Himmler's War-ARC (39 page)

“I lost track of time, but don’t worry, my precious virtue is safe.”

Magda gave her daughter a hug. “I never doubted for a minute. Now go to bed, and this time I mean yours.”

Margarete walked towards her bedroom, turned and grinned wickedly. “I’m still a virgin, Mama, just a much more knowledgeable one.”

* * *

Himmler paced his office. Never the most secure of persons, his doubts were getting the best of him and the presence of the stern field marshal commanding his armies was not comforting.

“I never should have agreed to let you pull our armies behind the Rhine.”

Rundstedt almost yawned. They had basically the same discussion every time they met. “You didn’t have a choice, Herr Himmler. If you had ordered the army to fight on the west bank it would have been defeated and destroyed, and the Rhine Wall would now be empty of troops. Then, regardless of the weather, the Allies would have poured across, and all of us would be in hiding or running for our lives.”

Himmler waved him off. “I know, I know. But I am being criticized for the loss of the lands and the cities. Think of it, Aachen, Cologne, Koblenz, and so many other places that have been German forever are gone.”

“Once more, Reichsfuhrer, the lands were lost for nearly two decades after the Treaty of Versailles and were subsequently recovered. If we stick to our plan, they will be German again in a much shorter period of time. As to the plan, it is going well. Our armies are intact and safely on the east of the Rhine where they are continually building their strength.”

This latter statement was a sop to the paranoid Himmler. There were serious problems in the military. Thanks to the moves he’d made, the army had large numbers of men, but many of them were either very young or very old, and so many were poorly trained. Also, the loss of the Rhineland had devastated the morale of the troops, many of whom had homes now occupied by the Yanks. Worse, many of the soldiers defending the Reich weren’t even German, but conscripts from other conquered nations, and whose reliability was doubted.

In most cases, the German army had superior weapons compared with the Americans, but not enough of them. The infusion of two thousand Soviet tanks would help, but German armor would still be horribly outnumbered. Worse, the Americans had found one tank park and largely obliterated it. How many more tanks would be destroyed before they even got to the front?

It was much the same with the Luftwaffe. The ME262 jet was a marvelous machine, but would they have more than a few hundred of them when the decisive battles came? There were enough experienced and elite pilots to man the jets, but what about the rest of the Luftwaffe? Galland was distraught at the fact that so many pilots were getting little training because there just wasn’t enough fuel, or air space in which to train as the Reich contracted. American pilots jumped on the trainees like vultures whenever they took off. As a result, the dispirited army suffered from almost daily bombings the Luftwaffe was powerless to prevent.

The German navy, the Kriegsmarine, was a fading memory. Only a handful of U-boats still operated and the surface fleet was being dismantled and the personnel transferred to duties on land and supporting the army.

Qualitatively, American artillery was at least on a par with Germany’s and vastly outnumbered what Rundstedt could bring to battle. He foresaw his defenses being pounded by both bombs and guns and being essentially powerless to do anything about it. The field marshal was acutely aware that he would have only one chance to stop the Americans and it would not be at the Rhine. With seven hundred miles of river to defend, he could not stretch his forces too thin.

“Tell me truthfully, Field Marshal, can the Americans defeat us? Can they cross the Rhine after all we’ve done?”

“Yes,” Rundstedt answered bluntly. He almost enjoyed the look of dismay on Himmler’s face. “However, it will require them to pay a great blood price, and they may not wish to do that.”

“What if that is wishful thinking?”

“Then we will emulate Churchill and fight them on the landing beaches, the hills, and everywhere else. We will counterattack them savagely with the armor we’ve stored for such a purpose.”

Himmler took a deep breath and appeared to relax. “Ah yes, the reserve army. And who will you place in command? Rommel?”

Rundstedt shook his head. “Although Rommel’s health has largely returned, there are questions regarding his, say, reliability and temperament following the injury. It’s been decided that Dietrich will command the army while Rommel continues to mend.”

Himmler nodded thoughtfully. There had been suspicions about Rommel’s loyalty to Hitler and the Reich, and Rundstedt seemed to be taking them into consideration with the appointment of the fifty-three-year-old Lieutenant General Sepp Dietrich, a long-time and loyal member of the SS. The decision pleased him. The SS was finally getting its due as a military organization alongside and equivalent to the regular army.

Rundstedt smiled and continued. “There is also the fact that Rommel and I disagreed on how to defend against the Allies when they invaded at Normandy. In my opinion, the arguments confused the issue and delayed our response. This time we shall speak with one voice, mine, and we will react appropriately, and not in a piecemeal and confused manner.”

Himmler winced. It was yet another criticism of the late Fuhrer. Someday, von Rundstedt and the rest of his arrogant coterie would be brought to justice for their actions and statements, but not this day. His and the skills of the others were needed.

“Reichsfuhrer, you must understand that we will get only one chance to make the Americans wish to stop. We have no margin for error and, therefore, cannot afford to make any mistakes.”

“I do understand, Field Marshal,” Himmler said.

“Now, I have a question for you, Reichsfuhrer. What the devil is the situation in America regarding Roosevelt?”

Himmler laughed. “As usual, the intelligence service under Admiral Canaris is awful. We are in large part relegated to reading two-week old American newspapers delivered via diplomatic pouch from the Swedish and Spanish embassies, or to listening to equally heavily censored broadcasts on American radio. The only thing that is certain is that the Jew Roosevelt is ill, perhaps deathly ill. Our Swedish, Swiss, and Spanish diplomatic contacts in Washington insist that America is concerned that FDR might be dying, or even dead. We may know for certain when their inauguration takes place on January 20. Idiotically, the Americans say they cannot postpone it.”

Rundstedt actually smiled. “What if they give an inauguration and nobody shows up?”

Moments after Rundstedt left Himmler’s office, Otto Skorzeny stalked in. As usual, he looked like a feral animal and Himmler suppressed a shudder.

“What is the latest on Heisenberg’s bomb?”

Skorzeny smiled ghoulishly. “Apparently it is going surprisingly well and should be ready in a couple of months, which is good since it will have to be delivered by truck and the roads to Russia won’t be passable until then.”

“Excellent.”

Russia was currently out of the war but could come back in at any time that Stalin decided was to Russia’s advantage. Russia had to be permanently out of the war and soon.

“Reichsfuhrer, I understand you’ve been informed about the lingering effects of radiation. Does that change anything?”

Himmler shook his head vigorously. “Of course not. In fact, it makes things better. The more people who die and the longer and more agonizingly it takes for death to happen, they better off we are. No, lingering radiation is a wonderful secondary effect of the bomb.”

Skorzeny was not surprised. Himmler had so much blood on his hands, that a new way of killing would be a good idea to him. Of course, he thought, his own hands weren’t clean either.

“Skorzeny, I’m puzzled. You say you are going to deliver the bomb by truck? What will the Russians do about that?”

Skorzeny grinned wolfishly. “Why, they will bend over backwards to help me.”

* * *

There were times when Alfie and the two Jews thought they were going to die and other times when they were certain of it. They had found a small cave and lined it with brush and anything they thought would keep out the cold. They blocked the entrance and hunkered down to wait out the winter in a tiny underground room that afforded them no privacy and, as it turned out, damned little warmth. As the snows piled up and the temperature dropped, they knew they had to do something else.

Alfie had solved one problem—he had managed to find some abandoned suitcases filled with clothing that had been discarded by refugees. Why they dropped the suitcases he didn’t know and didn’t care. The warm clothing was priceless and they wore it in bulky layers. Perhaps equally important, it enabled the Jews to discard their prison rags and Alfie to change out of a British Army uniform. The Jews gleefully abandoned their rags, but Alfie kept his uniform after hiding it. He hoped that someday he would be able to put it back on and wear it with pride. He did make sure that each man had at least one weapon. The Jews each got a Luger while Alfie kept the rifle.

Even more important than fighting the cold was finding food. Food would provide some of the energy needed to combat the brutal weather. Rosenberg and Blum had proven surprisingly resourceful when it came to catching small game, but how far could a rabbit stretch? And cooking it on a small fire outdoors took forever. They couldn’t start a large fire for fear it would attract notice and usually wound up regularly eating nearly raw rabbit meat.

The two former concentration camp inmates were weakened already and required more food to regain their health. They didn’t complain. Being free still made them euphoric and they worked harder than Alfie thought possible. They spent time teaching German to Alfie while improving their own English. Still, it wouldn’t be long before they weakened and death overtook them.

Finally, good fortune found them. Deep in the woods they found a small wooden cabin piled with snow. It was in a gully and they almost missed it. Even though there was no sign of life, they approached it with their weapons at the ready.

They could not see through the windows which, while filthy, were intact. There was no fire and no sign of life. They tried the door and pushed it opened. Inside, they found a two-room cabin. The part they entered was a combination kitchen and living room while the second was a bedroom. They entered the bedroom and gasped. A mummified body lay on the floor by the bed.

“Jesus,” said Alfie. “I wonder what the hell happened to him.”

They took a close look at the corpse. The parchmentlike skin stretched over bones, and wisps of white hair showed through the scalp, indicating that the body was that of an older man. Incongruously, the remains of a Hitler style mustache remained on his lip.

Rosenberg smiled. “Probably a heart attack and that’s good for us. Notice that he’s wearing a nightshirt and he’s alone. Also note that he’s been lying there a very long time in order to turn into a mummy, which means that nobody comes here to check on him. He’s probably a hermit or woodsman or a recluse that nobody misses, if they even knew he was here in the first place.”

Alfie grinned. “And that means we can move in here without having to worry about nosy neighbors.”

Blum found some newspapers that were more than two years old, which reinforced the idea that no one was likely to come to the cabin. It was well hidden and sheer chance, or divine intervention as Blum said, had led them to find it.

Blum started checking the closet and a pair of chests. They were filled with clothing. The dead man seemed about normal size and neither of the three was exceptional, so they cheerfully added more layers to their clothing. Even though there was no fire in the cabin, they already felt warmer then they’d been in weeks. The cabin was sturdily built and kept out the wind. Rosenberg thought the snow piled up outside acted as insulation.

They also found a pair of shotguns and a couple of boxes of shells to add to their arsenal.

Shelves in the kitchen were stacked with canned food. Rosenberg almost broke down. “If we’re careful, we can live for weeks on this, and I don’t care if it isn’t Kosher.”

“Just so it isn’t rotten,” Alfie said.

“Who cares if it’s rotten?” Blum laughed. “We’ve eaten worse, or have you forgotten?”

Alfie gestured towards the corpse. “What do we do with Adolf here?”

Blum frowned. “The ground’s frozen, so a decent burial is out of the question. Too bad. Even if he is a Nazi, he deserves it for possibly saving our lives.”

Rosenberg shook his head. “What we should do is dress him in his own clothing and drag his corpse several miles from here. When the spring thaw comes, someone may find him and bury him.”

“So why the hell dress him up?” Alfie asked.

Rosenberg smiled. “If he’s found in his nightshirt, people might get suspicious as to why he was wandering around the woods dressed like that. Clothed, they’ll think he had an accident and then bury what’s left after the animals are through with him.”

Alfie shuddered at the thought of woodland creatures nibbling on his body. On the other hand, their chances of surviving the winter had just taken a big jump upwards. However, they knew that surviving the coming spring might be even more difficult than making it through the winter.

“Comes the thaw,” Alfie said, “we are likely to be in the middle of the biggest fucking battle in the history of mankind.”

“I won’t mind,” said Rosenberg and Blum nodded. “Just so long as we’re on the right side and maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a chance to do something about it.”

Alfie looked over at the wide bed. “Three of us gonna sleep in that?”

Blum chuckled. “I hope so. Of course, you realize that if you sleep with us for more than a week, you’ll become Jewish.”

Alfie looked up, shocked. “You’re joking.”

Blum roared with laughter. It felt good. “Yes, Alfie, I am.”

CHAPTER 19

JESSICA’S SUPERVISOR was a pleasant and plump woman in her forties named Turnbull. She was a formal but friendly Brit and nobody knew her first name. Maybe she didn’t have one, they joked. Another British girl said everything in England was rationed, so maybe first names were as well. They presumed she was married so they all called her Mrs. Turnbull. Turnbull neither commented nor corrected them, simply smiling contentedly.