Himmler's War-ARC (8 page)

She smiled and beckoned to him. “No, but you can open your present anyhow.”

They made love with an intensity that had been lacking in the last few weeks as his job had overwhelmed and exhausted him. Magda was no longer the slender student he’d married almost two decades ago, but he thought the slight plumpness she’d gained in certain areas of her body was highly desirable. He proved the point by caressing her intimately, in preparation for a second time. She moaned and sighed. “Magpie will hear us,” he said.

“I think she understands.” They caressed each other with their lips, fingers, and tongues until he again entered her and they climaxed, totally spent.

Later, they lay side by side, sweaty and sated. Varner felt it was time to bring up an unpleasant decision he’d made. “You and Magpie must leave Berlin. When the bombs were falling and I was cowering in some filthy stinking basement and trying not to shit myself, all I could think of was the two of you and what danger you were in. And when I helped pull that boy out of the rubble, I thought I would weep in despair. We have no defense against the Allied bombers, and the next raid, or the one after that, could easily kill you.”

Magda was not surprised. In fact, part of her welcomed it. She wanted to be by Ernst’s side in Berlin, but she also wanted to protect their daughter. And she was not too proud to admit that the bombings, an almost daily ritual now, terrified and horrified her. She counted it a blessing that, so far, the sirens hadn’t sounded this night.

“Now that I’m assigned to von Rundstedt’s staff, I can get authorization for you to go to your sister’s place.”

Magda’s sister Bertha and her husband Eric Muller lived in a village near Hachenburg, many miles farther west and near the Rhine. To her knowledge no bombs had fallen there, although Hachenburg itself had been hit.

“Agreed,” she said, “and there is another problem that would be solved. Do you remember Volkmar Detloff?”

“Of course. Pure Aryan from a totally Nazi family, he’s a fanatically Nazi Youth, and thinks he’s a new god even though he’s only, what? Sixteen?”

“Well, he told Margarete that if she wanted to be a good young Nazi, she should let him fuck her. For the glory of the Reich, of course.”

Varner lit a forbidden cigarette. He’d borrowed a couple at the Chancellery. “Did he actually use those words?”

“Yes, but don’t think our precious Margarete hasn’t heard them before.”

“I don’t care. Young Volkmar certainly has a way with words. A shame he is going to die violently at such a young age.”

Magda giggled. “She told me she told him she’d rather lose her virginity to a frog.”

Varner’s anger faded. He knew he would do nothing about Detloff. The boy’s father was a fairly high ranking member of the Nazi Party and the SS, and a minor aide to Himmler. “I think an immediate move to your sister’s at Hachenburg would be good. How do you think Magpie will feel about this?”

“She’ll go. She’ll miss some of her schoolmates, but she comprehends quite a lot. She even asked me too if Hitler was dead.”

“What did you tell her?” He had told Magda the truth, knowing she could and would keep the secret.

“Just like you said, I told her I didn’t know. She told me that meant he was dead. She said that if I knew he was alive, I would have said so. She’s very smart, don’t you think?”

Colonel Ernst Varner declined to respond. He was sound asleep.

* * *

Military, political, and economic were the three problems confronting Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler as he assumed control of what remained of Hitler’s empire. The political situation was somewhat stable, so that left military and economic. Albert Speer had proven himself to be as knowledgeable about the economy as anyone in the Reich and, at the tender age of forty, was Minister for Armaments and Production. If the Reich was to survive, it was imperative that Speer provide the sinews of war.

Himmler had just concluded a predictably unsatisfactory discussion with von Ribbentrop in which the very undiplomatic foreign secretary stated the obvious. The neutral nations most sympathetic to Germany—Sweden, Spain, and Switzerland—were confused. Just who was in charge in the Third Reich, was Hitler gone for good or just for a little while? Who gave Heinrich Himmler the right to appoint von Ribbentrop as a go-between, or to even think of commencing negotiations that would end the war? The Americans, British, and Russians had all previously issued statements stating that they would fight on until Germany surrendered unconditionally, which was totally unacceptable to the Nazi hierarchy. They understood fully that their heads would roll.

So what was going on, the neutrals wondered, and why did Germany think the Allies would change their stance on negotiations?

Ribbentrop had argued that an announcement regarding Hitler’s death must be made soon, almost immediately. Rumors of his demise were already swirling. Some of the people who had seen his broken body couldn’t resist blabbing.

Himmler agreed and said that steps were underway by Goebbels to prepare Germany for the terrible announcement that would shock all of Germany and the world. Himmler was also taking other steps which he kept to himself. Ribbentrop would be pushed aside as chief negotiator and Franz von Papen, the sixty-six-year-old relic of the First World War’s failed diplomacy, would be recalled from his ambassadorial post in Turkey. The Turks were also neutral and Himmler wondered if they might function as a conduit to the Allies. At any rate, von Papen was a more subtle diplomat and not rough edged like Ribbentrop, who had gotten his position because of his slavish devotion to the late Fuhrer.

His secretary announced that Rundstedt and Speer had arrived. He told her to send them in and they seated themselves. The young Speer looked uncomfortable, and why not? However competent, and he was indeed that, he was Hitler’s creature and he’d just been told that there was a new regime.

“Let me blunt,” Himmler said to von Rundstedt. “I asked you how we could win the war, and you said we could not in the traditional sense. You said we must shorten our lines and give up many of our conquered territories. Is this still your plan?”

“Indeed, and to do that I need at least a million more men, Reichsfuhrer, and I need them as quickly as possible. However, they do exist. Four hundred thousand men are languishing in the Courland peninsula in Latvia. Hitler refused to withdraw them as such retreats were unacceptable to him. He consistently refused to give up conquered territory. Hitler is dead and I need those men. If I don’t get those and others, we are doomed. Right now there is a corridor available for them to use and they must take it before the Soviets cut them off. Even though many of them are far from the best men, they will do well in the defensive. Kindly recall that too many of our very best soldiers are dead.”

Himmler nodded. “Do it.” Again he had the nightmare vision of himself as a prisoner of the British or the Americans, or even the French with their damned guillotine.

“Then, I want every available man from Norway. Another four hundred thousand men are doing nothing there but wait for an Allied invasion we now know will never come. Hold onto Oslo if we must, but send me at least another two hundred thousand men from a country that isn’t fighting.”

Again Himmler agreed, albeit with more reluctance. If the Allies realized that German forces were exiting Norway, they would invade and Norway was next to “neutral” Sweden which supplied so much of Germany’s war-fighting materiel. The army would have to figure out a way to pull its troops out secretly.

“And as to Italy,” Rundstedt continued, “several hundred thousand of our best and most seasoned combat troops are tied up fighting the Allies in the mountains north of Rome. I propose that we withdraw most of those men to Germany and leave a rear guard to defend the mountain passes. I’ve heard it said that Churchill feels it is the soft underbelly of Europe and that the Allies should attack up that route.” He laughed harshly. “Let them try. Even a small force defending a mountain pass can ruin Churchill’s hopes.”

“Anything else?” asked Himmler. He was clearly unhappy but not arguing.

“Yes, Reichsfuhrer. Yugoslavia, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Rumania must also be stripped of German soldiers. Let the Croats and the Serbs kill each other like they’ve been doing for centuries. I don’t care.”

Himmler chuckled. “I don’t either. What more do you want?”

“I want control of your SS forces. They are not very good as an army but they can be used to slow down the Reds.”

Himmler glared but did not respond. He had a higher rating of the fighting qualities of the SS divisions than did the regular army’s generals. Also, the thought of giving up his personal army was repugnant.

Rundstedt continued. “If you are concerned that I will make myself the new Fuhrer, don’t be. I am nearly seventy years old and a soldier, not a politician or a governor. I want to save Germany, not rule her.”

Himmler nodded weakly. It would be done as the field marshal wanted. “Are you finally through?”

Rundstedt laughed. “In a way I’m just beginning. In both France and Russia our armies must be allowed to fight a defensive war, and a fluid war at that. There must be no proclamation of fortresses that must be held to the last man when armies can be saved and used again. In other words, no last stands as at Stalingrad, and no North Africas. Those debacles cost a half million of our best men. I would like to have them today, wouldn’t you, Reichsfuhrer?”

Himmler writhed internally. Everything the hateful old general was saying was true.

“In addition,” Rundstedt continued, “I want at least two million men culled from the workforce and drafted into the army. How they will be replaced in the factories is Herr Speer’s dilemma. The men drafted will construct and man defensive positions. We will also use civilians from occupied lands along with prisoners of war we hold. Can you do that, Herr Speer?”

Speer spoke for the first time and to Himmler. “If you will permit me to draft women, boys, and older men to work in factories and in other war efforts, yes.” Using women had been anathema to Hitler. They were supposed to stay home and produce new little Nazis.

“And if you will also permit it,” added Speer, “I recommend increasing the food rations of foreign workers so they don’t die in such numbers that they always need to be replaced. And that includes the Jews.”

“But only for a while,” snapped Himmler. Ultimately the Jews would have to be disposed of. Their inevitable fate could be deferred, but not cancelled. He wondered just where Speer would get the additional food since almost everyone in Germany was on short rations. He didn’t enquire further. If Speer said he could get more rations, then he could get more rations.

“Two last things,” said Rundstedt. He was clearly pleased at the concessions made by Himmler.

“Only two?” Himmler responded with resigned humor. The steps so far proposed were vile, but he could see their necessity.

“First, there are U-boats in the Mediterranean and elsewhere that are doing absolutely nothing. They should be attacking shipping in the Atlantic and even in the Channel.” Himmler nodded agreement. It had been Hitler’s decision to maintain submarines in the Mediterranean where they had been effectively neutralized.

“And lastly, the Jews. The shipments of Jews to Auschwitz and elsewhere is tying up many scores of trains that are and will be needed to transfer armies to defend the Reich. I wish you to suspend the collection of Jews until the crises is over.”

Himmler nodded again. “But not a moment longer.”

* * *

Lieutenant General Walter Bedell Smith, called Beetle by his friends and general by everyone else, was Dwight Eisenhower’s chief of staff at SHAEF, Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force, but was a position he’d ably held for several years. He was brusque and a taskmaster, and he was poring over reports when Colonel Tom Granville knocked and entered.

Smith glared at him. “I am too goddamned busy to give you even a second, Colonel, so get the hell out of here.”

“Hitler’s dead,” Granville said, stifling a grin.

Smith blinked and looked up; a smile split his face. “Sit down and take a load off, Tom. Let’s talk for a spell, perhaps have some tea. Now what the hell’s your source and I sincerely hope it’s good?”

“Berlin radio has commenced playing dirges and funeral marches.”

“That’s it? From sad music you extrapolate that the fucking little paper-hanger is dead?”

“That’s enough, General. The Nazis only do that when something sad and significant has happened. I believe the last time they played dirges was for their surrender at Stalingrad. And, since nothing in the way of military disasters is occurring, it can only be that someone important is dead.”

Smith was not convinced. “What about Goering? He’s been out of the picture for a while. And how about Himmler? Goebbels?”

“Possible but not likely. We’ve picked up nothing being wrong with Goering other than the usual drugs and booze and, barring assassination, we’ve heard nothing about his health. Himmler, of course, is just fine and so is Goebbels. Ergo, it’s Hitler who has just died from his injuries.”

Smith grinned wickedly. “Damn, it would be a terrible shame if Hitler died. Did any of this come from our British friends?”

“No sir.”

“What music are the Germans playing?”

“Mainly recorded symphonies of Wagner’s more somber music. He is, was, Hitler’s favorite composer. If the Nazis limited behavioral pattern holds, in about an hour or so, a deep voice will say that a major announcement will follow shortly. The whole process is designed by Goebbels to warn the German people that something bad has happened.”

“But the Brits know about this too, right?”

“They have to, sir. They’ve got their own people monitoring German radio stations and they have doubtless reached the same conclusion. I wouldn’t doubt that Churchill’s already been informed.”

Smith stood. Information about Hitler’s death would go to Washington and FDR, but would come from Ike and not Churchill. “Okay, that’s enough to interrupt Ike. The plans to move SHAEF to France and kick Montgomery out of his command chair will have to wait for a few minutes. If Ike concurs, and I think he will, we will be informing General Marshall pronto. He can take the info to Roosevelt.” He laughed wryly. “At least FDR won’t hear it first from Churchill if I can help it.”