Red Inferno: 1945 (17 page)

That he was good-looking and articulate hadn’t hurt him either. Speer was forty years old, and his last official title had been Minister of Armaments and Munitions. He had been in complete charge of Germany’s war-making capabilities.

Truman did not shake his hand, only gestured him coldly to a seat in the room they were using. Translators were present to be used if necessary, but Speer’s English was up to the task.

“Mr. President, on behalf of my government, I wish to have an armistice between our three nations.”

“What about France and Russia?” Truman asked, tight-lipped. He had never seen a high-ranking Nazi before and was uncertain as to how to act. He decided on controlled belligerency.

Speer blinked. Unused to diplomacy, he had forgotten about the importance of France to the Western Allies. “Your correction is noted. We wish peace between Germany and the western allies of Britain, France, and the United States. Even though the Third Reich is defeated, it should be obvious that we have no desire to surrender to Russia. Nor should you wish us to do so. Surely your policies of unconditional surrender and no separate peace no longer apply under the current circumstances.”

Truman said nothing, merely stared at him, which encouraged Speer to continue. “As evidence of our good faith, Admiral Doenitz, as successor to the late Adolf Hitler, has offered the following without reservation or the need for you to reciprocate.

“First, we will release all Allied prisoners we now hold, although that is no longer a large number. Your troops have overrun most of our POW camps. We will expedite the transfer, although some prisoners are wounded and will require special handling. Additionally, any soldiers who have wandered into our area or airmen who are shot down as a result of your new war with Russia and make it to our lines will be returned to you.”

Truman thought it was a good start but kept a poker face.

Speer continued. “We will signal all U-boats at sea to surface and surrender. This will occur at noon tomorrow London time, which, I trust, is sufficient time for you to notify your ships that the boats are surrendering. Second, we will be handing over to the British, under Montgomery, the cities of Emden and Wilhelmshaven.”

Truman almost snorted. The U-boats had been ineffective for some time and the cities named had been under virtual British control for a number of days. He was aware that the Germans in the north of Germany as well as in Italy had been quietly and individually negotiating the surrender of various units as the war wound down. He had seen reports that indicated a significant level of cooperation between the advancing British and the retreating Germans in order to avoid needless casualties. He could not blame them.

“You can do better,” Truman snapped, causing both Churchill and Speer to look startled.

Speer recovered quickly. “We will further direct the garrisons of Dunkirk, Lorient, St. Nazaire, and the Channel Islands to surrender immediately. That will free up one more of your divisions. The 66th, I believe.”

The president knew that freeing one division, particularly one that he knew had not yet seen battle, was a drop in the bucket, but it was a start.

“Good,” said Truman. “Now just what do you want out of this?”

The bluntness of the question made Churchill smile. It did not faze Speer. “Mr. President, my government is anxious that Germany not be overrun by the Russians and enslaved by her.”

“Some say it would be what you deserved.” Truman looked like he was beginning to enjoy himself.

“My country, sir, is trying now to free itself from the shackles of Nazism. Germany has a right to exist, just like every other nation. The fact that we made a major mistake and allowed a madman to reign should not condemn a people to extermination or the living hell of perpetual slavery.”

Neither Truman nor Churchill was surprised by Speer’s calling Hitler a madman. Late in the war, Speer had become totally disillusioned with Hitler, had blocked his orders to burn Germany to the ground, and had even contemplated assassinating Hitler, but the opportunity had not arisen.

“Yet,” Truman persisted, “both you and Doenitz were Nazis. In point of fact, wasn’t your Admiral Doenitz one of the few ranking navy officers to embrace Hitler thoroughly?”

“It is sad but true,” Speer answered. “I too will have to answer for my actions in employing millions of slave laborers to help run the industry of the Reich. I felt it was unavoidable and essential at the time and, I will not lie, I might do it again under the same circumstances.

“As to Admiral Doenitz, he did become an ardent Nazi and, like so many others, myself included, firmly believed that Hitler was the savior of a downtrodden Germany, and, also like so many, turned a blind eye to the man’s faults and the atrocities that have been committed in his name.

“Should you accept our offer of surrender, Great Britain and the United States will not have to worry about the German army and air force during this war with Russia. At worst, the German units will be interned after surrender. At best?” He smiled and shrugged.

Finally, Churchill spoke. “Can you speak for all Germans, Herr Speer? Isn’t there a rival to Admiral Doenitz?”

Speer’s answer was confident, and Truman had the feeling that at least this part of the conversation had been rehearsed. After all, hadn’t Churchill and Speer arrived together?

“Rivals? Hardly. The only senior members of the old regime who might still be a factor are Himmler, Goering, and Bormann. Himmler is with Doenitz but under arrest, and Goering is wandering about Germany, apparently alone, while Bormann is either hiding in some Berlin cellar or already dead. No, gentlemen, there are no rivals to the admiral.”

“What about war crimes, Mr. Speer?” Truman asked. “Haven’t you just admitted your own culpability in that area?”

“Yes,” Speer responded, “and I am personally willing to take the consequences for those actions when the time is appropriate. Regarding other so-called war criminals, however, I am aware that any peace between us will doubtless result in the lesser criminals going free to be judged only by God. The major criminals, such as those SS and Gestapo men and women who murdered people and ran the death camps, can still be caught and prosecuted.”

Truman nodded. Unfortunately, there was a sad kind of logic to what Speer was saying. Germany had to be removed as an enemy. Even though she and her armies were largely in Allied hands, there still remained the potential for disaster if even the remnants of German armies remained on the loose to fight whomever they wished.

Truman realized he really didn’t have much choice. It was time to make a deal with the devil and it was apparent that Churchill had already come to that conclusion.

“All right,” Truman said. “I assume you have the power to act on Doenitz’s behalf; therefore, you will radio him that we have an agreement in principle and that the German armies still in the field are to lay down their arms to us and the British. I would also like some indication as to whether or not the German people will actively support the Allies, especially regarding information and resistance from behind the Soviet lines.”

Speer nodded and made a note.

“On the other hand,” Truman continued, “I do not think it appropriate for you to even think of German soldiers fighting alongside Americans and British at this time. The German armies must surrender and become prisoners, not allies.”

“Sir,” Speer said, “my admiral is currently at Flensburg on the Danish border, with most of what remains of the German army, perhaps a half million men. I propose that these units remain in the area north of the Kiel Canal and south of Denmark to preserve the polite fiction that we are still an independent nation. We would also serve as a buffer between the Russians and the Danes should the British be forced to retreat beyond Hamburg, which, I must say, seems quite likely.”

Truman could scarcely believe what he was hearing. The Germans were willing to protect Denmark? What had his world come to?

Speer continued. “However, if you wish us to form a buffer, we will require food. Simply put, both the German army and the Danes are starving. Will you get us food?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Truman heard himself say. “And if you are overrun and have to leave this Flensburg place, we can establish a government in exile somewhere, perhaps”—he grinned evilly at Churchill—“in London.” Churchill’s jaw dropped at the thought.

“Excellent,” said Speer with the touch of a smile.

“And now we lie down with the devil,” Truman murmured, and Churchill nodded. “Tell me, do you have any thoughts on defeating the Soviets?”

Speer smiled. “Why yes, I do.”

T
ONY THE
T
OAD
saw the Russian a scant second before the Russian saw him. It was enough. It was almost dark, and the Russian soldier had turned the corner of the building and was almost upon Tony. Sensing the recognition of danger on the other man’s face, Tony pulled his wide-bladed knife from its sheath on his belt and rammed it deep into the Russian’s throat, causing the man’s head to snap back at a ridiculous angle. The dying man gurgled, clutched the air a couple of times, and fell backward, leaving the sticky knife in Tony’s hand.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind him. It was Vaslov. “Mother of God, what have you done?”

Tony wiped the knife on some leaves. “Killed a fucking Commie, what the hell’s it look like? And what the hell was I supposed to have done? He was close enough to kiss me, for Christ’s sake.”

Despite his brave words, Tony was shaking so badly he could hardly sheathe the knife. This Russian was the first man he had ever killed close up. Any others had occurred while firing a tank’s machine gun, and the effect was often unknown. This was too personal and he wanted to vomit from the stink of the blood that was beginning to coagulate at his feet.

Vaslov looked closely at the dead Russian’s throat. “What a nasty wound. You are good, Tony. And thank God you didn’t use your rifle, the sound might have attracted too much attention.”

Tony took a deep breath and got some control of himself. Had he gone for his Garand, he would be dead. “Thanks. Now don’t you think we should get the hell out of here? This asshole surely had friends who are gonna miss him.”

Vaslov smiled. “Very likely.” He gestured to a couple of the others, who came and saw the sight and nodded appreciatively at Tony’s handiwork. Counting Tony, there were now ten in the growing little group. One of them picked up the Russian’s submachine gun and his pistol, along with spare ammunition.

“Help me remove his clothes,” Vaslov asked.

“What the hell for?” Tony snarled. “I ain’t undressing no corpse.”

“Tony,” Vaslov chuckled, “perhaps this uniform, which might just fit one of us, could prove useful. See this symbol on his collar?” Tony looked and nodded. It was a vertical sword within an oval wreath. In the fading light he thought the background might have been blue with a red trim.

“Yeah. Kinda pretty.”

Vaslov chuckled. “Better than pretty, Tony, this man was an officer in the NKVD, the Russian secret police. Someone wearing this uniform is likely to be treated as a god by an ordinary Russian officer. He could go anyplace and do almost anything. He would be an object of fear. This could be most useful to us.”

Tony understood. “Okay, but we got a lotta blood to clean off, though, before he could go to any party.”

Vaslov gestured, and several pairs of hands rapidly stripped the body, which soon lay shockingly pale and naked. There were a number of ponds nearby, and they selected one and, after tying and weighing down the body, slid it quietly under the water.

“There,” smiled Vaslov, “in a few days no one will recognize him, not even his mother. If he had one.”

Tony agreed. Even if the man was noted as missing, they had seen and avoided a lot of people who might also be missing from some army or other. And if the man’s body was later found, it would soon be bloated and unidentifiable.

“So,” Tony said, “we can now be a Russian secret police officer anytime we wish. But do we have anyone who speaks enough Russian?”

Vaslov almost purred. “Remember, I speak it fluently. It will be a joy to use it to help in their destruction.”

CHAPTER 14

I
t began with a thundering and ground-shaking artillery barrage. First the Russian guns commenced pounding those targets they could see, and then those whose existence they suspected from the maps of the area and the few overflights that American aircraft and antiaircraft guns had permitted. Russian gunners had decided there were only so many places to hide supply dumps, truck parks, and the like within the confines of the Potsdam perimeter.

Elisabeth and Pauli joined the others in the basement of an old stone church, and settled in beneath the vaulted ceilings of the crypt to wait out the storm of fire and steel. Elisabeth tried to compare the shelling with what she had endured in and around Berlin and found she could not. Each was equally horrifying, and her mind made it difficult to draw from its hiding places the memories of prior terrors. In a way, she found that fact comforting for it meant that, whatever befell her, she would endure it.

Presuming, that is, she and Pauli actually lived through whatever was going to transpire. She looked about the crowd of people, steadily growing more and more silent and nervous as the shelling continued. She felt she could actually smell the fear. Where was von Schumann? She had not seen him in a while.

H
ALF A MILE
away, von Schumann ducked instinctively as a shell landed near General Miller’s headquarters. Miller chuckled wryly. “I thought you were a veteran of this sort of thing.”

“A veteran never forgets to duck,” von Schumann answered. He, Miller, Leland, and a number of others were well protected in a reinforced bunker. To his knowledge, the Soviets did not have anything that could penetrate the steel beams that formed its roof. It was possible, he supposed, that a shell could ricochet around the right-angled entrance and find its way in, but he doubted that as well.

Leland put down a telephone. “General, our artillery wants to respond.”

“Are they being hit?”

“No, sir. A lot of near misses, but they’re pretty well protected.”

“Then let them wait. Everybody keep remembering that we still don’t have all that much ammunition to throw around.” Miller paused and tapped his pipe on a table. “Any response from the air force?”

Leland shook his head.

Miller understood but didn’t have to like it. The big air battles and the army’s major needs were west of the Elbe, where the American army was being slowly driven toward the Rhine. Potsdam was a backwater. The army and the correspondents officially referred to it as the Potsdam perimeter or the Potsdam pocket, but the soldiers referred to it as Goddamn Potsdam. Miller rather liked the latter term.

“Well,” Miller said, “at least the Russian planes are tied up as well.” Leland nodded. Except for the occasional scout plane, the sky over Potsdam had been empty for the last several days. The only bad part of that was the fact that the supply drops had also ceased. Temporarily, they all hoped.

“Oberst von Schumann, what is the Russian general, this Bazarian, going to do now?” Miller asked.

The news of the outside world was radioed in and the latest stories had been of the cessation of hostilities between Germany and the remaining Allies. This had changed von Schumann’s status. He was now an official member of Miller’s staff and his presence was accepted at all times. If some resented it, they did not voice their objections in Miller’s presence. Even Leland seemed reconciled to it.

“General, I think we can assume that the Russian commander is not a fool. The Russians had a number of incompetents in command at the beginning of our invasion in 1940, but the realities of warfare took care of them. While it is likely that this General Bazarian is not at the head of his class, he has several advantages and will use them effectively.”

Von Schumann looked around the headquarters. They were all looking at him as if he were a schoolmaster delivering a lecture. There might not be anything new in what he was going to say, but they wanted to hear it again.

“The Russian,” von Schumann continued, “can mass his army and his tanks wherever he wishes and without our knowledge. He will attack in overwhelming strength at a place and time of his choosing, while we have to anticipate his attack occurring anywhere along our perimeter.

“Therefore, I believe he will launch a number of probing attacks before the major attack. He will not be looking for a weak spot—he knows there aren’t any—but he will be seeking to confuse us, make us expend ammunition, and, perhaps, make us commit our reserves to a wrong location, which would hinder their redeployment.”

Von Schumann looked about for disagreement and saw none. “When he does launch his main attack, it will be with what he hopes will be overwhelming force at that particular spot. His advantage is in numbers, nothing else. He will hope to get his soldiers inside our defenses and commence a battle of mutual slaughter in which his men can inflict enough casualties on us so that we will be unable to continue as an effective force.”

Leland blinked in disbelief. “But that means he would be destroying his own army in order to do so.”

It was a statement that had been made before, and it was still a difficult concept for an American, bred to conserve life, to accept. The appalling ruthlessness of the Russian army and its almost total disregard for human life when it needed to gain an objective had appalled Germans as well.

“But Bazarian would be saving face, his career, and possibly his life if he were to eliminate what he perceives as a cancer,” von Schumann admonished gently. “He will most happily pay that price in the lives of others.”

At that moment, yelled messages interrupted them. Tanks were reported approaching the very western flank of the perimeter, where it reached the shallower lake.

“What models?” von Schumann inquired, and he was told they were older-model BT5s and not the dreaded T34s. “Your dug-in Shermans will be able to handle them.”

“Are there infantry?” Miller barked, and received an affirmative response. “Then that’s it. We get the reserves ready to move out. So much for probing attacks.”

Von Schumann was uneasy. The perimeter’s reserves consisted of the equivalent of one platoon of Shermans, a handful of M10 tank destroyers, and two battalions of infantry. Other tanks were dug in and hidden around the perimeter. Once ordered, the reserves would move out to preplanned and well-dug-in positions and be difficult to destroy, but awkward to extricate if the attack were not the main one.

“How many tanks?” von Schumann asked.

“Outposts are pulling back so they don’t get overrun, but indications are maybe twenty.”

“And they are definitely not T34s?” Miller asked.

“They don’t absolutely know, sir. They say they aren’t all that familiar with Russian tanks, but they’re reasonably certain they ain’t T34s.”

Damn, thought von Schumann. The inability of the Americans to pick out Russian tank types was something they hadn’t thought of.

“Tell them this is important,” he snapped, and the radio operator jumped. “Ask them if the Russian tanks look like the German Panther.” He could only hope the lookout was familiar with German armor.

“No, sir. They don’t.”

Von Schumann chuckled. “This isn’t the main attack, General Miller. They are not using T34s, therefore this is only a face-saving diversion by this Bazarian.”

“You’re certain?” Miller asked.

“The German Panther tank was a Nazi response to the Russian T34. The silhouettes are very similar. I believe the attacking tanks are indeed the BT5s we know he has. Their primary use nowadays is for scouting, not heavy combat.” He thought quickly. “Perhaps Bazarian doesn’t have any modern tanks? Perhaps Moscow considers this a backwater?”

“But sir,” said Leland, surprising himself by acknowledging the German’s higher rank. “The Russians do have heavier tanks than the T34. Could these be their heavies, the JS series?”

Von Schumann pondered. “But we have seen no indication that any of their JS, or Josef Stalin, heavy tanks are in the area. It is highly unlikely that they would be utilized here. I also think your scouts would recognize those monsters.”

Miller chewed his pipe. “The reserves sit tight and wait. I think von Schumann’s correct, and we’ll let our local defenses handle this. We won’t tip our hand unless we absolutely have to.”

A
FEW HUNDRED
yards away, Jack Logan peered through the firing slit of the bunker. Russian artillery was trying to chew up the barbed wire strung about fifty yards in front of him, and where the ditches didn’t obstruct the route to the bunker. The cannonade didn’t seem to be having much effect on the interlaced strands of wire. In front of that barrier was a series of overlapping antitank ditches. The engineers who had planned Potsdam’s defenses said the Russian tanks couldn’t cross them or climb them as long as the ground was dry, so their tanks and their supporting infantry would have to maneuver around them. This would place both Russian armor and men in the barbed wire and mines.

Beyond the ditches and wire was a clear field of fire that extended a quarter mile to a road that was obscured by bushes. The Russians, if they came at him, would come from there, which was why Captain Dimitri had put outposts just beyond it.

“The captain reports tanks approaching the road,” yelled Crawford. Dennis Bailey, the new platoon sergeant, took the walkie-talkie from him and spoke quickly.

“Captain says the lookouts are coming back and we should watch for them,” Bailey added. “But he said they see a lot of Red tanks—not the big ones, thank God—and a whole horde of infantry.”

How many in a horde? Jack wondered. He thought that the lookouts could have stayed a little longer and given a more precise count, but quickly realized it really didn’t matter. They had not been ordered to commit suicide, which is what would have happened had they stayed. What was important was that a large number of Russians was headed his way. They would know the precise number soon enough.

The rumble of guns firing behind them was followed by explosions beyond the field as American guns hit the advancing Russians, who were still hidden from their view. “About time,” someone yelled. The one-sidedness of the artillery fire had been galling. Several Russian tanks were hit and exploded.

The Red artillery fired a few more salvos and slackened, then ceased. Tanks burst through the shrubs and were followed by a mob of Russians.

“Open fire,” Logan yelled, and all the machine guns, BARs, and rifles in the bunker commenced to chatter. Other bunkers in the defensive line opened fire along with his. Logan put his rifle to his shoulder and emptied an eight-shot clip, replaced it, emptied and replaced that one. He could see the infantry falling and littering the field with twitching bodies. There was the muffled bang of mines going off, killing more Russians to add to the din, but the remaining tanks kept coming and the infantry was being replaced by a second wave. Logan saw that some of them were carrying ladders just like in the Middle Ages.

The wave of humanity reached ditches and slowed, as did the tanks. Temporarily foiled, the tanks opened fire on the bunkers confronting them with cannon and machine guns while the soldiers with ladders lowered themselves into the ditches as others tried to find their way through the maze of wire. Logan fired again and again, and had the angry satisfaction of seeing more Russians fall.

Another Russian tank burst into flames. It had taken a direct hit on its side from a protected tank destroyer. More American tanks fired and another Russian tank shuddered. Smoke commenced to pour from it. The Russian tanks lifted their fire from the bunkers and sought out the dug-in and well-hidden M10s and the Shermans that were now joining in the battle. The Red Army tanks tried to snake their way between the ditches, which again exposed their more vulnerable flanks to disabling fire from U.S. antitank guns, and a couple more were halted by damaged treads.

Mortars, machine guns, and rifle fire continued to rake and slaughter the Red infantry while the mines killed still more. The Russians, unable to climb through the wire, continued to pour into the ditch, and Logan could see the tips of ladders appearing on the American side.

The Russian soldiers scaled the ladders and, although numbers of them were shot and dropped back into the pit, the survivors ran the few yards toward the bunkers, wildly hip-firing submachine guns as they came. The sheer volume of rifle fire caused bullets to find their way through the slits, and Logan heard the sound of screams beside him. He wanted to look but there wasn’t time.

A man’s face appeared in front of the slit. The Russian looked puzzled, almost curious. Logan fired and it disappeared in a spray of red and gray. Explosions told him that American artillery was landing directly in front of him. Someone, most likely Dimitri, had called down fire almost on their own position.

The deafening concussions shook and caused him to drop to his knees. There were more screams inside the bunker but they seemed to him to be coming from another world.

Then there was silence. At first they didn’t believe it. Jack recovered quickly and ordered the men back to the firing slits. Logan looked out and saw the world outside blanketed with the bodies of Russian soldiers. Some of them were still moving and, as his hearing improved, he could hear their moans. In the distance, he could see the remainder of the Russian infantry running back through the gaps in the shrubs. There were damn few tanks with them. He could see at least a dozen burning hulks from his bunker, and one had its turret ripped off as if it had been a toy.

With the Russians no longer an immediate threat, Logan checked for casualties—he had one dead and one wounded in this bunker. A check of his platoon’s other two bunkers showed four wounded. They had won the fight but he had lost six men. One or two of the wounded might return in a couple of weeks, but the platoon had paid a price.

Logan opened the bunker’s rear entrance and stepped cautiously outside and into the smoke-filled air. The other bunkers had informed him there were no Russians hiding on his roof, so he felt reasonably safe. He took a couple of men and checked the dead lying around him. He found the man he had shot in the face. The back of his skull had been blown out and his brains were all over the ground.