North Reich (14 page)

      
"Alicia, do I sense that you are disappointed with your role in the army?
 
If so, there are several million other men and women who feel the same way."

      
She laughed and he liked the sound.
 
"I think that frustrated is the better word.
 
I was a musician and a music and art teacher and was told that my skill as a musician might enable me to be good at codes.
 
Turns out that didn't work, so I was promoted and became a glorified messenger.
 
Look, Tom, I don't expect to be sent to combat or command men, but we women are definitely second class members of the army, and I don't just mean pay and benefits.
 
I don't think I'm being overly sensitive when senior officers call me 'girl,' or an enlisted man salutes me extremely sloppily while mentally undressing me.
 
I think I have a good mind and would like to use it."

      
"I can't walk in your shoes and I have to admit I never gave your situation much thought at all.
 
Before I hurt myself by saying anything more, may I change the subject?
 
You said you were a musician, what do you play?"

      
"The violin.
 
My dream was to be the lead violinist with some major symphony, like playing for the NBC Symphony and Toscanini, and doing it at Rockefeller or Carnegie, or be recorded by RCA Victor.
 
That dream isn't coming true either.
 
I'm very good but not good enough.
 
When this is over I'm pretty certain I'll be able to play for a smaller symphony and maybe teach at college instead of the small girls’ high school I used to.
 
I went to the University of Virginia and graduated with good grades, and that ought to count for something.
 
I even played soccer and lacrosse for a local club so I’m not exactly a sissy."

      
Tom thought that she was good enough for him, but now was not the time to say it.
 
"Alicia, I know you think that all army officers are barbarians who've cut their hair short and just learned to shave as well as walking upright, and this may come as a shock – but I like classical music."

      
"Good lord," she said with a laugh, only stopping when her wide smile stretched the stitches on her face.

      
"Will you play for me someday?"

      
She took his arm and steered him back inside.
 
Nobody had asked her to play for them in a very long time.
 
She would have to practice.

      
"Yes," she answered with another try at a smile, "but not tonight and not here."

Sounds rumbled in the distance and lights flashed in the night.
 
It wasn't lightning and thunder.
 
Something nasty was happening out on Lake Ontario.
 
Canfield cursed the fact that even the best binoculars couldn't penetrate the dark.
 
Worse, snow flurries were obscuring what visibility there was.

      
"Fucking Nazis are shooting at something," Dubinski said.
 
"Correction, they're shooting at someone, not something.
 
That ain't target practice."

      
True enough, thought Canfield as he shifted his bulk.
 
It was cold and wet lying on the ground, and there was a foot of snow penetrating what the army insisted was winter gear.
 
He could handle it, though.
 
He didn’t regret volunteering to stand watch.
 
If the troops could handle it, so could he.
 
In another hour they'd be relieved and could go get warm and dry while whatever was happening out on Lake Ontario continued.

      
"Sir, they're getting closer," said one of his men and damned if he wasn't right.
 
The brawl was getting very close to American property and what had to be German ships were well within American waters.

      
Canfield told his radio operator to inform the colonel and ask for instructions.
 
As he waited, the situation and the view became clearer.
 
The damned E-boat was back and it was shooting at a number of shapes on the water, and there were small flashes of light from a few of the shapes which meant they were firing back.
 
What the hell?

      
The radio operator gave the headphones to Canfield who was instructed to fire a warning shot, but to make sure to miss the E-boat.
 
"And what if he fires back?"

      
"Use your judgment" the colonel said from the safety of a headquarters several miles inland.
 
"If he's shooting for real, you can do likewise; just don't go starting World War II in Canada."

      
Canfield grinned.
 
Even though he was going to fire a shot across the enemy's bows, he had a weapon that would make the kraut think twice.
 
He'd borrowed a 75mm cannon and its crew and despite the fact that it was an 1897 model, he was certain it would put the fear of God into the Nazis.
 
The metal shield that would have provided some protection for the gun crew from return fire had been removed by its owners, and that concerned him.

      
The E-boat was now a defined shape.
 
The 75mm gun captain had his orders and fired.
 
The shock of the cannon was followed a few seconds later by a splash landing a hundred yards away from the German.

      
The E-boat turned and fired her 20mm and 37mm cannon in the direction of the American gun's flash.
 
Shells impacted, throwing up clouds of dirt and debris, and someone screamed.
 

      
"Son of a bitch," yelled Canfield.
 
He ran over to the gun. One man was dead and another wounded.
 
The lieutenant in charge looked shocked.
 
"Can you still fire this thing?" Canfield yelled.
 
The young officer shook himself back to reality and said he could.
 
"Then sink that God-damned kraut."

      
The seventy-five was a relatively quick firing weapon.
 
Shell after shell poured out from her in a coolly measured cadence.
 
Canfield grinned.
 
The young lieutenant clearly knew what he was doing.
 
The German captain saw what was happening and returned fire, but quickly decided he was outgunned.
 
The E-boat turned to the open lake, her three Daimler Benz engines roaring. Canfield was going to order a cease-fire when one of the shells struck the German boat on the stern.
 
Explosions and fire followed and the Americans cheered.
 
The E-boat slowed but continued on out towards Canada and safety.

      
This time the cease fire held.
 
The Americans waited by the icy shore while a small number of civilian motor boats approached.
 
They were jammed with terrified people and some had been badly shot up.
 

      
While some of Canfield's men kept an eye out for the Germans, the rest of them helped several dozen men, women, and children onto safe ground.
 
A number of the men had shotguns and pistols. Several people were wounded and a couple of them were clearly dead.

      
"What the hell is going on?" Canfield asked.

      
A dignified and bearded man in his fifties looked at him gratefully.
 
"We are Jews, major.
 
It is beginning."

Adolf Hitler had made one of his infrequent trips to Berlin, a city he despised.
 
To him it represented the depravity and corruption of the Weimar Republic.
 
The citizens of Berlin had reciprocated by giving only nominal support for the Nazi Party and its subsequent wars.
 
Their concerns had been reduced as victory after victory occurred, but the populace was still only lukewarm towards him and desperately wanted peace.
 
They also wanted the return of their sons and brothers, many of whom were still freezing in trenches confronting the Red Army in the gateway to Siberia.
 

      
Colonel General Heinz Guderian walked outside the Chancellery, angrily puffing an American cigarette, a Chesterfield.
 
He was accompanied by Grand Admiral Erich Raeder, father of the German U-boat fleet.
 
Guderian was outspoken, even in front of Hitler, and many assumed that was why he hadn't been promoted to field marshal as so many others of lesser ability had.

      
"Tell me the truth, admiral, can your ships defeat the American navy, especially if it is reinforced by the battleships and carriers of the Royal Navy?"

      
Raeder smiled and turned away to hide the expression on his face.
 
"When the time comes, we will overwhelm them with our U-boats and send both their navies to the bottom of the Atlantic.
 
We will not have to worry about sinking tankers and freighters, although we will do that of course.
 
Enemy warships will be our target and we will have more than two hundred U-boats on hand at all times to send them to the sink them.
 
We will even have our aircraft carrier, the
Graf Zeppelin
, ready to assist along with our capital ships."

      
It was Guderian's turn to smile.
 
"As I understand it, admiral, the carrier is a small one when compared with the American fleet carriers and, besides, it is our only one.
 
Her sister ship, the
Peter Strasser
, was scrapped, which does not imply that there is a great deal of confidence in our aircraft carriers.
 
Also, our remaining capital ships are few.
 
The remnants cannot stand up to either enemy alone, much less if they are joined."

      
The admiral flushed at the truth.
 
"They will suffice."

      
"How will you keep the U-boats supplied?
 
Our army in Russia is suffering because of the vast distances between our factories and the front lines along the Volga.”
 
He didn’t bother to add that Russian partisans were tying down more than a half million German and allied soldiers.
 
“The distance between our French bases and North America is almost as great."

      
"Don't worry, my dear general, we will have a number of supply ships shuttling back and forth with food, torpedoes, and anything else our brave captains require.
 
There are even plans for a couple of floating brothels.
 
Since you have concerns about the Kriegsmarine's ability to succeed, what about von Arnim's small army that is about to take on the entire United States military?
 
What chance does it have of success?"

      
Guderian paused.
 
He had just come from a discussion with the Fuhrer which had deteriorated into a screaming argument.
 
A couple of staffers had led the general out of the conference room before he and Hitler came to blows.
 
It was only Guderian's reputation and history as a victorious general that kept him from being discharged or worse.
 
As it was, he was currently a general without a command.

      
"My dear admiral, the Fuhrer still believes that the American fighting man is a poorly trained and poorly led coward, and that the American generals are all fools dominated by Wall Street Jews.
 
He looks at the war in the Pacific and sees a United States Army that cannot immediately squash the yellow-skinned savages from Japan.
 
He says that the Japs ran from the Red Army in the Manchurian campaign of a few years ago, and that they were defeated by the Slavic rabble that is the Red Army.
 
Therefore, the Fuhrer’s logic says that the Americans must be lesser men than the Soviets and the Japs.
 
He does not realize that the Japs are fanatic fighters who, while they don't have good weapons, are very well disciplined and willing to give their lives for Japan.
 
The Japanese are insane.
 
The Americans will ultimately win, overwhelming them with the large numbers of planes and tanks that their factories are churning out.
 
I am not confident that von Arnim will be able to hold out until reinforcements arrive.
 
I am also not confident that they will arrive at all."

      
Raeder glared.
 
He did not like having his judgment doubted even though Guderian had raised points that made him uncomfortable when he thought about them.
 
If his submarines could not destroy the American and British navies, what then?

      
Guderian ground out his cigarette and lit another one.
 
It occurred to him that war with the United States would mean his supply of American cigarettes would be cut off.
 
He made a mental note to begin to stockpile those and other things that made life pleasant.
 
He’d rather die than smoke the paper wrapped dog shit that Germany called domestic cigarettes.