Himmler's War

CHAPTER 24

Margarete and the others huddled in the bomb shelter that had become her uncle’s pride and joy. The battle wasn’t anywhere near them yet, but it was evident that the Americans were invading to their west and, if successful, would overrun the farm. Now all they had to contend with was the sound of bombs and artillery. Nothing had yet fallen near them. Their move to the shelter was prudence. The laborers weren’t with them. They had their own shelter just outside the barn.

Magda looked at her daughter in the dim candlelight and smiled wanly. “I sure am glad we came here to be safe, aren’t you?”

Before Margarete could respond, her uncle glared at them. “We should be at peace. That fool Himmler should have negotiated with the Allies.”

Margarete was shocked. “I thought you believed in Hitler and ultimate victory.”

Her Uncle Eric sniffed. “I worshiped the ground Hitler walked on but he is dead and Himmler is a pale shadow of the man. I believed all this shit about super weapons and then we’ve used them-rockets and atomic bombs-and what has it gotten us? More death, that’s what. The Americans and British are still coming and we have nothing to stop them with. Tell me, when was the last time you saw a German plane, other than the pissant one Ernst and that boy you like arrived in? No, we have no planes and soon will have no army. The Americans can stand off and destroy us piece by piece and Himmler is letting that happen. If he cannot end the war then he should step aside and let someone who can take over.”

He coughed and spat on the ground. Bertha was about to scold him but saw the look on his face and changed her mind. “And I’ve had it up to here with super weapons,” he continued. “The V1 and V2 rockets were supposed to win the war and they didn’t. Then the atomic bomb was supposed to win it for us, and what has happened? Russia may be slowed down but the Americans are still coming. You know what that means? We don’t have any more bombs. We had one bullet in our gun and we fired it. We may have wounded the wild animal we shot at, but not mortally. Russia will be back and the Americans are here.”

Eric coughed again. The air in the shelter was stuffy. He was about to light his pipe when Bertha smacked his arm. He glared at her but put the pipe away.

“And tell me, little Margarete, what did you think of our army, the Volkssturm? Old men and young boys, wasn’t it? I should be in it. I got a letter calling me up and I ignored it. One war was enough. Half the Volkssturm will be slaughtered while the other half will surrender. It’s already happening,” he said glumly. “Germany is doomed.”

His rage out of his system, Uncle Eric looked fondly at his niece while Bertha remained stonily silent. “I may be an old fool, but I am not so foolish that I cannot learn.”

Himmler and the German high command had retreated to the reinforced bunker complex built for Hitler under the Chancellery. There was fear that the attacks on the Rhine Wall would bring on new and more devastating bombings of Berlin that would cripple Germany like the atomic bomb had wounded Russia.

Von Rundstedt thought the reason for going underground was that Reichsfuhrer Himmler was afraid. In his opinion, the former chicken farmer was himself a chicken. Himmler was pale, thin, and nervous. His hands shook and there was a twitch in his eye. The next few days would determine whether he and the Reich endured or would become footnotes in history.

Rundstedt broke protocol and began. “Reichsfuhrer, we have to make a decision. It appears that our plan to reinforce our troops confronting Patton might have been a mistake based on insufficient information. The Americans to the north used landing vehicles that didn’t need to be hidden. The sighting of American landing craft in the south was a ruse, a kind of Trojan Horse.”

“Why didn’t we see this?” Himmler said. His voice was barely a whisper.

Varner stood quietly against a wall. Because you didn’t want to see, he thought. But what game was Rundstedt playing?

“I’ve spoken with Admiral Canaris,” said Rundstedt, “and he is now of the opinion that most, if not all, of our observers in the north have either been killed by the Americans or turned by them. In short, we were blind but didn’t know it.”

Himmler nodded. “What do you propose?”

“The reserve army must be turned around to confront the American First Army under Hodges and not Patton’s Third.”

Fifty-three-year-old SS General Sepp Dietrich, who commanded the Reserve Army, stiffened as he realized what Rundstedt was proposing. He’d been recently promoted by Himmler to the rank of field marshal, which greatly annoyed Rundstedt who felt that Dietrich simply lacked the experience and qualifications to have such a distinguished rank or command such a large force. Rundstedt had suggested Dietrich, a mediocre general at best, command the Reserve Army, but had not expected the man’s promotion to field marshal. That Dietrich also looked pale and exhausted seemed to confirm Rundstedt’s doubts. But Dietrich was an SS man through and through, which meant that his total loyalty was to Heimrich Himmler.

“Can you do that?” Himmler asked of Dietrich.

“It will cost us,” he answered with surprising candor. “We are now moving our tanks and troops at night to hide from the Americans and are still taking serious casualties. In order to get to the northern targets we will have to move during the day and the Americans will hurt us even more.”

“But can you do it?” Himmler insisted, his voice rising. “Can you get your army to the Bonn-Remagen area and attack through to the Rhine? Can your army isolate the Amis before they become too strong? Can you cut them off and defeat them and force them to surrender?”

Dietrich looked like a man who’d just been offered a cup of poison. His reserve army had several thousand superb tanks, but the infantry was suspect, even though Volkssturm units had been reinforced by the remnants of SS divisions culled from the Russian front when the Soviets had stood down.

Before Dietrich could answer, Rundstedt turned to Himmler. “You have three divisions of SS in Berlin doing little more than standing around with their thumbs up their asses. I submit that they should be attached to Field Marshal Dietrich’s army to help make up for losses and to stiffen the spine of the Volkssturm.”

“But those forces are to maintain security in Berlin,” Himmler said in what was almost a lament. Varner was shocked by the pain in Himmler’s voice.

“Reichsfuhrer,” Rundstedt said coldly. “If the Reserve Army is defeated, then there will be no need for security in Berlin as the Reich will have been destroyed and we will all be fugitives. Berlin is not now directly threatened and won’t be if we win. If we lose, it won’t much matter. You have garrison troops, remnants of Luftwaffe units, Volkssturm, and even some naval units who can be used to secure the city. Three full divisions of SS troops could turn the tide of battle.”

“I could use them,” Dietrich said so softly that Varner almost felt sorry for the man.

“Then take them,” Himmler snapped, “and for God’s sake, win with them.”

Jessica was slumped over her desk in near despair. The rumbling sounds of battle could be heard in the distance and all she could think of was Jack. Was he safe? Was he involved at all in the battle? She thought she would be ill. Occasionally, thoughts of Jeb and Levin and the others she’d met intruded. She’d never realized how awful it was to have loved ones in harm’s way. She didn’t think she had the strength to go on, but what choice did she have? How did wives and mothers do it back home while awaiting news? The answer was simple-they endured their agony because they had to. There was no other choice.

At least there were no people wanting news of loved ones waiting for her to tell them that there was nothing she could say. With the battle raging, everybody seemed to have other things to do. It was as if everyone understood that nothing was going to be done until the fighting ceased.

The door to her office opened and Hilda came in, smiled tentatively, and took a seat. She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“I assume you’re going to tell me Jeb’s the father.”

“Yes, and I will also tell you we’re married. A minister outside of Rheinbach performed the ceremony after I found out. The American army won’t like it, but there’s nothing they can do.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Hilda started to shake. “I hoped you would congratulate us. I know what you think, that I’m an opportunist whore who hunted for an American to get me out of here, and that’s not true. Jeb and I love each other. And I didn’t chase him. He came up to me on the street and introduced himself.”

Hilda had started to cry. So much for Teutonic reserve, Jessica thought. She handed the young woman a Kleenex from the box on her desk.

“Jessica, once upon a time I was a devoted little Nazi. I told you that. We were so happy when Hitler stopped the civil war and the economic disasters, and brought pride to being a German. We were dismayed when he had us invade Poland and France, but we felt it was all right if Hitler said it was necessary. I had a good friend, a lover, who was killed in Poland. I had a brother who was killed in France. We grieved but thought Hitler would soon stop and all would be better, even though we would have paid a terrible price. But then he invaded Russia and later declared war on the United States and my family and I realized it would never stop until Hitler died. Now he’s dead and the fighting still goes on. Will it ever stop?”

There was nothing Jessica could say. She stood up and walked around the desk. Hilda stood and the two women embraced.

Colonel Tom Granville took the slip of paper from the solemn-faced young lieutenant who saluted and left as quickly as he could. Jeez, thought Granville, do I have that nasty a reputation? Or is it Beetle Smith?

He read the message, smiled, and walked into Smith’s office. The general looked up and grimaced. “Hitler still dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell are you bothering me?”

“Take a look at this, sir,” Granville said as he held out the note.

Smith read quickly. “How reliable is your source?”

“Very.”

Granville reminded Smith that he had been operating his own intelligence service and getting information from behind the German lines from a number of sources. Some were individuals who were heartily sick of the war and the brutality of the Nazi system, while others were simply hoping to save their asses if the Americans won, all the while hoping their betrayals would go undiscovered by the Gestapo. They were walking a fine line and one stumble could mean a horrible death.

He didn’t care about their motives, only that their information was accurate.

“Refresh me,” said Smith. “Who the hell is he?”

“His code-name is Crow, and he picked it out himself. Easier to remember that way. He’s a field grade German officer whose information heretofore had been limited to tactical issues such as unit locations, defensive strengths and location, and similar stuff. This is the first time he’s provided anything even remotely this big.”

“Do you know his real name?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

Tom smiled tightly. “When the war’s over, General.”

“Prick,” Smith said amiably. He fully understood that he didn’t have a need to know. “So this Crow makes contact with someone else who is higher up in the Nazi hierarchy who decides to let Crow in on a very important secret right out of the blue.”

“There may be more to it than that. I suspect a long-standing personal relationship, but we won’t know until later, if at all.”

The general stroked his chin. “So Crow is reliable and, therefore, you believe this new character he code-named Cardinal is on the up and up as well.”

“Sir, I believe Crow and Crow believes Cardinal. Crow explains how Cardinal got the information and it seems plausible.”

“A lot of people said the Japs wouldn’t attack Pearl Harbor and everyone thought that was plausible, too. Tom, do you believe in this enough to forward it up to Ike and then across the water to Marshall and Truman?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well then,” said Smith, “let’s do just that.”

Truman entered the Map Room, took a seat and lit up a cigarette. “What is it this time, gentlemen, good news or bad news?”

“A little bit of both is in order,” said General Marshall. “First, we have confirmed that the Nazis only had one bomb and do not have the resources to build another. This has come from Ultra intercepts as well as reports from people on the ground who have spoken to key members of Himmler’s staff. They also say that neither Heisenberg nor Skorzeny has yet emerged from Russia and are probably dead.”

“No loss,” Truman said. “Too bad Himmler’s not dead as well. Now, what about Russia?”

Secretary of State Stettinius responded. “It does appear that Marshal Zhukov has taken over, at least temporarily. He’s announced that a new prime minister will be elected shortly. However, ‘temporarily’ under those circumstances could stretch out into decades. Some of my analysts think Zhukov could be nominated and thus become the permanent head of state.”

“Would that be bad?” Truman asked. He wished someone other than Stettinius was present. Dean Acheson was vastly preferable to the current secretary of state who seemed to have his own agenda when it came to dealing with the Soviet Union.

“We don’t know,” Marshall answered. “He’s a ruthless, capable and hard-driving general who doesn’t seem to care how many casualties he takes as long as he wins, but we don’t know what he would do as head of state.”

Truman laughed harshly. He was familiar with the situation. “Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

“The Germans will counterattack shortly,” Marshall said, abruptly changing the subject. “Dietrich’s Reserve Army has been ordered to shift north and attack the Remagen bridgehead. We believe he will leave a covering force to keep Patton in check. As if,” he laughed grimly, “anyone can keep Patton in check. As soon as Patton confirms this, he will cross the Rhine in force.”

Marshall stepped to the map of the Remagen area. “We are hitting the German armies, bombing them, with everything we have. Its mission has changed so it has to come out in the day to move. Dietrich’s army is huge and, despite our efforts, a goodly portion of it will still reach the point where it will attack our Rhine beachheads.”

Truman paled. “Can we defend them? Can we defeat that son of a bitch?”

“Mister President, we still don’t have our full forces across. That will take weeks. If we are fortunate and can truly reduce them through air power, we will prevail, especially as we don’t think their infantry is anywhere near first rate.”

“What about their jets?” Truman inquired.

“Here we are on more solid ground, sir. Our air force has been pasting anything that looks like a landing strip or a fuel depot. Ultra says that German pilots are complaining about lacking enough fuel to even take off, much less fight, and that many fields have been so badly cratered as to be unusable. The Luftwaffe will not be a major factor.”

Truman sat back. Were things looking up? “Then what can go wrong?”

Marshall answered. “The weather. Long-range forecasts are for clouds and rain, just like those that delayed the attack at Normandy. If the Germans are able to attack us without hindrance from above, then all bets are off and the battle could disintegrate into a bloody brawl.”

Stan Bakowski had lost fully a third of his Rangers trying to fight and sneak their way behind German lines.

While they crept forward, the infantry and armor slogged their way up the steep hills of the Rhine valley, taking on each pillbox, slit trench and bunker one at a time. Flamethrowers searched each opening in the German defenses, no matter how small. Black smoke billowed from ventilation shafts, indicating that anyone inside had been cremated. Bakowski shuddered when he saw that.

The Rangers’ job was to find a fifteen-inch naval gun intelligence said was situated well behind the German lines. Its massive shells were exploding in the river, swamping and overturning landing craft and killing by the force of the shock. Other shells exploded in the masses of men and vehicles awaiting their turn to cross the Rhine. Thus, the Rangers’ orders were to avoid fighting. They were to bypass German defenders every chance they could and get in their rear. Of course, it didn’t work out that way. It never did. German defenders didn’t want to be bypassed and shot at the Rangers every chance they could. More than a score of Rangers fell dead and wounded while Bakowski’s men were forced to take out places they should have bypassed.

Finally and after several hours, they reached a point behind the German lines where they could move with relative ease and quickness. Bakowski took out his map and the overhead photos of the area. Of course, the terrain resembled nothing on any of them. Constant bombing and shelling had transformed this part of the world into a moonscape.

The Rangers spread out and looked for clues. They’d been told that the gun was likely that the opening in the hill would be on its east side so the hill could shield it from direct fire. Railroad tracks would be the clue. The giant gun was part of a small train. The gun was mounted on railroad tracks which enabled its crew to run it in and out between shellings.

Bakowski was about to order a search in another direction when, like magic, a massive door in the hill slowly opened. The Rangers dropped and hid. A moment later, a crew of German soldiers ran out and lifted the planking that hid the railroad tracks.

Another moment and the giant gun moved ponderously out into the open. The crew was fixated on prepping the gun and not looking for Rangers.

Bakowski grinned. “First platoon take the gun, second and third follow me.”

Close to a hundred Rangers rose up. The first platoon sprayed the gun crew with bullets, killing many Germans before they knew what happened. A few Germans raised their hands in surrender, but most were cut down before anybody realized what they were trying to do.

Bakowski and two platoons raced into the man-made cavern and confronted a score or more astonished and horrified Germans. Only a couple of them were able to fight back and they died quickly. This time, a handful were able to give themselves up.

Dynamite charges were placed around the big gun and the train. Other charges were placed inside the cavern to drop the walls of the cave as well as to explode the many remaining shells.

They left the cave with their prisoners and moved a half mile away. A German staff car was approaching and they raked it with gunfire. Nobody got out.

“Faster,” Bakowski urged but his demolitions men ignored him. Move too fast and they’d blow themselves up and not the target.

Finally, everything was in order. The plunger was rammed home. First, the wheels on one side of the train blew off. A second later, explosions ripped through the cab. Then without the wheels on one side, the train was unbalanced and it slowly tipped over onto its side. The gun ripped away from its mountings and, like a giant toy, rolled a few yards away.

Next, everything in the cavern exploded and the mountain caved in on what the Germans had built so laboriously. The smoke and dust attracted attention from some American planes. They flew low and quickly determined what had happened. One wagged its wings and they all flew off.

A good day’s work, Bakowski thought. If only he hadn’t had to lose so many good men.

Varner found his good friend Schurmer in his office stuffing papers into a briefcase. “The rats are deserting the ship,” Varner said.

“Rats usually survive-” Schurmer smiled “-for the simple reason that they don’t go down with the damned ship. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that so many OKW staffers are conspicuous by their absence.”

Varner sat down. “I assume they don’t believe that Dietrich’s army will change the course of history.”

“They will alter it but not change it. They may precipitate a bloodbath, but win the war? I think not. However, if the improbable should occur, everyone who is fleeing will return and pretend that nothing happened.”

“Hans, I am worried sick about my family. I cannot get through to them. The farm is going to be inundated by the battle.”

Schurmer looked at him coldly. “How well can I trust you?”

“Implicitly,” he answered, surprised by the question.

“Easy to say, but we will see.” He wrote a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Varner. “Here.”

“And what is this?”

“What the Americans refer to as a get out of jail card. That is my contact in American intelligence. When you are captured by the Americans, or surrender if you prefer, ask for military intelligence and tell them to contact this person on your behalf. He will not know you but will know me as an agent named Crow and you are Cardinal.”

Varner was stunned. “You are a traitor?”

“You could say Hitler and Himmler were the traitors and I’m just trying to save Germany. You could also say I’m simply trying to save my ass. I don’t care. I’ve been channeling information about the Rhine Wall, unit dispositions, and other bon mots to the Americans for more than a year now.”

“How?”

Shurmer laughed. “Simple. I have access to a good German army radio. I operate it at night when I have to. No clerk is going to deny me. Do you recall when I negotiated with the Americans regarding Paris? Well, it was then that I formalized the arrangement with their intelligence.”

Varner was still stunned. He looked at the paper. “I can’t take this,” he said and returned it.

“Fine. Then look forward to spending the next few years in an American prison camp while they try to figure out if you really were a war criminal and how many Jews you either killed or had killed as a result of your orders, actions, or inactions. Or have you forgotten that you are a general on the OKW staff, and that you actually conspired to hide the fact of Hitler’s death? Oh yes, and weren’t you close to Heisenberg and his blasphemous bomb? Be careful or they might actually think you are a war criminal, in which case you’ll never see the light of day or your family again.”

Schurmer again held out the paper. “With this, you won’t spend more than a couple of weeks in a POW camp. Besides, you did provide me with excellent information that aided the allies.”

“I did?”

Schurmer laughed. “You are such a noble ninny, Ernst. Don’t you remember the day you told me out of the blue that there were no more atomic bombs? That cleared the way for the Americans to cross the Rhine with that little problem taken care of. Now, what is it-prison or freedom to find your family?”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“Ernst, I’m the best friend you ever had.”

Varner nodded and put the piece of paper in his pocket.

It was time, thought Mastny, enough hiding in a barn and skulking. The Allies were nearby. He could hear the bombing and the artillery. He and the two others had to make their move soon or the opportunity would be lost. Once the Allies overran the farm, they would be nothing more than nameless, faceless refugees. They had to get the wealth they knew was hidden in the Mullers’ house ahead of their so-called liberation.

They stuffed oily, greasy rags into several buckets and placed them near the barn door. Mastny lit the fires and waited. Very quickly, black smoke began to billow and find its way out the door. Janis was the least stupid of the two Latvians. He understood the value of money. And pussy.

Janis ran from the barn screaming the obvious-

“Fire, fire!” He reached the bomb shelter’s hatch, pounded on it and continued yelling. A second later, it opened and Eric Muller bounded out followed by his wife. He turned and told the others not to follow them to the barn.

From the barn, Mastny could see the two women were armed and that was part of his plan. As Eric Muller ran towards the barn, Janis added that Victor was badly hurt. Muller’s expression didn’t change. He was concerned about the barn, not some damn workers.

Eric reached the door first and rushed in. Once inside and in the dark, he paused, puzzled. Mastny hit him in the side of the neck with a shovel, nearly decapitating him. His wife lurched in, out of breath, and Mastny dropped her with a blow to the side of her head.

Victor grabbed Eric’s shotgun while the Latvians took their pistols. They looked towards the house. Both the younger women were standing just outside the shelter, wondering what they should do. They had pistols, but they were safely tucked in their holsters.

“We need more help!” Victor shouted and nearly laughed when the two women raced toward him. A few feet from the barn, the three men stepped out, weapons pointing at the astonished women, who were too stunned to even think of their own guns.