by Ward Wagher
“Herr General, the Reichsmarshall.”
Goering pushed his way through the doorway, and everyone jumped to attention.
“At ease, at ease,” he called as he swept into the room.
“Herr Reichsmarshall,” Guderian barked, “it is good you have arrived. We have something important to show you.”
Goering looked past the general at the table. “Are these the photographs from the high-altitude Junkers?”
“Yes, Herr Reichsmarshall. And the news is not good.”
“Explain to me what I am looking at,” Goering ordered as he gazed down at the table.
“Those areas circled in red are the Russian kasernes. You will note the Russian panzers moving out.”
“And they are heading towards their final dispositions before the invasion,” Goering stated.
“That is our belief.” Guderian paused. “The photos only just arrived, so the analysts have not completed their work.”
“I believe, before we do anything else, we should alert Field Marshall Rommel.”
“Already done, Herr Reichsmarshall.”
Goering smiled grimly at Guderian. “I am glad you are on the ball this morning, Heinz. I am not glad for the reason.”
“I understand, Herr Reichsmarshall.”
“Do we have any estimate on when Stalin will kick things off?”
“Once he gets his forces in position, he will have to launch the attack within forty-eight hours. As long as the army sits there, it will be consuming food and other supplies. Stalin will not want to wait too long.”
“Very well,” Goering grunted. “I think you and I need to go see the Reich Chancellor.”
“I understand, Herr Reichsmarshall.”
§ § §
April 14, 1943; 10:00 AM
German Forces Headquarters
Warsaw, General Government District
German Reich
Field Marshall Irwin Rommel quickly scanned the decoded radio message, and then carefully read it again. He looked at the expectant face of his adjutant.
“So, it looks like our Russian friends are getting ready to open the ball. Send out the alert notice to all our forces on the frontier. Have them make ready to execute Case Rupert. I expect to issue that order within the next 48 hours.”
“At once, Herr Field Marshall!” the adjutant replied crisply, jumping to attention.
“And also make preparations to receive General Guderian at the Luftwaffe base. He will arrive within the next few hours.”
“Of course, Herr Field Marshall.”
Rommel turned from his adjutant and walked over to the map. He had taken the time to make sure his headquarters was equipped as perfectly as he could make it. The map was large and covered the entire wall. It gave him a detailed view of the eastern frontier. The schwerpunkt or point of attack could come from almost anywhere. There was lively debate within his headquarters staff as to whether the Russians would attack into Poland or maybe further south into Romania. Rommel’s instincts told him they would push directly towards Warsaw.
If they captured Warsaw, they would disrupt his headquarters as well as eliminate the railhead. Plus, moving across the northern European plains would give them a direct path to Berlin, and that would end the war. Yes, he concluded, this was where the Russians would come. He had arranged the German forces accordingly. The seed of doubt gnawed at his vitals, but he was still convinced he was correct. If the Russians came through anywhere else, he would have time to reorient his forces to meet the threat. But, if they came where he expected, there would be no time to play games. He simply hoped the plan he and Guderian had devised would work.
Rommel had placed General Walter Model at the tip of his spear. The man knew what was expected, but in case the strategy failed, Model was a master of improvisation. Such people were rare in the Wehrmacht, and Rommel counted on his genius to preserve the German forces. He simply hoped they could succeed in pulling the Russians off-balance. They had assembled an enormous force across the border.
After studying the map for a while, Rommel retreated to his office. The now outdated daily intelligence summary lay on his desk. The intelligence team would rapidly update the summary once the full report on the reconnaissance mission arrived from Berlin. With the door shut, he used the relative privacy of the office to ponder his preparations and possible reactions to an invasion. This war would be dramatically larger than the North African campaign with the Afrika Corps. Though he was the theatre commander in both cases, he was now the commanding officer for a continental sized area.
When Schneller Heinz arrived, he would be able to get another pair of eyeballs on the situation. Rommel had supreme confidence in his abilities, but he had learned to listen to the suggestions of others. With what was obviously now coming, he would need every edge he could find.
After a light tap on his door, the adjutant opened the it and walked in carrying a tray with a pitcher of coffee, a mug and a plate of pastries.
“I thought you could use some fortifying, Herr Field Marshall,” he said as he poured coffee into the mug. “I will also watch for an opportunity to bring you some lunch. There is no telling what this day will bring.”
“Thank you, Jürgen,” Rommel replied. “This will do nicely.”
“Are they going to attack, Herr Field Marshall?”
“What do you think? They talk about midnight being the witching hour, but I think that will apply to whatever time the Russians come across the border. But it is going to happen and sooner rather than later. Those reconnaissance photos certainly woke everyone up in Berlin.”
The adjutant seemed lost in thought for a moment and then remembered he was standing before his commanding officer. He suddenly stiffened.
“Is there anything else you need, Herr Field Marshall?”
“Not at this time. Leave me now, I need to think.”
“Of course, Herr Field Marshall.”
Rommel returned his salute and watched him leave the office. He wondered if the young captain would survive the coming war. He was not sanguine about his own chances. But he was determined to prevent the Communists from overrunning the Reich.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
April 15, 1943; 3:00 AM
Eastern Poland
Sergeant Hans Friedmann and Corporal Uwe Baumann drifted like spirits through the dense forests of Eastern Poland, once again working very hard to pass unnoticed through the Soviet encampments. The mission this time was infinitely more dangerous. The two German soldiers were dressed in Russian uniforms and each carried Tokarev SVT-38 assault rifles along with several spare ten-round magazines.
They had been sent across the border to raise as much mayhem as they could before the expected Russian attack took place. All they carried were their rifles, pistols and food packs. Friedmann was confident that the necessary ingredients for their mission would fall to hand as they looked for opportunities. Baumann worried about getting caught, however, Friedmann counted on the same sloppy Russian security they had noticed during their earlier exploration.
They wore the uniforms of a Soviet captain and lieutenant. Friedmann was confident he could bluster his way through most any situation. They walked into an armored vehicle park with their rifles hanging from their shoulders with the barrels pointed down. No self-respecting soldier would march with his barrel pointing up, where it was all too apt to be fouled by rain or snow. Their walk through the forest had added a patina of dirt and scuffing to their uniforms. Friedmann walked up to an encampment where a crew lounged next to their tank. Several were asleep. Friedmann was surprised to find any awake.
“Sergeant,” he barked in fluent Russian, “is your vehicle ready in all respects?”
The tank commander jumped to his feet. “Yes, Comrade Captain. I have personally inspected everything. I serve the people.”
As Friedmann had the soldiers’ attention, Baumann eased behind them and placed an armed grenade between the tank tracks and bogies, with the spoon wedg
ed into the corner of a track. He then moved back over next to the other German.
“You are actually looking very polished,” Friedmann said. “We will soon be going into battle against the Nazi scum. I believe you will do us all proud.”
Swelling with pride, the tank commander replied. “We will do our best Comrade Captain. You can count on us.”
The two Germans then walked over to the next tank in its defilade. Once again Friedmann engaged the tank crew as Baumann planted another grenade. They moved on to the next armored vehicle park and looked for opportunities. Given that time of the morning the supply tent was unoccupied, and Baumann slipped out with a box of candles. He ghosted around to the support vehicles, mostly heavy trucks and while Freidman kept watch, Baumann slid under the support vehicles and replaced the oil drain plugs with candle stubs. Friedmann was puzzled. There appeared to be no sentries in site, which he thought was inexcusable. If he had discovered such laxity in the German army, someone would have been shot.
Several gasoline tankers were parked nearby, and Baumann rolled under each and placed a grenade such that it was wedged into the clutch mechanism. Some hapless driver would climb in and release the grenade when he pressed the clutch pedal. Eventually, one of the explosions would penetrate the gas tank and start a conflagration.
The eastern sky barely began to lighten when they slipped back into the forest. They had previously scouted an area of heavy brush and had cached their sleeping bags and food supplies. They settled in to get as much sleep as they could during the day. Their orders were to stay in the field until they ran out of food. Friedmann had liberated a tin of corned beef along with a couple of loaves of bread from a mess tent. Considering the planned Soviet invasion, the two Germans planned to stay behind the lines at least until the war started. Each was realistic enough to know that they would be caught eventually. But, until that happened, they planned to make it as difficult as possible for their Russian hosts.
§ § §
April 15, 1943, 8 AM
Bay of Bengal
“Flight of Zeroes at our seven o’clock low.”
Group Captain Mark Evans was jolted from his stupor, cursing himself for losing situational awareness due to the long patrol cycles. Fortunately, the copilot was paying attention and pointed to a fluffy cumulus cloud a few miles off the ten o’clock position. Evans immediately banked the Consolidated Catalina flying boat to the left and pushed the throttles wide open.
“Glad you’re on the ball, Leftenant,” Evans said. “Who reported that?”
“Port gunner, Sir,” came the call back on the intercom. “The Nips are maybe eight or ten miles back.”
“Do you think they spotted us?” Evans asked.
“Hard to say, Sir….” he paused. “Oops, they’re turning towards us, Sir.”
Evans grinned at the copilot. “Fancy a race with the Zeroes today, Barney?”
“No thank you, Skipper,” Lieutenant Theodore “Barney” Barnes replied. “I had my fill of that during the Battle of Singapore.”
“You’re lucky you lived through that.”
“I thank my lucky stars every day, Sir.”
“Radio,” Evans called, “get ready to send a contact report. Everyone keep your eyes open. Let me know if you see anything else.”
The bright morning light dimmed suddenly when the Catalina entered the cloud. The usual smooth tropical air became a bit bumpy due to the differing densities of the air as they flew through the vapor.
“Weapons free,” Evans called again. “Look alive when we come out of the cloud. I don’t want to miss breakfast.”
“Too bloody right,” Barnes exclaimed.
The broken clouds floated at about 13,000 feet, which Evans considered the ideal altitude for reconnaissance. They flashed back into the bright morning sunlight, and Evans immediately steered toward the next nearest cloud.
“Zeroes below us, Sir,” another crewmember called.
Evans swore as he pointed the aircraft to the next cloud. Things were getting a bit tense. He was fully awake now and began thinking about how to lose the enemy aircraft. He wasn’t going to run away. The lumbering Catalina was now flying at about 160 knots and the Zeroes had nearly 200 miles per hour on him. It was time to find out how smart Mister Nip was today.
The light dimmed again as they flew into the cloud and Evans immediately banked hard to the left. He watched as the compass swung around. He straightened the plane up on not quite a reciprocal heading. This would result in his flying through the cloud length-wise. It would also hopefully confuse the Japanese pilots. And… they were out in the clear air again.
“Tallyho!” one of the gunners shouted. “Ships below us. Correct that. Many ships below us.”
“Get a count and type,” Evans replied.
Barnes pulled out his binoculars and searched the water below. “Egads, Skip, there’s got to be a hundred ships down there.”
“Where're the Zeroes?” Evans interrupted.
He took a moment to glance out the cockpit window and sea below. Rank after rank of ships covered the surface of the ocean, their wakes clearly visible.
“Radio, I hope you’re transmitting,” Evans now said.
“Roger that, Skipper,” the radio operator replied.
“I hope to hell our nav fix is good,” Barnes said. “We just grabbed the Cricket championship.”
A line of tracers flared across the front of the aircraft. Evans quickly tipped the wings nearly ninety degrees and racked the plane around in as tight a turn as he could. While the cat was not a fast aircraft, it was surprisingly maneuverable.
“Holy Mary!” Barnes shouted.
The closest cloud was the one they had just came out of. When Evans straightened out the plane again, he could hear the waist gunner begin firing.
“Some prayers would be appreciated,” Evans said dryly. “Any damage?” he called over the intercom.
“I think we’re too slow for them,” Barnes commented.
At that moment a row of holes appeared in the fuselage ahead of the cockpit.
“Looks like they’ve found the range at last,” Evans said.
“Wonder why he’s not using his cannon,” Barnes said.
“Radio, did you get the contact report off? Evans called.
“Affirm, Skipper. Got an acknowledgment from Trincomalee.”
“Good.”
Just as they entered the cloud a twenty-millimeter cannon shell slammed into the starboard engine. The engine immediately halted, causing the propeller to break free of the engine.
“Fire in the starboard engine!” Barnes called.
Evans looked above him at the stricken engine. Smoke and flames poured out of the nacelle and seemed to be spreading.
“I think we’d better put this thing down at our earliest opportunity, Barney.”
“Roger that, Skipper.”
Evans put the Catalina into a tight descending spiral and hoped the Japanese flight would cease fire when they came out of the cloud. They popped out into the sunshine below the cloud and saw no other aircraft.
“Well, we may have finally lost them,” Barnes said.
“That’s good because we have our own problems,” Evans replied. “Let’s just pray we can get this thing into the water in one piece.”
He straightened out the plane and let it coast down towards the sea. At 8,000 feet the right wing folded up and the mortally wounded Catalina tumbled into the ocean.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
April 16, 1943, 9 AM
Government Council Chamber
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
The leaders of Germany had gathered in Government Council Chamber to discuss the Russian invasion that everyone was sure would come. In addition to the normal attendees, Heinz Guderian sat at the table looking very uncomfortable. Schloss thought that the rest of the group looked frightened.
“I suspect that we do not have a lot of time,” Schloss began. “The burning que
stion, of course, is when Stalin will kick off the invasion.”
“The general staff and I have been discussing this,” Goering said. “We believe it will be very soon.”
“Very soon covers a lot of territory, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Schloss stated. “Can we narrow that down a bit?”
Goering looked uncomfortable. He had just put himself out on a limb, and everyone knew it. Guderian looked around the table and raised a finger.
“Yes, Herr General?” Schloss asked, recognizing his polite interruption.
“I believe it will be in the early hours of tomorrow morning, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
Schloss exhaled deeply and leaned forward to place his elbows on the table. He folded his hands so he could cradle his chin. He looked at the others grouped around the table.
“Does anyone have any information that would dispute the general’s opinion?”
“Considering what we saw from the photo reconnaissance,” Gehlen suggested, “I would not care to argue with General Guderian.”
“But do you think he is correct?” Rainer demanded.
Gehlen licked his lips and looked down at the table for a moment. Then he looked up at Rainer.
“I think we would be very wise to plan on it occurring tomorrow morning. Stalin can’t keep the gun cocked very long without using it. His armies are sitting there consuming supplies that they will need once operations begin. I trust the OKW has plans in place to handle this invasion because a lot of armor is going to be coming across the border.”
“The Russian ambassador left yesterday to fly to Moscow for consultations,” Peter Schreiber said. “It seems to me he didn’t want to be trapped in Berlin when the balloon went up.”
Ribbentrop tapped on the table with his index finger. “We have received no shipments from Russia for the past couple of weeks. Our shipments of pipe and machine tools have been backing up at the border. I finally ordered them pulled back into Germany proper.”
