North Reich (52 page)

      
“Give me a grenade,” Tom yelled and the sergeant flipped him one and he clipped it on his belt.

      
The tank stopped only a few feet away from him.
 
Its turret moved slowly as it searched for more prey.
 
Tom crawled behind the hull, and clambered up.
 
How the hell do I get the turret hatch open, he wondered desperately?

      
The problem was solved for him as the hatch opened a few inches.
 
The commander wanted to see more clearly.
 
With his left hand, Tom grabbed the hatch and yanked it all the way open.
 
An astonished German soldier stared at him.
 
Tom shot him in the head with his pistol.
 
He dropped it and then yanked the grenade from his belt,
 
He pulled the pin, nearly losing his balance as he did so.
 
He recovered and dropped it down the hatch.
 
He immediately threw himself off the tank, landing on something hard and sharp on the ground.
 
He screamed in pain as the grenade exploded in the tank.
 
He visualized metal fragments chewing through the German crew and shuddered at the thought.
 

      
“I got you, colonel,” said the sergeant.
 
“You just saved all our lives.”
 

The sergeant and a couple of others they dragged him away from the burning and exploding tank.
 
The pain in his chest was intense and he was certain he’d broken a couple of ribs as he’d fallen to the ground.

      
They heard more tank engines nearby, but these were different sounds.
 
Tom managed a smile.
 
“Those are Shermans, boys, the cavalry just arrived.”

      
They counted heads.
 
Of the men in the depression, only three were unhurt.
 
Four others, counting Tom, were wounded and five were dead.
 
Others must have run off.
 
He didn’t blame them and could only hope they were safe.

      
Tom and the sergeant looked over the edge and saw several Sherman tanks firing at the Germans with their stubby 75mm main guns.
 
A couple of the Panzers were burning and the rest were withdrawing.
 
The Sherman could indeed stand up to the Panzer III.
 
The Panzer IV wouldn’t be that easy and who knew what would happen if and when American tanks ran into the large and deadly Panther.
 
At least it wouldn’t happen today, he thought.

      
Several hours later, Tom’s chest had been swathed in bandages and he’d taken some aspirin to take the edge off the pain.
 
He’d been offered morphine but declined.
 
His chest hurt like the devil and he had a number of cuts and bruises, and it was difficult to breathe.
 
He limped into Patton’s headquarters tent and found that the general had made it back to safety with only a cut on his forehead.

Patton slapped him on the shoulder, causing Tom to wince, “Great job, colonel.
 
I heard what you did to that kraut tank.
 
That’s going to get you a medal along with an ass-chewing for being so close to the front.”

      
The last comment was said with a smile.
 
Patton had been much closer and just as lucky to have gotten away with his life.

      
“I want you to fly back to Washington and tell everyone in the Pentagon that Guderian just got his ass kicked from here to Sunday.
 
He made his great spoiling attack and it failed.
 
I’m sure he’s going to try again and I’m just as certain that the results will be the same.
 
He’s now missing maybe a hundred and fifty tanks and a couple of thousand men, and many of them are now our prisoners. Our flyboys shot down a bunch of their MEs as well.
 
If you believe the pilots, they killed a thousand, but it’s likely a hundred.
 
Regardless, none of the tanks or planes they lost can be recovered and repaired and now they have some serious holes that can’t be filled.”

      
“What about our casualties?” Tom asked.

      
An aide responded.
 
“About the same and that includes men taken prisoner in the initial attack.”

      
Tom took a deep breath and found that he could control the pain.
 
“Can I tell them you’re going to counter-attack?”

      
Patton’s laugh was a high-pitched snort.
 
“Hell, Guderian was the one who counter-attacked.
 
Now I’m going to launch a full attack and kick his ass all the way back to Toronto.”

      
A courier entered and looked around, puzzled.
 
“Where’s General Patton?” he asked and a couple of men pointed him to where the general had turned his back on them.
 

      
Something resonated in Tom’s brain.
 
“Grab him,” he yelled.

      
Nothing happened for a desperate second as Patton and his staff looked confused.
 
“He’s a German,” Tom screamed.

      
Tom hurled himself at the man who’d pulled a revolver from beneath his fatigue jacket.
 
A shot rang out as a host of U.S. soldiers buried the man.
 
Seconds later, the bruised soldier was hauled to his feet.
 
The bullet had gone harmlessly through the canvas top of the tent.

      
“What the hell is going on?” Patton asked.
 
“He doesn’t sound German.”

      
“He isn’t,” Tom answered, wincing with pain.
 
He’d hurt his ribs again.
 
“He’s Canadian.
 
Probably one of their Black Shirts and I’ll bet he was sent here to kill you.
 
I yelled that he was German because if I said he was Canadian you’d wonder what the problem was.”

      
“Damn it,” Patton said, his face red with fury.
 
“These boys are starting to play rough.
 
Well, we can play that game too.”

FDR looked confused as well as exhausted.
 
He hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
 
His doctors admitted that there was something wrong with his heart, what he referred to as his “ticker,” and they said that rest was what he needed.
 
However, there was a war on and Roosevelt felt that he was the best man to lead America through it, which was why he was running for an unprecedented fourth term.
 
Of course, his third term had been unprecedented too.
 
Every president before him had stopped at two terms, honoring a tradition begun by George Washington.

“Would someone please tell me why Argentina, Brazil, and Chile just declared war on Great Britain?”

      
They were in the Map Room and a large map of South American was attached to the wall.
 
Secretary of State Cordell Hull answered in a weak voice, another reminder to the president that the sickly Hull had to be replaced, even though FDR generally ignored the man and preferred to be his own secretary of state.
 
According to current law, the secretary of state was behind only the vice president in the line of succession should the president die.
 
The president had decided that Harry Truman would be his next vice president instead of keeping that annoying socialist, Henry Wallace.
 
Like it or not, he would have to strengthen the line of succession.
 
He hoped Truman would prove to be a good choice and Ed Stettinius, a career businessman, would be tapped to replace Hull after he was eased out of the office he’d held for twelve exhausting years.
 

“Sir, the Argentines just went through a fascist coup led by a Colonel Juan Peron, and they want the Falkland Islands back from Great Britain, which is a very sore point with them.
 
They call them the Malvinas and have claimed them for some time.
 
The islands are, you will recall, just off of Argentina and might as well be Argentine save for the fact that they have been owned by the British for more than a century, and are totally inhabited by Englishmen who don’t want to be part of Argentina.
 
The British also have a small military station there.
 
It has no real military value, but it is of great emotional value to the Argentines.
 
Taking the Falklands will doubtless take the average Argentinian’s mind off of the coup and other issues.”

      
FDR glowered, “And what about the others?
 
Silly me, I knew that Chile was fascist, but I thought Brazil was leaning towards us?”
      
“Obviously the Germans must have made extravagant promises to them,” Hull said.
 
“Support of their possession of the Falklands must have been one for Argentina, while Brazil might be attempting to grab the Guianas, or perhaps Jamaica, from Great Britain.
 
As to Chile, I have no idea.
 
Indeed, we assumed that Chile and Argentina were practically enemies.”

      
Roosevelt lit a cigarette and puffed angrily.
 
The others in the map room noticed that his hands shook even worse than before. “In practical matters, what does this mean?
 
They are at war with Great Britain, our ally, but not with us?
 
It doesn’t make sense.”

      
“Agreed,” Hull said.
 
“But it doesn’t have to make sense, at least not to us.”
 
He nodded towards Admiral King.
 
“I spoke with Admiral King and he feels that this South American alliance would be free to attack the food convoys to England that come from South Africa, as well as Canada.
 
Obviously, this would help Germany.
 
According to the rules we’ve established with Germany, the food convoys must be unescorted by warships.
 
We’ve complied and the British have as well.
 
The South Africans don’t have a navy to speak of, so the task of defending the convoys, if it becomes necessary and we choose to do so, will fall on us.”

      
“Clever bastards,” said Roosevelt.
 
“That would put us at war with those three nations and make us the enemy of many others in South and Latin America.”

      
“But what else can we do?” Hull asked.

      
FDR smiled hugely.
 
“Why we’ll sic the Royal Navy on them, that’s what.
 
Admiral Vian has been chomping at the bit and I can’t think of anything more just than letting him take on Britain’s newest enemies.”

      
King, who had been sitting quietly, shook his head in disagreement.
 
“The British might be chomping at the bit, but they are in no shape to do much more than reinforce Jamaica, and perhaps Georgetown in Guiana.
 
They only have two working aircraft carriers to protect their battleships from enemy planes and subs.
 
Fortunately, Argentina has no carriers and only two old battleships and the Brits would likely destroy them with ease, while neither Chile nor Brazil has a navy worth mentioning. Along with attacks from land based planes, the Royal Navy’s real enemies will be the vast distances involved and the need to develop a fleet supply train like we have in the Pacific.
 
They simply don’t have the transports and tankers to operate independently.
 
They’ll also need their warships to protect the convoys from what ships the Argentines and Brazilians do have.”

      
“Can’t we help them?” Roosevelt asked, almost plaintively.

      
“Not without curtailing our own operations,” King responded. “We barely have enough tankers and transports to take care of our own needs.”

      
“Still, we must do something.
 
We cannot permit the British to starve and that’s exactly what will happen if the food ceases to flow.
 
Therefore,” Roosevelt continued, “we must aid England even if it means sending our warships to escort the food convoys.”

      
“Would that mean war with Argentina?” Hull asked.

      
“If they attack our ships, then our ships will defend and retaliate.
 
In the meantime, admiral, I suggest that you get that Admiral Vian fellow to get some ships down to Jamaica and perhaps to that port in Guiana, Georgetown.
 
When he gets enough fuel, perhaps Vian’s battleships can bombard Rio de Janeiro.
 
I would hate to see that striking statue of Jesus blown off that mountain top, but that certainly would get Brazil’s attention.
 
We cannot have other nations intruding in our war for survival with their own petty causes.”

      
“And what shall be done with Argentina?” Hull asked.
 
“It is my understanding that if Argentine soldiers haven’t already landed on the Falklands they very shortly will, and will doubtless overwhelm what defenses the British might have.”