by Ward Wagher
“As I understand it,” Peter said, “you kind of have to just aim the things and guess at the destination.”
“I need to talk to von Braun and Dohrenberger,” Schloss stated. “I have some ideas I want to explore with them.”
“Our Hennie is a fount of ideas,” Peter said, chuckling.
Schloss raised his eyebrows as he looked at his brother-in-law. “If it keeps us alive, Peter. If it keeps us alive.”
That seemed to sober the three men up as they pondered the coming war. They grew quiet, and a few minutes later Frau Marsden steamed into the room carrying a tray of coffee and desserts. Gisela and Renate followed.
“I haven’t seen your little friend lately, Karl,” Peter commented.
Rainer scowled. “She is in Moscow right now, probably at some reception or another.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous for her to go there?”
“It certainly is dangerous for Miss Simpson to be in Moscow,” Frau Marsden rumbled.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t stop her, Karl,” Renate said.
“It wasn’t for lack of trying. Her American friend and I both tried, probably too hard.”
“How’s that, Karl?” Gisela asked.
“I happened to run into her in a restaurant where she was having dinner with the American. Apparently, she was arguing with him about it. I jumped in, and she got defensive. In hindsight, I should not have approached things in that manner.”
“What about this American fellow?” Peter asked.
Rainer rolled his eyes. “She has been seeing him recently at the same time she has been seeing me.”
“You could have thrown him in one of your dungeons.”
“Peter!” Renate warned.
Rainer shook his head ruefully. “I did think about it. Ironically the American and I have become friends.”
Frau Marsden handed a cup of coffee to Schloss, who rolled his tongue around in his cheek. “That complicates things, I expect.”
“I don’t even know what to think at this point,” Rainer sighed.
“Fräulein Simpson has no business wandering around in Moscow of all places,” Frau Marsden grumbled. “I would have thought she knew better than that.”
“Sometimes there is no reasoning with the girl.”
Gisela slid onto the arm of the easy chair where Schloss sat and put her arm around his shoulders. “The girl works for the United States government. She is no one’s hausfrau. She was probably ordered to accompany Harriman to Moscow.”
“I just wish she wasn’t so happy about it,” Rainer groused.
“If Stalin kicks off his war while she is there, she will have the devil’s own time getting out of there.”
“That is what frightens me,” Rainer said.
Frau Marsden turned around. “Somehow, Herr Rainer, I don’t think you will need to worry about Fräulein Simpson. She will remain safe.”
Rainer watched as she picked up the tray and returned to the kitchen.
“How does she know that?” Rainer asked with some asperity.
“She knows things, Karl,” Schloss said with a smile. “Surely you understand that by now.”
“Do you feel sometimes, Herr Schloss, that we are merely the puppets and Frau Marsden is holding the strings?”
“Of course,” Schloss laughed. “What are you going to do about it?”
Rainer just glared at the Reich Chancellor.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
April 11, 1943; 2 AM
Central Pacific Ocean
South of Oahu, Hawaiian Islands
The USS Hessian was making bare steerage through the smooth Pacific swells as its diesels recharged the batteries. Commander Alan Carper was in the conning tower supplementing the watch. Any time the Hessian was on the surface, he was in the conning tower unable to shake his paranoia about enemy ships or aircraft. He also worried because they were unable to hear any aircraft because of the muted thunder of the engines.
They had been relieved on-station several days earlier by the USS Porpoise, so they could rendezvous with the replenishment ship. The USS Fulton had met them 500 miles east of the islands where they could transfer fuel and supplies in relative safety. The Fulton had been accompanied by two destroyers, but still, everyone was very nervous.
The nerves had grown ever tauter as lookouts spotted the Japanese Emily flying boat orbiting the small task force. The radio operators on the ships could hear the dots and dashes as the aircraft was clearly sending their location to the nearest Japanese base. The aircraft had the range to linger above them for hours, and everyone hoped it wouldn’t attempt a torpedo run as the daylight faded.
Replenishment completed, Carper immediately submerged the boat and crept away from the task force’s location. Staying on the surface, even at night, was risky. The Japanese pilot was very capable of spotting the phosphorescence of their wake and attacking in the dark. Under those circumstances, the U-boat would not spot the aircraft until it was too late to do anything about it.
The orders Carper received were for him to remain on station as part of the picket around Oahu at all costs. If the Japanese task force returned to Pearl Harbor, his orders were to immediately surface the boat and get a radio report off to San Diego regardless of the risk. Carper interpreted that to mean the U.S. Navy was at sea and planned to retake the islands. He said nothing about his suspicions, although Jolly seemed to be thinking the same.
Several hours later he surfaced the boat. Before starting the diesels, he and the lookouts had listened carefully for the sound of aircraft engines. It was a quiet night and Carper hoped they were alone. He ordered the diesels fired up and he began scanning the night swept ocean. He knew that he was a critical piece of the American operation and would risk nothing to compromise that.
When the new dawn began to brighten the Eastern horizon, he took another careful 360° look with his binoculars and then ordered the Hessian to submerge for the day. He slid down the ladder into the control room where the exec was waiting.
“Who’s got the watch, Jolly?”
Rogers nodded to the Lieutenant JG standing on the other side of the chart table. “Dinsmore has the watch, Skipper.”
“Lieutenant,” Carper said, addressing the officer of the watch, “make sure the hydrophone operator stays sharp. If he picks up anything, I need to know about it right now.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Dinsmore was one of the new officers they had picked up in San Diego during the normal rotation. He was fresh out of Annapolis and the submarine school at Groton, Connecticut. Carper thought he was so fresh he fairly squeaked.
“Okay, Jolly, let’s go sit down and get our meeting out of the way.”
The executive officer followed Carper forward through the control room hatch and then stepped into the tiny Captain’s cabin. The cook had already placed a pitcher of coffee and a plate of donuts on the tiny desk in anticipation of their meeting.
“I swear Cookie is trying to kill me with these donuts,” Carper grumbled.
Rogers smiled. The skipper complained about the good food at least once a week. The exec understood it was simply his way of blowing off the tension. Carper slumped into his chair while Rogers poured them each a cup of coffee. Rogers unfolded another chair and sat down.
“So, how’s the boat?”
“We’re in good shape, Skipper. We are down maybe a percent on fuel oil. We did not use as much coming from the rendezvous as I expected we would. One of the seawater evaporators is down again so there won’t be any Hollywood showers for a while.”
Carper snorted. “Which means that we’ll have enough water to drink, and that’s about it. Things are going to get stinky around here.”
Rogers chuckled in return. After the weeks they had spent at sea, the whole boat was fragrant.
“The Cheng thinks he’ll have the evaporator fixed by the time we surface tonight. We are pretty well stocked with foodstuffs and spares. If the replenishment ship stays withi
n range, I figure we can hang on for three to four weeks on station. If we have to go back to Diego, I don’t think we can stay here any longer than two weeks.”
Carper sighed. “We are sending our status in the daily reports, so the boss will know where we’re at. I don’t think we will need to whine to them about our fuel state. Just between you and me, I think we’re getting ready to take Hawaii back from the Japs. The Fulton will be there when we need it.”
“At least there will be some other ships around to give us some go-juice if we run the tanks dry.”
“Have faith, Jolly,” Carper grinned. “The Navy is not going to let us run out of gas.”
“My brother ran me out of gas one time. I think we had to walk about fifteen miles to get to a gas station. Then I had to buy a gas can, and we took turns carrying it as we walked back those same fifteen miles. My feet really hurt that night.”
Carper grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it, Jolly. If we have to walk, I’ll carry the gas can.”
“Thank you very much, Skipper,” Rogers said sourly.
Carper took several minutes to read through the daily report, and then signed it.
“How much sleep did you get last night?” he asked the exec.
“I think I got about four hours.”
“If you don’t mind staying up for a while, I am really beat,” Carper said.
“No problem, Skipper. You’ve kind of been burning the candle at both ends lately anyway. Get some rest.”
“Take the coffee and donuts to the control room gang. The only way I’m going to keep my boyish figure is if I don’t eat any of that stuff.”
“You will break Cookie’s heart, Skipper.”
“So, don’t tell him.”
Rogers was grinning as he left the Captain’s cabin. Carper shut the door and folded down the bed. He was asleep two minutes after his head hit the pillow.
§ § §
April 12, 1943; 8 AM
British Naval Base HMS Highflyer
Trincomalee Fortress
Ceylon
“So, where are they?” Admiral Ernest King, USN, asked petulantly. “We know they sailed with everything they had in inventory from Pearl. We can assume they joined a major evolution out of the home islands. Where else would they be going?”
He looked up as the steward set a plate with two pieces of toast and a small jar of jam in front of him. He looked across the table at Admiral Charles Forbes, RN, whom he had joined for breakfast.
“I don’t know, Ernie. We are rotating our entire fleet of Sunderlands and Catalinas on reconnaissance duty. We even sent out dozen Hudsons this morning to thicken the plot. Wherever the blighters may be, they’re not within range of us.”
King looked down at the sausage and eggs on his plate and considered again how much he hated powdered eggs. Forbes’ cook was not up to the standards he set for the U.S. Navy personnel. But it was impolite to say anything to the British admiral. He realized he was simply frustrated because he could not chew anybody out for the lousy breakfast.
“Oh, I’m not blaming you, Charles. And I do appreciate the efforts the RAF is putting into this. Those airplanes have longer legs than anything I’ve got.”
Forbes shrugged, conceding the point. “I’m just happy we have the canal open again. With all the aviation gasoline were using, it’s going to take a steady stream of tankers coming out of the Gulf of Suez.”
“I just wonder if we should go ahead and put to sea,” King commented. “Having everything we’ve got sitting here in the harbor with cold boilers makes me nervous as hell.”
“To be honest, old chap, it bothers me too. The Japs have proven they can sneak in and raise a merry hell with anchored ships. They did so at Pearl Harbor, no offense.”
“And none taken. They caught us with our pants down at Pearl. Although Husband Kimmell took the fall for that one, everybody screwed up by the numbers. Believe me, Charles, I really do not want something like that to happen here. I think we have a chance to shorten the war significantly. But if the Japs managed to take us out, the war really will last until 1953 or 54.”
“And if that happens,” Forbes replied, “there will not be any Australians left on that continent.”
King set his fork down on the plate. “What are you saying?”
“We have had a few refugees, a very few, getting out of Australia by boat. The Japanese have set up what the Aussies are calling one-way camps. The people go in, and they don’t come out.”
King turned pale. “What people?”
“Caucasians,” Forbes said simply.
“All of them?” King looked incredulous.
“This is according to the refugees we have talked to, please understand. What they are telling us is that the troops are completely cleaning out towns and hauling people to the camps. They are never seen again.”
“I hadn’t heard that. That is just monstrous. Have your people told Washington?”
Forbes shook his head. “For various reasons our intelligence services are in disarray at the moment. The Queen and the Prime Minister are working feverishly to fix that. But there you are.”
King nodded but made no comment. From his conversations with Harry Stark, he had a pretty good idea of why MI6 was in disarray. It was an open secret that a rogue element in MI6 was responsible for the assassination of President Wallace. King was still amazed that the Queen, the Prime Minister, and President Truman had managed to avoid a war after that fiasco.
“The news from the refugees explained your anxiety over the occupied territories. I think the best thing we can do is to pound the Japanese fleet into scrap metal and organize an invasion of the Australian continent with all due haste.”
Forbes nodded. “That is exactly what I intend to do, Admiral. Morally that is the only thing we can do.”
King picked up his fork and started to take a bite. He then paused and set the fork down again. “If what you are telling me about Australia is correct, then we have a big problem in the Hawaiian Islands as well.”
“That did not occur to us, and I apologize for not thinking of it,” said Forbes.
“I certainly hope that Nimitz put the fleet to sea as soon as he heard about the Japs clearing out of Pearl.” He shook his head and swore. “God, I hate the Japanese.”
“If I may,” Forbes interjected, “I would suggest you message Washington with this bit of information. It might influence some of their decision-making.”
“You are absolutely right. And I thank you for that information. It is certainly critical. And with your permission, Admiral, I will return to my flagship and get a message off to Washington.”
“By my leave,” Forbes responded. “And I fervently hope that Nimitz is planning an invasion of the Hawaiian Islands.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
April 12, 1943; 7:30 AM
10 Downing Street
London, England, UK
Why does it feel that there was no weekend? Clement Attlee asked himself as he climbed the stairs from the entry to the Prime Minister’s office. I spend my weeks fighting fires in Her Majesty’s government and spend the weekends politicking and trying to hold the party together. Each was a worry, and the overriding worry was the unnatural confluence of events that placed the queen in direct control of the government. While he understood why it had happened, and agreed with it, he didn’t like it. Nobody liked it. Yet it was an accomplished fact, and nobody could do a thing about it.
The major conflagration, which was not abating, was the result of the sacking of an entire section of MI6. And the rest of the organization was not happy about it. People were ignoring the Official Secrets Act and the normally limited leaks to the press had turned into a deluge. This had the backbenchers of both parties viewing with alarm and the tumult increased. It was not a happy state of affairs.
Attlee’s personal secretary was everything he could have dreamed, but the man couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time in the mornings, let alone early. Attlee himsel
f was early as usual and marched through the outer office to his sanctum. He stepped through the door and quickly shut it before turning around to head for his desk. When he saw the person sitting in his chair he jumped and shouted.
“Bloody Hell!” He hesitated a moment to gather his wits. “Your Majesty.”
Margaret Windsor stood up. “I apologize for slipping in like that, Clement. But we need to talk. And not a lot of people need to know what I am doing.”
“But, how did you get in here? This place is guarded nearly as well as Buckingham Palace.”
“Probably better,” she replied.
She slipped around his desk and eased into the chair across from his. He studied the situation and shrugged. He walked around and collapsed into his chair.
“How may I help you this morning, Your Majesty?”
“This situation with Six is getting out of hand. I fear we cannot tamp things down without allowing the whole world to know about Winston’s rogue group. Have you analyzed the options?”
Attlee pulled one side of his mouth into a grimace. “I suppose we need to make a couple of high-profile arrests pour encourager les autres.”
“And if that causes things to escalate further?”
He frowned again. “Oh, I think that is probably a certainty. But you represent the authority of the law in this case, and you really have a bigger hammer. Regardless of what Fleet Street thinks, the people are solidly behind you, Your Majesty.”
“But will they stay that way?” she asked.
“The average Briton is concerned about his pocketbook,” Attlee commented. “Times are good right now. We are at peace and the people recognize that was largely your doing. As long as the economy continues to roll along and they don’t personally get pinched, your position is secure.”
Margaret swore out loud. Attlee mused to himself that whatever else he could say about the queen, she could certainly swear like a sailor.
“What angers me the most,” said she, “is that I cannot foresee anytime in the near future when I will be able to have you call elections and turn things back over to the house. And anyone with a brain and a sense of history knows that this kind of a situation never ends well – both for the Crown and the government as a whole.”
