North Reich (48 page)

      
Alicia looked distastefully at the three dead Germans, their bodies now covered by sheets.
 
She was astonished at how well she had gotten through the ordeal of seeing so many mangled dead bodies.
 
But then, she thought, the Americans were innocents and the dead Germans were monsters who had slaughtered them.
 
She had no pity for them.

      
“Did the dead Nazis give you anything useful?” she asked.

      
“A little,” Dunn said with a small smile.
 
“These guys had some receipts on them for dry cleaning and such and we were able to identify where they lived by showing people in that neighborhood their photos that we sent by Associated Press Wire Photo.
 
Obviously, we’ve been sending a lot of planes back and forth.
 
Regardless, we found that four men had been living in a rooming house and at least three weren’t coming back.
 
We’re checking for anything useful, but I doubt that we’ll find much.
 
The Germans weren’t that important and it’s becoming clear that Stahl wasn’t staying with them.”

Baldwin had been quiet up to now.
 
“For a variety of reasons, I’d like to be able to check on that apartment and its contents.”

      
“The Director might not like that,” Dunn said grimly, “so let’s not tell him.”

Tony Romano’s ankle had healed quickly.
 
Either it hadn’t been broken or not broken that badly.
 
Still, he thought it was a good idea to keep using the crutches he’d been issued.
 
The more helpless he appeared to the Black Shirt guards, the better were his chances of escaping.

      
He’d concluded that the Black Shirts were a confused bunch. Some of them wanted to brutalize the prisoners, but others said not to.
 
It was clear that they were worried about the direction the war was taking.
 
Some of the guards openly grumbled about the possibility of Germany losing and admitted that a number of their group had folded up their shirts and gone home.

      
In the evening the guards changed and some of the few Italian soldiers who remained in Toronto took over.
 
Since Tony spoke the language, he and the Italian guards had a number of pleasant conversations.
 
It was clear that many of them, including some officers were trying to figure a way to get out of the army and on to the United States.
 
Desertion was not a moral problem for them.
 
They felt that Mussolini was a buffoon who had betrayed them by sending them all the way to Canada.
 
They did admit, however, that they were much better off than some of their comrades who were supporting the German invasion of Russia.
 
They just didn’t want to get killed in what they saw as a hopeless war fighting for Germany against the overwhelming might of the United States.
 
It occurred to many of them that they could soon be trying to kill some of their own relatives who’d emigrated years earlier.

      
They understood that it might be a very long time before they saw Italy again.
 
It was another reason to hate Mussolini and Hitler and try for a new life in the United States.

      
Life in the camp wasn’t unpleasant, just boring and frustrating.
 
The food was decent, brought in by an independent caterer, and they’d made the barracks livable.
 
Better, they were beginning to get and send mail.
 
Tony’s been able to inform his family that he was okay.
 
He didn’t bother to burden them with news about his ankle.
 
He’d been delighted when they’d responded and been even more delighted when his girlfriend, Nancy O’Connor, wrote and said she would wait for him and, yes, an Irish Catholic girl and an Italian Catholic boy might be a good match.

      
The rest of his crew were in the camp as well, but they seemed to resent the fact that they’d been shot down and blamed him for it.
 
They were right, of course.

      
Another reason that the POWs were treated well was the presence of the Red Cross who watched the camp like hawks.
 
The German military who were in charge of the camp were routinely informed of problems which they tried to solve.
 
The German soldiers might have behaved like barbarians in Poland and Russia, but not in Canada.
 
The camp where civilians were interned was run by the Gestapo and life was not as pleasant.
 
Food was enough to sustain them, but it was nowhere near as plentiful as the American POWs had, and the same held with the living conditions. Tony had found that the Gestapo was led by some swine named Neumann and it was widely believed that he was responsible for both the martyrdom of some Canadian girl as well as the attempt to ship Jews to Germany.

      
“Penny for your thoughts, Tony.”

      
It was Major Bryant, the second highest ranking officer in the camp.
 
He was also the head of the escape committee.
 
“I was thinking you had some good news for me, sir.”

      
“Tony, there’s no doubt that your escape plan is solid, but there are concerns that there might be reprisals against us if you made it out.”

      
“Understood, sir, but what about reprisals against me if they find out that I sank four of their precious submarines?”

      
It was becoming common knowledge that the German navy was suffering very high losses to their submarine fleet.
 
If they got their hands on someone who’d sunk four of them, they would likely interrogate him until he divulged just how they were able to find and kill so many.
 
To the best of his knowledge, he was the only sub-killer who’d been captured, and he was certain that interrogation would rapidly become torture.
 
He’d heard of people standing up to savage torture, but had also been told that everyone broke sooner or later.
 
This might present a problem since he really didn’t know all that much.
 
In the U.S. he was considered a hero.
 
He didn’t want the SS to know about his exploits, even though they’d been somewhat offset by having two planes shot out from under him.

      
Bryant picked up a small rock and tossed it a few feet.
 
To anyone in a guard tower, they were just two guys talking.
 
“You know there’s no way we can get you back to the States even if you do escape.
 
You’d have to hook up with some local guerillas and work with them.
 
Any idea how you’d do that?”

      
Tony grinned.
 
“I was kind of hoping you’d know, sir.”

Koenig snapped to attention and smiled as Guderian entered his spartan office in the well-hidden underground bunker.

      
“Congratulations Field Marshal.”

      
The newly promoted Guderian flipped his cap onto a hook and snorted.
 
“It’ll look marvelous on my tombstone, don’t you think?”

      
Koenig didn’t know quite what to say, so remained tactfully silent.
 
Rumors that the general would be promoted had been rampant, but it had just become official.
 
Heinz Guderian finally had his field marshal’s baton.
 

      
Guderian continued, “So now I am joining such as von Runstedt, Rommel, and von Manstein.”

      
“They are all great generals, sir.”

      
“Indeed, although I have my doubts about Rommel.
 
Also on the list of marshals is that drunken drug-addict Hermann Goering; Keitel, the ass-kissing toady; and von Paulus, the clerk who managed to win at Stalingrad because the Soviets collapsed.
 
I will not say it is an empty honor because it is something I always wanted and felt that I deserved.
 
However, the quality of marshal’s in the Reich has been diluted greatly.”

      
Koenig was stunned to hear Guderian talk like that.
 
Now that he worked directly for the general as a personal aide and occasional driver, he and Guderian had gotten close, or at least as close as a high ranking general and a captain ever could be.
 
Guderian had started using Koenig as a means of sounding off about his problems, but there had been nothing like this.

      
“Of course you never heard me say anything of the sort, did you, captain?”

      
“I heard nothing, sir, and I know even less.”

      
“Excellent, now what are the latest reports on the war with the Soviets?”

      
“According to Berlin, our troops are advancing steadily against determined last ditch efforts by remnants of Red Army forces.”

      
Guderian rubbed his eyes and sighed, “Which means that von Paulus is getting the shit kicked out of him.
 
Soon, von Paulus will request permission to make a tactical withdrawal in order to reorganize his forces.
 
The Fuhrer will deny it and the heavily augmented Sixth Army will be surrounded and then be overrun by the Red Army, which will be a catastrophe of the first order for the Reich.
 
Indeed, it might even threaten the existence of the Reich.
 
When threatened with the extinction of his army, Von Paulus will ask permission to surrender, which will also be denied.
 
It will then be strongly implied that von Paulus should kill himself because German field marshals don’t surrender.
 
And that, young captain, is why I said my new rank will look good on my tombstone.”

      
Koenig was shocked.
 
“You would kill yourself, sir?”

      
“When I joined the army, I fully understood the risks and dangers involved.
 
Death is part of our profession, although it is far better to inflict it than to endure it.
 
While suicide might be preferable to spending a lifetime in the mines of Siberia, or even being hanged as a war criminal, killing myself is not on my agenda.
 
Being killed in battle is acceptable but regrettable.”
 

He laughed.
 
“That too would look good on my tombstone.
 
Now, how is von Arnim?”

“I visited him this morning and there does seem to be some improvement.
 
He may be conscious and he may be trying to speak. The doctors aren’t certain.”

“Which means he will not resume command in a hundred lifetimes.
 
A shame.
 
He is, or was, a decent general.
 
And what of the air war?
 
Is it safe to step outside?”

Koenig laughed.
 
“Perfectly safe, at least for the moment.
 
American planes have made several visits, but have caused no serious damage.”

“Good.
 
Remind me to again pay my compliments to those in charge for the excellent job they did hiding our army.
 
When Patton moves eastward again, as he must, we will be more than ready for him.
 
We bloodied his nose the last time, even though we were forced back a few miles.
 
This next time will be different, very different.”

Chapter Seventeen

Major General Lucian Truscott looked over Tom’s shoulder at the photographs he was analyzing.
 
The eight-by-ten black and white glossies had been taken by specially equipped P47s and showed the ground below in exquisite detail.
 
Tom had been attempting to enhance that detail by using high a powered magnifying glass.

      
“Anything exciting, colonel?”

      
Tom couldn’t stifle a grin.
 
His promotion to lieutenant colonel had just come through.
 
He and Alicia had celebrated the night before and, along with truly marvelous sex, they’d shared a couple of bottles of wine and Tom was now nursing the last of a headache.
 

“Nothing really, sir.
 
The Germans are damned good at hiding things.
 
That and the fact that they move around almost entirely at night makes it difficult to locate their tanks and ammo.
 
I wish we had some of that infra-red technology that enables people to see in the dark.”

      
Downing moved to Truscott’s side.
 
“If the army wanted you to see in the dark, they would have issued you bat’s eyes.”

      
It was common knowledge that the military was working on devices that would indeed enable the users to see in the dark.
 
Not as well as bright sunshine, but enough, perhaps, to locate an enemy tank.
 
Right now, however, all they had were the eyes they’d been issued at birth, along with high-powered magnifying glasses.
 
The other magic devices were for the future.