final report together. We will give you a report that lists the things that we are sure about, and the things that are speculation. I hope that will be satisfactory.”
“And when will I see this report, Herr Colonel?” Guderian snapped. “Yesterday would have been satisfactory.”
“I understand,” nodded Gehlen. “I instructed the team to work through the weekend and have the report for you by Monday. Would that be acceptable?”
Guderian had a sheepish grin. “I suppose if I keep in mind I had nothing other than rumors about this new tank before I came to this meeting, I suppose Monday would be acceptable. Tell your people I appreciate their diligence.”
“Okay, so they have a new tank,” Goering said. “They have to build them and transport them to the front lines. And their railroad system would not win any awards. I read a report out of your office, Herr Colonel, that said they run their trains only at 25 km/h. They can’t get anywhere with that. And their rolling stock is junk.”
“Have you considered, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Gehlen asked, “that they know their equipment is junk? They run all their trains at 25 km/h. That means they don’t have to switch off between fast and slow trains on the sidings. And they can run the trains closer together. They really know how to move a lot of matériel over their rail lines.”
“I can see I am not going to win this argument,” Goering grumped. “I might as well just go back to my office.”
“Hermann,” Schloss said softly.
The Reichsmarshall glared at the Reich Chancellor for a few moments before he spoke.
