North Reich (67 page)

“He is not,” she said, fighting back her anger.
 
“I’m married.
 
But I do promise to cooperate if you’ll let me help him.”

Stahl loosened her hands but not her feet, and let her crawl over to Baldwin.
 
He had a pulse and his eyelids were flittering. “He’s alive and he might just make it if he can get to a hospital.”

The Nazi smiled as he re-tightened her bonds.
 
“You and I are going to drive away from here in the car you so kindly brought.
 
You will drive and I will be in the back seat with a gun pointed at your head.
 
When we reach a safe point, I will fuck you and then release you and you can call and get help for your friend.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Of course, although you don’t have much choice.”

No I don’t, she thought.
 
Nor did she believe him.
 
Baldwin would be left to die while she would be raped and murdered.
 
Dear God, she thought, what had her life become?
 
What would happen to Tom?

Stahl made her lie down on the floor while he packed a suitcase.
 
She said she had to use the bathroom, so he untied her and watched her as she urinated.
 
She wondered if it excited him.

They walked outside and to the car.
 
His gun was covered by a jacket over his arm.
 
“You will get in the driver’s side, Lieutenant, and I will get in behind you as if I was a high ranking guest.
 
You will drive exactly as I say or I will blow your brains out.
 
Keep your hands away from the ignition so don’t even think of trying to drive off without me.”

Alicia wanted to cry but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He was about to get in when there was a sudden bang and Stahl jerked and stiffened.
 
A second shot rang out and he fell into the car.
 
Alicia opened her door and jumped out.
 
Men were running from the house across the street.

One grabbed her arm and pulled her away while others dragged Stahl’s limp and bloody body from the car.
 
“You okay, lieutenant?”
 
It was FBI agent Dunn.

“I’m fine,” she stammered, “but Captain Baldwin’s badly hurt.”

Dunn signaled and men ran into the house.
 
“How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“We’ve been watching Langford every time he leaves the camp. Director Hoover had the feeling that he might just lead us to Stahl and he was right.
 
One of us spent a lot of time on the front porch of the house across the street all dressed up as an old lady.
 
Stahl never suspected.”

In the distance she could hear the sound of an ambulance approaching and several neighbors had come out of their houses, stunned by the sudden violence.

Dunn grinned.
 
“I am really going to look good when this is all reported.”

Koenig looked at the ruins of what had been an armored battalion. American bombers had come over at first light and, guided by smoke pots lit by spies and saboteurs, had carpet bombed several fields where German tanks had been hidden.
 
This particular field had contained most of their precious Panther tanks.
 
Only two had survived the onslaught while the others had been thrown about like broken toys.
 
Bombs had ripped turrets off and flipped them onto the ground, and hulls had been split apart.
 
Treads lay across the ground like obscene insects.
 
The only consolation was that human casualties had been light with only about fifty killed or wounded.

      
Other fields had been bombed as well, and the destruction of Panther IVs had been just as bad.
 
The armored reserve that Guderian had been hoarding for a final battle had just been badly mauled.

      
Koenig walked over to where a sergeant sat on the ground, smoking his pipe.
 
“Forgive me for not getting up and saluting, captain, but my knee is not responding well today.
 
I twisted it running from the damned bombs.”

      
The sergeant was a good fifteen years older than he and appeared to be supervising a handful of soldiers who were nervously searching the field for useful parts to scavenge.
 
They were aware that the bombers could return at any time.
 
Koenig sat down beside the man and offered him a cigarette, which was quickly taken.

      
“Sergeant, right now a bunch of officers is trying to figure out how to write a report on this that will save their asses.
 
I don’t need that.
 
In your own words, tell me what the fuck happened.”

      
The sergeant grinned.
 
He was missing a couple of teeth and the wound looked fresh.
 
“It’ll cost you the rest of the pack.”

      
“Done,” Koenig said and handed over the bribe.

      
“Sir, are you aware that we had spies and saboteurs in the field the other night?
 
Well, one of our men went outside to take a piss and saw motion by a tank.
 
He sounded the alarm and we all spilled out of our barracks.
 
The spies got away, of course.
 
When we checked the tanks, we found that one had been tampered with and dirt had been poured into the gas tank.”

      
Koenig seethed.
 
He’d been told nothing about the incident.
 
Heads would roll, that is, if the incompetent fools were still alive.

The sergeant continued.
 
“This was all reported at least to my captain who, I assume, passed it upward.
 
It was obvious to all that the Yanks now knew about the Panthers in the field and would attack as soon as possible.
 
I woke my men up early and even though they pissed and moaned, got them the hell away before the bombers came.
 
That’s why they’re working.
 
They’re alive and grateful that I showed initiative.”

“The tanks should have been moved,” said Koenig.

“I think that was planned, but dawn came too early.”

Koenig stood and dusted himself off.
 
The sergeant was a good man who’d done his best.
 
The officers had failed.
 
The tanks should have been moved at night, if only a little ways away from the damned field that was now a well plowed junk yard.
 
Even moving them a short distance might have saved them to fight another day.
 
Now they were charred and shattered hulks.
 
He nodded to the sergeant and walked away, keeping an eye on the sky above for the return of American planes.
 
He saw a small scout plane, but that was it. Nor was the Luftwaffe going to come and chase it and anti-aircraft guns had been either bombed or pulled away to protect something else.
 

Damn it to hell, he thought.
 
Were the American Jews going to win this battle?

Patton had flown to Ike’s headquarters which was now situated just outside Buffalo.
 
Omar Bradley was there as well.
 
Coffee and sandwiches were served.
 
It had been noted many times that there was an abundance of food for the American military.
 
Bradley had commented that it was one advantage of fighting in one’s own country – the people liked you.

      
Patton let out a deep breath.
 
He was stuffed.
 
“Ike, I think it’s time we stopped pussyfooting around and hit the bastards with everything we have.
 
We’re ready.
 
My boys have moved east and are now past Stratford and London.
 
Hell,” he laughed, “it sounds like I’ve invaded England and not Canada.”

      
He didn’t add that both towns had been destroyed by the fighting.
 
Bombs and artillery had smashed almost every building and what bombs and guns hadn’t, the Germans had demolished.
 
It didn’t escape the men that London was on a river named the Thames and the portion of the Thames that ran through Stratford was called the Avon.
 
In Patton’s opinion, neither would be called much of anything for many years to come.

      
“I think I agree with George,” Bradley said.
 
His army had been slowly moving up through the more formidable defenses above the Niagara River, and now was approaching the city of Hamilton, on Lake Ontario.
 
“We now outnumber them in all areas.
 
If they weren’t such good and tenacious fighters, we would have crushed them a long time ago.
 
As it is, George now has room to maneuver and should do it.”

      
Ike nodded.
 
Patton did have room to maneuver.
 
Bradley was still more or less constrained by the lake to his right, which left a relatively narrow front.
 
He thought he knew what his generals were planning.

      
Ike smiled and lit a cigarette from the one that was down to a glowing ash.
 
“Let me guess, George, you want Brad to exert all the pressure he can against the krauts fronting him while you do the same with yours.
 
Then you’ll launch an attack on their right flank and try to get in their rear.”

      
Patton grinned.
 
“Right, and then then they’ll turn their flank and extend their lines to cover us, weakening them badly.
 
Maybe they’ll even have to take units from in front of Brad to keep from falling apart.
 
Either way, we win.
 
When they’re stretched thin enough, we’ll attack in overwhelming force and they’ll collapse.
 
It’s worked before.
 
If I remember my history, Grant did it to Lee outside of Petersburg and Richmond.
 
Just like Lee, the Germans will reach a point where they’ll be too weak to defend everything.”

      
“And it ended the Civil War,” Bradley added just a little gratuitously.
 
Ike didn’t need the history lesson.

      
“When can you launch your end run?” he asked.
 
Bradley was already exerting all the pressure he could, so the possible final move would be up to Patton.

      
“Tomorrow,” he responded.
 
“I’ve been positioning my boys for a couple of weeks now.”

      
Ike grinned.
 
“Bastard.”

The meeting broke up.
 
Patton and Bradley left to fly to their respective commands.
 
Ike got on the radio to Marshall who was very pleased.
 
Roosevelt, he said, had been taking all kinds of grief from the Canadian government in Ottawa to stop destroying Ontario.
 
The Canadians were wondering if it was necessary to destroy Canada in order to save it.
 
While efforts had been made to limit bombing to military targets, too many of those were located in civilian areas.
 
Also, when the Germans took a stand in or near a town, that town was invariably obliterated.
 
The Canadian people were utterly shocked by the devastation that was being wreaked upon their land.
 
Some were blaming the US, arguing that the response to the German attacks on the US should not have been so massive.

Neumann could read maps as well as the next man, and it was apparent to him that the Americans were going to continue their attacks until the over-extended German lines collapsed.
 
Thus, it was time to play his trump card, his prisoners.

      
Altogether he had a little more than three thousand of them, both civilian and military.
 
Moving them would take hundreds of trucks and he didn’t have more than a few score.
 
He’d broached the topic to Guderian and been told that the military had priority over any vehicles, and that he could solve his own problem if he wanted to move the prisoners.
 
Neumann had argued the point to no avail.
 
Even invoking Hitler’s name had changed nothing.
 
Hitler was a world away in Berlin, while Guderian was surrounded by Americans in North America.

      
Guderian had ordered Neumann to not harm the prisoners.
 
Neumann had agreed, but his promise was a lie.
 
He reported to a higher authority, Himmler and Hitler, and would not be ordered around by a mere field marshal.
 
The survival of the Reich in North America was at stake.

      
He looked out his office window.
 
It was almost dawn and he was in Toronto.
 
He had a terrible headache that was like a hammer pounding between his eyes.
 
He’d planned on being at either the camps or the farm but instead he’d gone to a party thrown by that Nazi sympathizer from the U.S. State Department, Dylan Wade.
 
The idea had been to bolster the morale of those pro-Germans in Toronto and the party had included influential Canadian civilians who needed to be convinced that the Americans would ultimately fail.