Germanica (36 page)

Now three of them were dead and the fourth one spent his time so heavily medicated he might as well be. He had brutally severe burns on his legs. A doctor had told Archie that the man might walk again, but always with a limp and always with pain. Since Archie had been their commander, he’d blamed himself. He knew he was being irrational, but didn’t care. They had been
his
responsibility. Therefore he would never let anyone get as close again. Losing strangers was bad enough, but losing friends just hurt too much.

Thus, he kept his new crew at arm’s length. He never used their names. They were Driver, Gunner, Loader, and Co-driver. He was Sergeant. Not Sarge, Sergeant. Nor did the tank have a name, and that further pissed off the crew. Tough shit, he thought. People have names, not lumps of metal.

He trained them hard, and that too annoyed them. The war was almost over, he’d heard them say, so why doesn’t he lighten up? Because the war
isn’t
quite over, you assholes, he’d yelled at them. And until that happy day, he was going to train them and train them. One of them actually went to a chaplain to complain about Archie’s behavior. Archie wanted to kill the whiny little shit, but the chaplain calmed him down.

As to where they were all going, it was no secret. There was some town on Lake Constance with an unpronounceable name and they would then be the spearpoint that would drive down the coast and to the German capital of Bregenz. It was almost a given that they would again be alongside the 105th Infantry and that was good. They’d worked together before and knew each other. He snorted and one of the crewmen looked at him, puzzled. He’d just realized that he probably knew more about some of the men of the 105th than he did of his own crew, and that pleased him. At this stage of his life he wanted no friends, no entanglements, no sentiment.

* * *

Hans Gruber’s devotion to the cause of Adolf Hitler and Josef Goebbels was fading rapidly. He had just found out that both General Hahn and Captain Diehl had disappeared during the night. “Disappeared” had become a euphemism for deserting, and this upset him deeply. He didn’t care about Diehl, whom he thought was a slimy shit and who had tried to caress Gruber’s leg. But Hahn was his hero, a man who had made him a Werewolf. He was a general and a confidante of Josef Goebbels.

What was he supposed to do now? Worse, many other leaders of the new Reich were also fading away, leaving the junior officers and enlisted men to their fates. If the Americans caught him, would they treat him honorably as a prisoner of war or as a terrorist? He felt that the Americans at that base had been legitimate targets, and that included their general. Would the Yanks feel the same way or would they call him a murderer and hang him?

He rolled over and stared at Astrid Schneider. They were in her bed at her parent’s quarters and she was, as usual when she was with him, quite naked. She was the first woman he’d ever made love to and he wondered if he was in love with her. She had repeatedly told him that she loved him and he’d told her that he loved her, but he wondered if he meant it. Or did he just like getting laid? Whenever he said he loved her, she became a tigress and that was good.

“Everyone is leaving Germany,” Hans said.

“My brother and father are still here. They will not abandon the Reich.”

“Nor will I, although I think you should make plans to go to Switzerland with your mother.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to leave either. But I would feel better knowing that you were safe. Think about it. You serve no real purpose here, except of course,” he added with a grin, “satisfying a brave German soldier’s lusty needs.”

She laughed and punched him on his thin shoulder. “My father is deathly afraid that he will be considered a war criminal. My mother told him that if the Allies arrested everyone who’d done what my father did, there’d be no one left. My father may have done some things that the Allies will doubtless consider wrong and he may have to spend a little time in a prison, but he’s done nothing serious. He’s not a Himmler.”

“What about that girl you said he raped, the one who beat up you and your brother?”

“What of it? Millions of German women were raped by Russians and others. My mother and I were fortunate to make it here safely.”

“Astrid, I would still feel better if you were in Switzerland.”

“All right. I will get my mother and we will leave, tomorrow if I can do it.”

He sighed happily. He had no idea how deep his feelings were for this girl, but he would be much happier if she was out of the war. Then he could concentrate on his task, if only he could now define it. If the cause of the Reich was truly doomed, then he should be looking out for himself as much as he was looking out for Astrid Schneider.

Astrid smiled. “I have one other piece of information for you, my dearest.”

Hans yawned. She had worn him out. “And what is that?”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Shit.

* * *

Josef Goebbels took the small box from his pants pocket and looked at it. How many times had he done just that in the past few days? The box was innocuous. It could have held a tie tack or a ring but not anything expensive. It didn’t say Cartier or some other elegant jeweler. All it had was a swastika.

He opened it and looked at the small pills inside. They were cyanide. One would be more than enough, but he had asked for two in case he dropped one in his haste to end it all. He would not be taken alive. As he had promised an eternity ago, he would join Adolf Hitler in death. The world would honor him for his bravery and devotion. Besides, he did not want to end up on exhibit as was happening to so many of the Reich’s leaders. The Allies had announced that a series of trials would commence at Nuremberg, beginning with the highest-ranking Nazis in their custody and working down to the smaller fish. If captured, he would be the ranking Nazi. He would be displayed and mocked like an animal at some perverted zoo. Magda understood that, but the children would not. Therefore, he could not be captured.

So why then did his hands shake when he held the box? Goebbels took a deep breath. His hands shook, he decided, because he was as afraid of death as anyone. The Nazi empire that had once stretched from the Pyrenees almost to the Urals was now reduced to a few hundred square miles of desolate and useless mountains. The larger portion of the army was still fronting the Americans near Innsbruck, while a decent force remained to defend Bregenz. The generals were confident that the Americans would have to come down the narrow valleys that led from Innsbruck to the small town that was the current capital of Germany. He did not share their confidence, but he deferred to their knowledge.

Field Marshal Schoerner knocked and entered. Goebbels tried to hide the pill box but wasn’t fast enough. “I will not take cyanide,” Schoerner announced. “If and when the time comes, I will do everything in my power to die in battle.”

Goebbels gasped. Had Schoerner just insulted him? “Are you implying that I’m less of a man for considering poison?”

“Of course not, Minister. I merely state the obvious, that we come from different backgrounds. If I cannot get killed, I will try to shoot myself. If that doesn’t work, one of my aides will finish the task.”

“Will your aide get a promotion for the job?”

“Quite likely,” Schoerner said. He flushed when he belatedly realized that Goebbels had been sarcastic.

“Do you have any good news at all?”

“None whatsoever. Our time may be counted in days, or at best, weeks. We are almost out of food and ammunition and the Americans now control the lake. This means that they might try to attack from it.”

“The Swiss will not permit that.”

“Minister, the Swiss will not have a choice. From what intelligence we’ve been able to gather it looks like the Americans scent blood and wish to come in for the kill. When that happens, the Swiss will stand aside. Further, the number of desertions is increasing. Only about half the men we brought into the Redoubt remain with us. Yesterday, some enterprising soldiers overwhelmed their officers, stole a small boat, and sailed off towards an American patrol craft. They were welcomed with open arms.”

Goebbels laughed harshly. “Do you think they would welcome us with open arms?” Yes, he thought. Open arms—and a noose.

“Minister,” Schoerner said softly, “I think it is time to complete plans for using the bomb.”

* * *

Any plans for the bomb were limited by the capacity and range of the two V1 rockets they’d brought to Bregenz. The rockets had a range of two hundred miles and carried a one-ton warhead. They were also horribly inaccurate at long range. They had chosen the V1s over the V2s because they were much easier to move and launch.

Some thought had been given to arming the rockets with poison gas, but it was quickly decided that a ton of gas would not accomplish much except to anger the Americans and perhaps cause them to retaliate. With a two-hundred-mile range, it meant that major targets, such as Paris, London, or Rome were impossible reaches. They could only hit cities in Switzerland or northern Italy or, of course, Germany, which would be pointless.

Therefore, any target would have to be closer, much closer. The scientists had toyed with the idea of enlarging the warhead to house a greater atom bomb by reducing the fuel that would be unnecessary if the target was close. They had quickly come to the conclusion that reengineering the rocket would take more time than they had. Thus, they were stuck with a short-range rocket with a one-ton atomic warhead. Doctor Esau had been of the opinion that the American atomic bombs had weighed at least five tons. Thus again, they had a small nuclear device. It had to work and they had to convince the Yanks that they had more than one. The second rocket was for show only and some other dummy rockets were being constructed out of wood.

Schoerner smiled. “What do the Americans fear more than anything else, Minister?”

Goebbels returned the smile. “Why, casualties, of course. The American soldier is a coward and his leaders are politicians who are afraid to lose soldiers in battle. If our one bomb can decimate a large American force and if we can convince them that we have more of them, they will negotiate.”

“But the bomb has to work,” said Schoerner. “And Doctor Esau and his people have pledged their lives that it will.”

* * *

Generals Truscott and Devers watched as elements of the two-division assault force gathered itself. Devers was uncomfortable with his position. Even though he was the ranking officer, he had the uneasy feeling that Truscott was in charge and that Truscott would complain to Ike if he didn’t like what was going on. That would be like being taken to the woodshed, a humiliation that he could not tolerate. His pride would force him to resign.

Of course, he had to admit that the gravelly voiced Texan had done a magnificent job and had given Devers little to worry about.

The Rhine was clear, both of debris and enemy forces, all the way down to Lake Constance. That it meandered all over the place as it approached the Alps was irrelevant. It meant that small armed craft could sail its length and emerge in the lake. It also meant that many scores of landing craft could do the same thing and these were congregating along the shore at Oberlingen. When the army moved south to Lindau, the landing craft would follow. The army would board them and launch an attack from the lake. The Swiss would be even more furious than they already were, but nobody gave a damn about the feelings of the Swiss. Getting the landing craft and other support vessels to Oberlingen meant riding the Rhine along its length and in some cases cruising through small chunks of Swiss territory. There had been no incidents, but the American high command was confident that German sympathizers had relayed precise information about the American movements to the Nazis in Bregenz.

“How soon?” Devers asked, resenting that he didn’t know all the information.

“A couple of days at the most. A lot depends on the winds.”

Yes, Devers thought sorrowfully, the winds. Was the United States really about to commit an atrocity on the scale of what the Nazis had done?

* * *

Tanner and Cullen watched the generals have their meeting on a hill. Many others watched as well. It wasn’t every day that high-ranking officers displayed themselves as Devers and Truscott were now doing.

“What do you think?” asked Tanner.

“This means war,” he said solemnly. “Oh yes, I forgot. We’re
already
at war. This means that we’re going to go into battle very soon and that’s not a surprise either.”

“I hope this is the final one.”

He and Lena had managed a couple of minutes together that morning. Each was terrified that the next battle would be someone’s last one. While Tanner was in the greater danger, the incident in which General Evans had been killed and Lena shot at had showed them that danger was imminent and everywhere. Their embraces had been intense, as each knew that it could be the last for a long time, perhaps forever. Tanner was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was well behind the lines. But would that matter if long-range artillery came into play, or if someone made a tragic mistake, or, God forbid, the rumors about the gas masks were true.

CHAPTER 19

Ernie hugged Winnie. “I love you; now get the hell out of here.”

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. “I love you too, especially when you talk so romantically. But you know I can’t go too far. I have a job to do, too. I don’t like it that Arbon is so close to the German border either, but I volunteered for this job just like you did.”

They were in the rear of the suite of offices that were the United States consulate in Arbon. Normally, a small town like Arbon wouldn’t rate a consul, perhaps just a local person authorized to dispense with routine affairs on a part-time basis, but her proximity to the German border and the newly ordained capital at Bregenz made an exception to the rule a necessity.

“Winnie, people are leaving this one-chalet town. They know the war’s going to come and they know that mistakes always happen, sometimes even accidentally.”

She released him. “What are you implying?”

“Only that we’re pawns in this giant thing called World War II, and that maybe the U.S. would like to smack Switzerland across the head for being so helpful to the Germans. Rumor has it that some priests in the Vatican are now helping Nazis escape. I’m not accusing Pius XII of anything wrong, but some in the Church’s hierarchy certainly are. While we can’t bomb St. Peter’s, maybe we can hit a small town in Switzerland and let it serve as a warning to those who would help the Nazis.”

Winnie was shocked. “Are you saying that the President of the United States is that devious?”

“Show me a politician who isn’t devious and I’ll show you someone who died several years ago. Don’t you ever wonder just what Dulles is really up to? Here we are planning to fight a final battle with the Nazis and the Russians are expanding their reign over much of Europe. What do you think Truman and Dulles think about that? What do you think they might
do
to slow down the Reds?”

“Are you saying there might be another war, only this time with the commies?”

“Winnie, I think you can almost count on it.”

Winnie was about to reply when air raid sirens began to wail.

* * *

“Once more into the breach,” said Sibre. He and Schafer headed a flight of almost a hundred P51 and P47 fighters as they escorted a miles long stream of several hundred American bombers. Most were B17s, but there were B24s and B25s as well. They were headed for Bregenz and most of the men were delighted. It meant an end to the German’s sanctuary and hopefully an end to a war that seemed to have gone on forever—with America starring in it.

Deep down they knew that was an untrue and unkind statement. Both Great Britain and the Soviet Union had been fighting for far longer and, in the case of the Soviets, had suffered appalling losses.

Their target was the center of the capital of Germany. They would fly, drop their bombs and then leave by flying over Lake Constance. The stream of planes would turn north and head for their home fields. It was understood that this would involve flying over Swiss territory. It was also understood that they could return the fire of anyone who shot at them, regardless of where the firing was coming from. Nor were they to concern themselves about the likely killing of innocent civilians. If those deaths could help save Americans, then their deaths would not be in vain.

Puffs of black smoke appeared around their planes. Flak. “Can you see the guns?” Sibre asked. A moment later Schafer said he could and dived for the ground. Sibre swore and followed, along with several others.

As they got lower, more and more German guns sent shells up to meet them. “Where the hell are they getting the guns?” Schafer yelled. “They must have been saving them for a rainy day.”

They dropped their bombs and strafed what they hoped was a gun emplacement. There was no secondary explosion, which made them doubt it. Regaining altitude, they saw that the Germans were targeting the bomber stream and that several had been hit. One B24 blew up, sending debris and bodies all over the sky. Others were either burning or had chunks bitten out of their wings or tails. A surprising number were either cripples or had turned around. They wondered how many casualties were inside the planes and whether or not the wounded would live. Their buddy Morelli had died of his injuries a few hours after they’d visited him. They convinced themselves that it was for the best but that was a hard sell. Morelli had been a human being, not a dog that needed to be put down.

“Once more and this time with feeling,” said Sibre. The raid was becoming a disaster. During their briefing, the intelligence officer had minimized the German antiaircraft defenses. Now they’d like to get the dumb bastard up in a plane so he could see what was really happening.

They strafed another possible site and pulled up. They were out of ammunition. Now all they could do was try to distract the Germans. As if to mock them, a B17 flew nose-first into the ground and exploded in an enormous ball of fire. Neither man said a word, but each wondered if anyone had gotten out before it hit.

The bomber stream had begun to disintegrate. Cohesion was lost and planes were flying in numerous directions.

“Where the hell are those idiots going?” Schafer yelled. A dozen bombers were following another one that was on fire. Their route was taking them over the border and towards a number of small towns in Switzerland.

“This is going to be bad,” said Sibre, and Schafer concurred. The lead plane’s left wing suddenly broke off and the bomber began a death spiral to the ground. They didn’t want to, but they couldn’t help but watch. Hatches opened and several men jumped out. They counted four, but there were ten in the crew. Four chutes opened, but where would they land? Both agreed that it would be Switzerland, which meant that the Americans would be safe.

“Oh no,” said Sibre. The other planes’ bomb bay doors were open and bombs began to fall out and downward. They were bombing Switzerland. Had the commanding officer made a mistake, gotten lost, or was he pissed at the dense German antiaircraft fire? They would never know. The new lead plane took a hit and fell apart. This time there were no chutes.

* * *

Winnie and Ernie huddled in a shelter along with several dozen other people. As the explosions drew nearer, an elderly Swiss gentleman with a well-trimmed white beard glared at Ernie. “Can’t you bloody people be trusted to tell Germany from Switzerland?”

“It ain’t all that easy from maybe twenty thousand feet and with a few score antiaircraft guns blazing away at you. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

The gentleman was about to respond when more bombs hit and caused the shelter to vibrate. Ernie was going to add to his comments when the old man simply disappeared in a rain of flesh and bone.

Ernie managed to cover his and Winnie’s heads with his jacket with one hand and cup his balls with the other as the shelter fell apart. “Winnie!” he yelled as consciousness faded and then disappeared.

* * *

Werner Heisenberg had been given American fatigues and been flown to New York in a DC3. He was accompanied by two MPs and others on the flight assumed he was a prisoner. If they were puzzled by the fact that he wasn’t in irons, nobody said anything. From there it was time to refuel and change pilots. Then it was another hop to Washington. He was tired and frightened. Were they taking him to America to be shot, hanged, or put on display as a war criminal? He was a scientist, not a criminal. How could he convince them of that?

The major in Bonn had quickly found his name on a list and he had been interviewed by an Alsos team, primarily to make sure he was who he claimed to be. From there he had been flown to an American air base in England where he figured he’d be interned for the duration. He’d been there only a couple of days when he was put on a plane and sent across the Atlantic.

After landing in Washington, he’d been put in a staff car and he’d promptly fallen asleep. When he was awakened, he was astonished to find that he was at the White House and would be meeting with President Truman in a few minutes. That and a cup of excellent coffee had perked him up. Perhaps they weren’t going to try him as a criminal after all.

He was taken to the Oval Office and given some more coffee. It was fascinating to see a national capital that hadn’t been bombed and devastated. Even during his brief stay in England, he had seen where bombs and rockets had struck.

He was ushered into the president’s office. Truman was seated behind a large wooden desk. He was introduced to General Marshall and General Groves. He knew who Marshall was but only knew of Groves as the man who had built the Pentagon.

“Tell us about Abraham Esau,” Truman said.

Heisenberg blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. “Dr. Esau is an excellent physicist, one of Germany’s leading scientists.”

“Is he as good as you?” asked Groves.

“No. He is a good man, but definitely second tier.”

Truman leaned forward. “Could he and a small team located in the Alps build an atomic bomb?”

Heisenberg smiled broadly. So this is what this is all about. “Doctor Esau couldn’t build a bomb if he had all the resources in the world and all the time in the world.”

* * *

Heisenberg was brought up to speed. He was told about the German threat to use a bomb and that Truman was thinking about halting the attack on Bregenz because of the fear of what a bomb might do to massed American forces.

There was more coffee and some sandwiches. “Gentlemen,” Heisenberg continued, “there was
never
a threat of a German atomic bomb. I had already seen to that.”

Truman was astonished. “What do you mean?”

“Because I could not abide the thought of a monster like Hitler getting his filthy paws on a weapon like the atomic bomb. There were several competing programs, but mine was the major one. I saw to it that we were constantly going off in the wrong direction. Along with not having enough Uranium, all I had to work with were second and third-rate talents. The Nazis considered physics to be Jewish science and chased the good ones away. I assume that they are working for you.”

“That’s a safe assumption,” said Groves as he reached for another sandwich. “But does Goebbels know that?”

Heisenberg shrugged. “He was the Minister of Propaganda. He might be lying or he might be being lied to. Who knows? Now, may I politely ask what will happen to this information and to me?”

Truman smiled coldly and Heisenberg could see how people could underestimate the short man with the wire-rimmed glasses. “As to your motives, I don’t give a damn. For all I care you are lying through your teeth about intentionally derailing the bomb research and really wanted it to succeed because you were a good Nazi until the end and decided it was time to save your ass. In the meantime, you will remain in our custody. You will be kept comfortable and secure. And, if by chance, the German bomb does work, I will personally blow your goddamned brains out. If their bomb is either a dud or a fraud, you will be rewarded. In the meantime, the attack on Bregenz will go on as scheduled, and God help us all.”

Heisenberg was led away. He would be sent to the Marine Barracks in Washington and held in confinement. He was confident that he would be vindicated. But then he felt a chill. What if, just
if
, Esau and his people had indeed managed to utilize existing research to develop something that could cause great harm to the United States Army? It didn’t have to be a full-fledged atomic bomb. Something close would do just as well.

* * *

Josef Goebbels was frightened but safe. His shelter was in the bowels of a hill overlooking Bregenz. Even so, the room shook and he looked at the walls and roof to see if they would stand up to the pressure of Allied bombs.

No senior members of his government were with him. They were all in other shelters, fled to Switzerland, or dead. More explosions and the mountain seemed to rise up from the ground.

He fingered the little box in his pants pocket. Was it time? If he wanted to die, he would have to take the cyanide at the earliest possible moment. He hadn’t thought of it, but he now thought it possible that he could be injured in a bombing attack and unable to reach the capsules. The rain of bombs was beginning to taper off. He would live through this day. Still, he
had
to be better prepared. He smelled smoke but nothing to indicate a major fire.

The door to the shelter was cracked open. “Minister!” yelled an officer from outside.

“Over here,” Goebbels said and managed to stand with great difficulty. He was shaking, but why? He’d endured far worse while in Berlin. It was because he now realized that any feelings of safety he’d had were an illusion, a pipe dream.

The steel door to the cave was open and his officers were tentatively stepping outside. The sky was clear and there were no fresh contrails in the sky. Much of Bregenz was in ruins. Dark smoke was heavy and firefighters were at work. There would be little shortage of water since the city was close to the lake. Dead and wounded were being pulled from the rubble, proof that not everyone had taken the threat of bombing seriously. Goebbels wondered if this would stiffen the spines of those left to fight for Hitler’s vision. Sadly, he doubted it. Instead, there would be an exodus to the Swiss border.

Field Marshal Schoerner stood watching the activity. He did nothing and Goebbels didn’t either. The people in charge of handling disasters such as this were doing an excellent job. They did not need anyone yelling encouragement at them.

Schoerner smiled. “Minister, did you hear the good news?”

“What good news could there be? The Americans bombed us. There is no longer any sanctuary.”

“The Americans made a huge mistake. For some reason, they bombed Arbon as well.”

Goebbels perked up, suddenly elated. If the Swiss were angry enough at the assault on their territory, would they be willing to ally themselves with the Reich? The addition of the Swiss Army to Germany’s defenses would cause the Americans to think about the blood price that must be paid. Perhaps this day wasn’t such a miserable one after all.

And he still had an atomic bomb to fire at the Americans. Was it time to launch? No, he told himself. Not just yet.