Himmler's War

CHAPTER 17

The police officer came from the town of Hachenberg, just a few miles away from the Mullers’ farm. The Mullers knew him and he was normally a very jovial man even though he had only one arm. He’d left the other one at Verdun a generation before, and had been living in a state of semi-retirement until so many young men had been drafted that he had been asked to take on some police duties.

“I have come to issue a warning,” Officer Klaus Oberg stated grimly. “There have been a number of very brutal assaults on refugees passing through the area.”

Bertha gasped. “How horrible.”

“Indeed,” Oberg continued. “There have been robberies, sexual assaults, and at least one murder. We believe the perpetrators are not German. Instead, we believe they are foreigners uprooted by the war and who are preying on good Germans to either gain revenge, or simply because they are criminals. Survivors have commented on what sounded like foreign accents.”

“What can we do?” said Uncle Eric.

The others nodded in dismay. This could not be happening in Germany. The older ones recalled the chaos and near civil war of the twenties, but had assumed that to all be in the past. Anarchy was one problem Hitler had seemingly solved.

Margarete looked away. She had her own problems. She had just started her period and was suffering from cramps and bleeding. Her mother thought her slightly late start was due to the near malnutrition conditions in Berlin before they came to the farm, and that she was now catching up to life. Margarete didn’t care for the interpretation. She was in pain and she wanted it to go away. The thought that this was going to happen every month was appalling.

Oberg continued. “May I assume you have weapons here?”

“Indeed,” Bertha answered proudly. “We have several shotguns, two rifles, and a couple of pistols, souvenirs of the Great War.”

“And ammunition,” added Eric. “With all of it safely locked away.”

“You might wish to unlock it,” Officer Oberg said somberly. “If bandits do come, you will want the guns at hand and not in a vault. I suggest you carry a gun with you at all times, especially when outside this house. It will make work inconvenient, but much, much safer.”

“Has it come to that?” asked Magda.

“I believe so,” said Oberg. “While it is not yet happening here, there are rumors of troops from both sides perpetrating atrocities on each other and the civilian population. Some are even calling it revenge. I cannot believe that German soldiers would have done anything that would call for revenge.”

Margarete and Magda looked at each other. They both thought of the death train and Magda recalled stories Ernst had told her about campaigning in Russia. He’d been insistent that he’d never done anything criminal, but that others had. In particular, the SS units had been terribly savage and sadistic, so much so that the details had shocked Magda. Margarete was told only what they felt she needed to know.

Oberg continued. “There are those who feel the predators might be foreign workers. I understand you have three of them. May I assume that they are kept secured?”

“Indeed you may,” Uncle Eric pronounced. “They are watched when in the field and they are locked up at night.”

Magda and Margarete looked quickly at each other. Dear Uncle Eric was lying through his teeth. The workers were not locked up, although she assumed they would be from now on. Good, Margarete thought. It would keep that Victor person from wandering around and possibly spying on her. When she’d mentioned her concerns to Eric and Bertha, they’d laughed at her. Her mother had been more sympathetic.

Margarete glanced at the policeman and caught a hint of humor in his eyes. He seemed to understand that her aunt and uncle were pompous fools who would now scramble to keep themselves out of hot water regarding their workers. He had come to deliver a warning and it had been done.

With that, the policeman left. Eric unlocked the weapons cabinet. He gave the two adult women a shotgun each and kept an old Mauser rifle for himself. He looked sadly at Margarete.

“I do not like giving guns to children.”

“I appreciate the thought, Uncle, but I am no longer a child. Even though I’m only fourteen, I’ve seen death and violence in so many forms. Do you really think there are any true children left in Germany?”

Bertha gasped at her effrontery. Eric was startled for a moment but regained his composure and smiled tightly. “You are right, young lady. There are no more children in Germany. They’ve all gone and the world is worse for it. This is not the way it was supposed to end.”

He handed Margarete a 9mm Luger and two clips of ammunition. She examined it and put it in the waistband of her slacks, but did not load it. She would go out and let Victor see it. She had thought briefly of informing the policeman of her concerns and suspicions, but had dismissed it. She had no proof of any wrongdoing on Victor’s part and if he was innocent, her claims might send him back to a concentration camp and probable death. She kept seeing the bodies by the train. She would never be a party to that.

“If you’re curious as to where it came from,” Eric said to Margarete, “it’s a 1908 model from the previous war. My commanding officer, a good and decent man, carried it until he was killed in the last few weeks of the war. I kept it in memory of him. If you have any questions about how it works, I will show you tomorrow.”

Margarete thanked her uncle and said, yes, she would like some lessons. Impulsively, she hugged him. He might be a pompous fool, but he loved her.

Aunt Bertha began to sob loudly. “This sort of thing never would have happened if Hitler was still alive.”

Colonel Ernst Varner recoiled in horror at the sight of the skeletal creatures on the hospital beds. There were five of them and they were all naked except for small white cloths that covered their genitals, and were hooked up to machines and tubes. Their skins were blotched and covered with raw wounds. They were almost totally bald.

Varner was wearing a hospital gown and a mask. He had gloves on and had been told to touch nothing. He had no intention of coming in contact with anything in this chamber of horrors.

“These are the dead,” Heisenberg said. “Even though they still breathe and can sometimes speak, they are as dead as if they had been buried a month ago. In a short while, days or weeks, they will stop breathing and be buried in very deep graves by people who, just like you, will be afraid to touch them. They were good men and women.”

“Women?” Varner was momentarily incredulous. There was nothing that would indicate that any of the patients ever had a gender.

“Yes, women. Some of our best scientists are women.”

“What happened?” Varner asked.

Heisenberg laughed bitterly. “Herr Himmler wants haste and this is the price we pay for it. These were not the first, nor will they be the last. We are now discovering the lingering effects of radiation. As discussed earlier, there was some hope that radiation burns could be treated just like any other burns, but we’ve found to our horror that radiation is terribly different. It is a sickness that eats at the body like a cancer or leprosy. Sometimes, the body is strong enough and the infection weak enough that a patient will live. However, the survivor will carry scars for the rest of his life, even though the scars might be invisible.”

“What a terrible way to die,” Varner said after they’d left the sealed-off clinic.

“Is there a good way?”

“And this is from careless handling of radioactive material?”

Heisenberg glared at him. “Colonel, I resent the use of the word careless. The Reichsfuhrer required haste above all and that meant the relaxing of safety standards that should have been kept because we were, and still are, ignorant of what we are dealing with. At least we are no longer in Berlin where these horrors might be unleashed on the city.”

As a result of the possibility of a premature explosion, the scientific facilities had been moved well to the east and were now in the outskirts of Breslau, near the Polish border. Himmler felt that an accidental explosion destroying Breslau could be blamed on the Russians. Varner had been appalled by the callous attitude, but grudgingly agreed that Himmler was right. However, this situation with radiation put Heisenberg’s bomb in a whole new perspective. Even though he was not a scientist, Varner could visualize a bomb exploding in a city and thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of civilians, condemned to a horrible lingering death like the five living corpses before him.

More logically, developing the bomb at Breslau meant that it would be several hundred miles closer to its target, Moscow.

“Does Himmler know about the radiation sickness dilemma?”

Heisenberg winced. “He has been informed and sees no dilemma. He had Skorzeny tell me that anything that kills the enemies of the Reich in any way and no matter how long it takes is a successful device.”

“When will it be ready?” Varner asked. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer. Never would have satisfied him, but they knew that Heisenberg’s life and the lives of the scientist’s loved ones, along with his staff’s, were hostage to Himmler. Perhaps the dying were martyrs and not victims.

“Spring should see it finished. When the thaw comes and the flowers bloom and the world becomes alive again, Skorzeny will be able to move the damned thing, although I really have no idea how he plans to do that. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just get it over with.”

Varner took his leave of the harassed physicist. He had been sent to Breslau by von Rundstedt to get a true picture of the situation regarding the atomic bomb. Rundstedt didn’t entirely trust the reports he was getting from Himmler and Albert Speer.

Varner now wished the field marshal had sent someone else. This atomic bomb, if it worked, was the devil’s brew and anyone associated with it would be damned. He would report about the lingering effects of radiation to von Rundstedt.

Perhaps Rundstedt could get Himmler to reconsider using it on the Russians, or anyone for that matter? Perhaps he could get the Reichsfuhrer to agree to a test or a demonstration to show to the Reds and the Americans just what power the Third Reich possessed?

He shook his head sadly. It was more likely that Hitler would come back to life than that Himmler would show mercy to anyone, especially the Soviets. Dear God, he thought, visualizing the living cadavers, what a hell of a turn of events.

Private Wally Feeney stood at attention. Morgan was seated behind a table and Feeney was staring intently at an invisible spot on the canvas wall behind him. The soldier did not look in the slightest bit cowed or concerned. The man was twenty-six and had been drafted recently when standards had been relaxed. He said he had bad feet which had previously kept him out of the military. In Morgan’s opinion, Feeney also had a bad attitude. However, the man decently did his job as a half-track driver under Jack’s command.

“Private Feeney, you are accused of fraternization with the enemy. How do you plead and what do you have to say for yourself?”

This was Jack’s first time as judge and jury and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Levin and Whiteside had briefed him, but it wasn’t the same. Nor was the crime all that serious.

“What the hell can I say, sir? I got caught and that’s that.”

“You were having sex with a German woman.”

“Yes sir, she had just sucked my dick and I had paid her for it.”

Morgan sighed. This was not going at all well. “That’s against orders.”

“The nonfraternization rule is dumb, sir. With all due respects, sir, what the hell is wrong with getting screwed or sucked by somebody who wants to do it? And I didn’t force her to do anything, even though the krauts are supposed to be conquered people.”

Ah, an opening. “Last I checked, Feeney, Germany hadn’t surrendered. What if she was one of those fanatical Werewolves we’ve been hearing about? You know, those people who want to go on killing and fighting? What if she had decided to clamp down on your Johnson and leave you singing soprano?”

Feeney laughed. “Then my buddies would have stomped the shit out of her, sir. We ain’t that dumb. We were all looking out for each other.”

This was getting worse and worse, Jack thought. “There were others?”

“Sir, there were four of us. The only reason I couldn’t get away is that I was, well, occupied. Hell, sir, that’s why she was sucking instead of fucking. She said there were too many of us for her to fuck. And, oh yeah, sir, I ain’t gonna give you their names.”

Jack tried not to smile at the mental picture that had emerged. “Feeney, I sense that you’re not too concerned about all this.”

“No sir, I’m not. Look, you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, so can I speak frankly?”

“I thought you already were,” Jack said dryly. “But go ahead.”

“I already said the rule is dumb, so I won’t repeat myself. But let’s get real. You’re going to chew me out and then threaten me with punishment. But what can you do? You can’t threaten to send me to combat because I’m already there. How about permanent KP? Hey, that’d get me out of combat, so that’s a great idea. Loss of rank? I’m a private. Loss of money? I get paid shit and have no way to spend what I do have. Stockade time? The crime ain’t serious enough and, besides, if you sent everybody you caught nailing German pussy to jail we wouldn’t have an army no more.”

Jack mentally conceded the points. “How about if you get the clap and I deny you penicillin?”

“That might work, but I did use a condom. I ain’t stupid, sir. And you won’t cut off my condom supply because I use that to keep my weapon clean. My other weapon that is, the one that goes bang.”

This time Jack couldn’t help but smile. The army issued condoms to the soldiers who had long ago realized that putting one over the barrel of a rifle helped keep the dirt out.

“How much did she charge you?”

“Ten cigarettes, sir.”

“You overpaid. I heard it was a lot less.”

“Maybe, sir. But she was there, damned cute, and I didn’t feel like haggling.”

Jack could understand. Just about every man in the regiment was horny. Ike’s rule was nuts, but he couldn’t say that to Feeney or any of the other men.

“Sir, this may be seriously out of line and maybe it’s none of my business, but we understand you have a girl, an American girl, and she’s here in Europe. Do you realize how fortunate you are? I don’t know what the two of you are doing, and it ain’t my business, but you actually have a female friend on the same continent and that’s gotta be great.”

“You’re right, Feeney, it’s none of your business.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“So, how was it?”

“Just great, sir. It sure as hell wasn’t her first and it was a great early Christmas present.”

Jack had a thought. “Feeney.”

“Sir?”

“You still a Catholic?” Feeney nodded, curious as to where this was going. “You know Father Serra?” Jack added.

“Yes sir. He’s the chaplain nobody likes because he’s such a hard-ass prick.”

“Excellent. Your punishment is to go to Serra for Confession and do whatever penance he gives.”

Feeney paled. “Sir, that’s not fair. He’ll give me a rosary a day for the rest of my life.”

Morgan smiled. “Who cares? And for the record, I’m going to tell the good padre that you’re going to see him, so if you don’t show up he’ll come looking for you. Now get the hell out of here.”

William Donovan, head of the OSS, was the last to enter the Oval Office. General Marshal glared at him, but Donovan’s friendship with FDR permitted him to take such liberties. FDR barely looked up. He was listless and gaunt, and his face was a deathly gray. “Sorry to be late, sir,” Donovan said to Roosevelt, “but I just got the latest info from my men in Europe.”

FDR brightened slightly. “And what do they say?”

Donovan took the opportunity to remind them that he’d been hurriedly inserting teams into Poland and Russia. There had been no shortage of volunteers from emigres in England and elsewhere. Even better, these were Polish and Russian nationals who knew the customs and the language. The real problem was keeping them alive in such hostile environments and still able to report.

All of the spies were men. Both sides’ casual brutality to the women of the other side was beyond belief. Women were being gang-raped, tortured, mutilated, and murdered for the simple crime of existing, much less spying. Not even old women and small children were safe.

“Poland and Russia are vast lands, so the handful of teams can only give us a partial picture, but what they show is significant,” said Donovan, “and very disturbing. It does appear to confirm information from other sources that the Germans are pulling out west towards the Rhine, while most of the Russians are simply disappearing into their vast country. What little we’ve been able to glean indicates that the Reds are sending some troops south and others west.”

“South?” mused General Marshall. “That would indicate a sweep through the Balkans and into Yugoslavia, which makes a kind of sense. But why would they be going east and to what destination? And where would they be heading in the beginning of the winter?”

“Perhaps they’re doing as they said-just pulling back to refit and rest?” Roosevelt said hopefully.

Donovan shook his head. “I doubt it. It would be simpler to keep the men in position rather than withdrawing them. I think the commies are up to something.”

“Agreed,” said Jim Byrnes and Marshall nodded, while FDR shook his head.

The information provided by Donovan’s brave people was good, but it merely reinforced what the military’s intelligence people were picking up and was being provided by Ultra. The army’s own inserts, coupled with photographs taken from planes had also seen the withdrawing German army. Access to Russia was extremely limited; thus, information was even sketchier than what was coming from behind German lines. Code-breaking efforts were continuing despite resistance from the State Department who continued to feel that it was a betrayal of trust in Good Old Uncle Joe Stalin.

The army and the navy had mixed feelings about the OSS. Yes, they were brave, but too many were considered lightweight socialites out for an adventure. Marshall thought that was an unfair generalization, but Donovan and his people did play by their own rules and that irked the military.

“Either way,” said Marshall, “it will be many months before the Reds are able to reconstitute their forces against Germany. They are effectively out of the war until at least spring as are we.”

“At least we have won great victories,” said Roosevelt in almost a whisper.

Almost on cue they glanced at the map on the wall. Antwerp had fallen to Montgomery’s armies, but the port was useless. First, it had been thoroughly sabotaged and, second, the Germans still held Walcherin Island, a boggy mass on the Scheldt River north of Antwerp that enabled the Nazis to control access to the city. Montgomery had moved too slowly to prevent the Germans from digging in on the island. Now its capture would require a major effort by the British.

Moving south, Bradley’s and Devers’ army groups had reached the Rhine at a number of spots and were mopping up resistance on the western side of the river. More than half a million German soldiers had surrendered, although the great majority of them were the Volkssturm. What remained of the regular German army had escaped and was ensconced in the forts facing the Allies.

Edward Stettinius had recently replaced Cordell Hull as Secretary of State. He coughed now to get attention. “May we also discuss the situation with France and how it relates to Russia?”

Byrnes and Marshall eyed the man with some distaste. They considered the forty-four-year-old investor and banker “soft,” even naive, particularly regarding Russian intentions. If Stettinius had his way, there would be no code-breaking efforts against the Russians.

“Of course,” said Roosevelt.

“Gentlemen, the Soviets are complaining about what they refer to as our unwarranted attacks on French communists,” Stettinius said solemnly.

“Bullshit,” snapped Byrnes. “The communists attacked several of our supply columns and even killed a number of American soldiers. Our men defended themselves and did a damned fine job of it.”

Marshall nodded. “And our boys will continue to fight off attacks.”

“I’m telling you what the Reds are saying,” Stettinius retorted. “I’m not saying I agree with them. The Russians want guarantees that there will be no more fighting and certainly no support of de Gaulle in his now near civil war with the communists. I’ve spoken with Ambassador Gromyko, obviously speaking for Stalin, and he strongly suggests that we stop using France as a base for operations and stop supporting the French army. Either that or we support the French communists and this Thorez person as France’s legitimate government.”

Marshall slapped the table in a rare show of emotion. “All of which represents a reason, or series of reasons, for the Russians to pull out of the war. The chaos in France is just another excuse.”

Byrnes laughed bitterly. “And it doesn’t matter what we do-it’ll be wrong.” He turned to Roosevelt. “Now do you see, sir, that the Russians are changing their role and can’t be trusted?”

“There’s one other thing,” added Donovan. “One of my teams was able to confirm a tank park near the old Polish border with what they first thought were several hundred German tanks in it being painted and repaired.”

“So what?” snapped Stettinius, in a most undiplomatic manner.

“All of the tanks were Russian T34’s. What the hell are the Nazis doing with a large number of Russian tanks?”

Marshall drew a deep breath. “I can see them capturing some of them in the course of fighting, but hundreds?”

“Yes,” said Donovan, “and my source said a maintenance worker proudly told him there were other parks just like that. He, the source, said that Germany had bought them. The information’s been passed on to the air force and I presume Doolittle’s bombers will plow the park.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Stettinius. “Why the devil would Stalin sell tanks to Himmler? What did Himmler have that Stalin would have wanted so badly?”

There was silence until Marshall spoke. “Vlasov.”

“Dear God,” said Byrnes. The Soviets had recently proclaimed the capture of the turncoat Vlasov and his key lieutenants by a party of heroic Red Army commandos. There would be a show trial and then the executions.

Roosevelt looked around. Agony was etched on his face as he finally absorbed what he’d been told. “They’ve played me for a fool, haven’t they?”

Donovan tried to soothe him. “Sir, they’ve lied to everyone. At least now we know what they are capable of and can react to it.”

Roosevelt’s voice was barely a whisper, “Too late.” His eyes rolled back in his head. He fell forward and hit his forehead on the desk with a terrible thud.

Vice President-Elect Harry Truman walked into the Executive Office building located across the street from the West Wing of the White House. He was puzzled by the nighttime summons. He only knew that Jim Byrnes, FDR’s trusted advisor, had requested his presence to discuss some matters related to the transition between him and outgoing Vice President Henry Wallace. Truman had almost laughed at the caller. There was nothing Wallace did to justify a transition, and Truman had the terrible feeling that the vice-presidency would be the same for him. Wallace’s predecessor, John Nance Garner, had accurately described the vice presidency as being as exciting as a bucket of warm piss. Truman could see no reason for any such transition meeting to take place at night.

He was met by a uniformed guard and taken to a meeting room. Henry Wallace had arrived and was sipping a cup of coffee. The two men asked each other about the summons and both pleaded ignorance. Truman asked for and got some coffee. He would have preferred some bourbon, but he sensed that this was neither the time nor the place.

Jim Brynes entered and took a seat. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while.

Truman caught on immediately. “My God, does this have anything to do with Roosevelt’s flu?”

The press had been informed that FDR was suffering from a mild form of influenza and had been ordered to rest for a couple of days. That had been two days ago.

Byrnes mouth quivered. “There was no flu. The President has suffered a stroke.”

“How bad?” asked a shocked Wallace.

Byrnes swallowed. It was difficult for him to speak. “At the moment he is in a coma. He does not communicate and does not respond. Doctors are not hopeful of a full recovery and some feel he will never come out of the coma.”

“Then who is running the country?” asked Truman. He had a sinking feeling he knew what the answer was going to be in a short while.

“Right now, it’s a committee made up of Secretary of State Stettinius, General Marshall, Secretary of War Stimson, Secretary of the Navy Forrestal, Admiral King, Treasury Secretary Morgenthau, and, myself. It is obviously a war cabinet and an expedient.”

“And why wasn’t I on it?” Wallace said angrily, his face turning red. “Or had you all forgotten that the office of vice president exists?”

Byrnes flushed. “Let me be blunt. FDR never included you in anything substantive for reasons best known to him. We thought-prayed?-that this crisis would pass quickly, but it appears that it isn’t going to happen. Therefore it is indeed time to begin including both of you for reasons both constitutional and honorable.”

“Good,” said Truman. He’d harbored the fear that he too would disappear like FDR’s previous vice presidents.

Byrnes continued. He seemed relieved that the two men would now be informed. “I have discussed the matter with Chief Justice Stone and he confirms that, while the President yet lives, neither of you has any authority whatsoever. The President can die, or he can resign, but you cannot become President or assume the duties of President until one or the occurs. The Constitution makes no provision for an acting President, not even in the event the President is merely ill or, in this case, has suffered a stroke. Congress might be able to pass legislation to enact a succession, but that would take time we don’t have.”

“That should be changed,” muttered Truman. “There’s a god damn war on. At least Woodrow Wilson’s stroke and incapacity occurred during a period of relative peace. What the devil do we do if something requires the President to act?”

Byrnes shrugged. “At best, the law is murky, and you’re right Mr. Truman, the law should be changed and doubtless will be. However, for the moment we are stuck with what we have.”

“What about Tom Dewey?” Truman inquired. The New York governor had been the Republican candidate defeated by Roosevelt in November by a more than four to one margin in the Electoral College. “And what about the Democratic Party? Can there be changes in the candidates at this time?”

“I need a good night’s sleep,” Byrnes said as he rubbed his eyes. “First, Justice Stone says that the Democratic Party could have changed the names on the ballot before the election, but not after. Therefore, FDR has been elected and you, Mr. Truman will be at least the Vice President. If FDR is unable to take the oath on January 20th, you will become President.”

“Dear God,” Truman said with deep emotion. That date was just a little more than a month away. “I feel like the roof is falling in on me.”

“Much like we all do,” Byrnes said. “And to answer your question about Dewey, Justice Stone said there can be no do-over election. What is done is done. General Marshall took an air force plane to Albany this morning to inform Governor Dewey about FDR’s health. Governor Dewey is an honorable man and I doubt that he will do anything contrary to the best interests of the country.”

“Other than those mentioned, who else knows about this, ah, dilemma?” Wallace asked.

“Eleanor, of course,” said Byrnes, “and she is with the President in the White House. Also, a woman named Lucy Mercer who is not in the White House.”

Truman suppressed a smile. So the rumors were correct. FDR had a mistress. “Will we be a part of this war committee?”

“Effective immediately, yes.” He handed each man a binder. “This is a summary of our position vis a vis the war in Europe. The war against Japan is proceeding just as the newspapers are saying so there’s little new in the binder about it; however, it is the situation in Germany and Russia that is most disturbing. With your permission, we will adjourn. You will doubtless have many questions to ask after you’ve read the reports. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have cars pick you up and return you here where the committee will meet. It was considered unseemly to continue to meet in the White House.”

“How long can we keep up this charade?” asked Wallace.

“God only knows,” Byrnes answered.

They left and an exhausted Byrnes stared at the table. One or both of them would likely become President of the United States. If the worst happened, the U.S. could have three presidents in six weeks. Even if FDR was to die today, Wallace’s term in office would be mercifully short. An inauguration would take place on January 20, 1945, come hell or high water, and if Roosevelt was unable to take the oath, it would be given to Truman. Which man was most qualified to be President, Byrnes wondered, and then realized it didn’t matter. Justice Stone had confirmed it-if Roosevelt didn’t recover, Harry Truman, the virtually unknown senator from Missouri, would be President.

Byrnes took a deep breath. As of now, neither Wallace nor Truman knew anything about the Manhattan Project and the plans for an atomic bomb. He would continue to keep it from them. Wallace would fade into well-deserved obscurity in a couple of weeks, while Truman might or might not become President. Roosevelt had intentionally not included him in the secret, so Byrnes would not add him, at least not yet. He made a mental note to tell those on the committee who knew about it to keep quiet in Truman’s presence. Some day Truman might be pissed, but so be it.