On Desperate Ground (35 page)

 
Dieter swiveled around on his heels and saw Elsa was unharmed. He pulled her up and handed her up to Hans. Faust got up and looked around to check for casualties.
 

“We’ve got to get out of here, is everyone all right?”
 

“He’s not.” Dieter pointed to Hettstedt, stretched out on the ground, rain pelting his face. One of the Mauser shots had torn through his throat and the blood drained out from him, running in red rivulets between the cobblestones. His eyes were frantic, darting back and forth, seeking to understand what had happened. Then they rolled up in his head.

“Hans, in the car with me,” Faust ordered. “Dieter, up in the truck. Hurry!”

Faust ran to the car and jumped in the back. It sped down the drive and into the street, turning left so as to not cross in front of the main entrance. The truck rumbled out behind them. Two guards were running down the sidewalk towards them and others were spilling out the front door. Lights were turned on all over the building. Dieter aimed his Schmeisser and loosed a spray of bullets that caused the closest guards to dive for cover. He looked back at the rest of them in the truck.

The medic was tending to the
Doktor
, and the other paratrooper was putting a blanket over Elsa’s shoulders. She was shivering, but her eyes focused on Dieter. He moved towards her and she embraced him.
 

“Dieter, you said you’d come back for me, no matter what,” she looked up at him, tears in her eyes and her teeth chattering from the cold. “You did.”

She buried her face in his chest and held him tightly as they leaned against the back of the truck. A paratrooper draped another blanket over both of them, then turned away to give them what privacy they could find with each other on this cold night of death and redemption.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

13 April 1945

SS Headquarters

Berlin, Germany

SS
Reichsführer
Heinrich Himmler glared at his assembled staff. He was tired and angry. He had been up all night, the gunfire in the courtyard having thrown everyone into a panic. There were rumors of Russian paratroopers, assassination attempts, and other fantastic plots. It had taken the rest of the night to sort things out.

“Gentlemen,” Himmler began icily. “Yesterday I entrusted
Brigadeführer
Fegelin with the task of securing three arrests, one of these being our own, this Otto Hettstedt. Fegelin sent out an officer and two squads of security troops to carry out the orders. Today, we found those troops incarcerated in cells in a deserted, remote building at OKH headquarters in Zossen. Their officer was discovered with his brains blown out. The very man who was to be arrested returned here with unnamed accomplices and released two of our political prisoners. Then, while I am in the building, armed enemies of the State roam our hallways! A battle breaks out in the courtyard and four of our men are killed, but not before they shoot and kill Hettstedt, who could have told us what happened.”

Himmler fixed his glare on Fegelin, who stood in back of the others, hoping to escape notice. Fegelin prepared himself for the verbal onslaught, but Himmler targeted someone else, preferring to keep Fegelin off balance.

“Kaltenbrunner, is not the Reich Security Main Office responsible for security in this building? Should I have my personal escort battalion surround the place?”

Ernst Kaltenbrunner, head of the RSMO since the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, was a dedicated Nazi rumored to be even more cold-hearted than Himmler. He was ruthlessly efficient and was able to adroitly avoid blame when things went badly. He had no problem shifting the responsibility for the entire matter to anyone else.

“
Reichsführer,
if my office had been notified of the unusual nature of
Brigadeführer
Fegelin’s instructions concerning the arrest of Hettstedt, he would have been apprehended as soon as he entered the building. As it was, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary for anyone to take notice of. If not for the prompt action of one of my men, they would have all gotten away.”

“Not quite prompt enough,” countered Himmler, ignoring the fact that the man had been killed for his troubles. “But your point is well taken.”
 

Kaltenbrunner understood that he had been cleverly used by Himmler to focus the blame on Fegelin. It did not concern him in the least, nor did the loss of his men. His prestige was intact, which was all that mattered.

“Fegelin, as Kaltenbrunner so ably points out, your handling of the Hettstedt matter was sloppy. We will discuss this further in private. For the rest of you, make sure those in your departments know that this is a sealed matter of the highest State security. No mention of it is to be made, and no reference is to appear in any official documents.”

“
Reichsführer
, may I suggest that the personnel records of the men lost last night show they volunteered for duty at the front, and that they were killed defending the Reich at the Oder River?” Kaltenbrunner offered.

“Very good. Please see to it.” Himmler appreciated this touch. It cleaned up the loose ends. “Fegelin and Jüttner, remain. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Obergruppenführer
Hans Jüttner, head of the
Waffen
-SS, the combat troops in the field under SS command, had nothing to do with the Hettstedt matter and calmly waited to see what Himmler wanted. What happened last night had greatly unnerved Himmler, who had thought it was an assassination attempt aimed at him, and then appeared disappointed to learn it wasn’t.

Himmler offered neither of them a seat. He came to the point quickly.

“Jüttner, what combat troops do we have in Berlin, available for immediate assignment? We need a combat-experienced unit to clean up this matter. Our internal security troops are obviously out-classed.”

“The only combat unit, besides your escort battalion, which does not have an assignment on the line, is the SS Frundberg Division. It’s refitting after evacuating from the Courland Peninsula in Latvia.”

Himmler ignored the comment about his escort battalion, which was his own personal bodyguard. He certainly had no plans to allow it to be used as a common infantry unit before he needed it.

“You will provide a battalion of motorized troops for Fegelin’s use in a matter I will discuss with him now. Dismissed.”

Jüttner gave Himmler the stiff arm Hitler salute and left, glad to be out of this with only the loss of a battalion. As soon as the door shut behind him, Himmler began to rage.

“You incompetent buffoon! I should send you to a penal battalion immediately! How dare you allow this to happen here! What if Hitler were to find out we allowed the
Wehrmacht
to waltz in here and release whomever they liked?”

“My apologies sir, I didn’t know…”

“You don’t know anything! You don’t even know where they are now! I want Neukirk and this other man, von Schierke. I want to go to the
Führer
as we originally planned and take over Operation Gambit! If this man Faust can walk in and out of here, then he’s the man to carry it off, and I want him to do so under the SS banner. If he succeeds, Fegelin, he’ll be the most powerful man in Germany after the
Führer.
And do you know what will happen when he tells the
Führer
that you tried to stop Gambit by sending Hettstedt after him? Think about it, dear boy. Eva and her sister won’t be able to save you then.”

A knock on the door interrupted them as Fegelin considered the implication of Himmler’s statement. Even now, at the eleventh hour, Himmler was plotting to gain his master’s favor in case the fantastic plan worked. He knew he would be sacrificed in a heartbeat if it suited his needs.

The knocking continued.

“I am not to be disturbed!”

“But
Herr
Reichsführer,
it is most urgent!” The aide opened the door a crack without permission, risking Himmler’s wrath. It must be very terrible or very good news, thought Fegelin. The aide stepped into the room and stood at attention.

“
Reichsführer,
Roosevelt is dead!”

“What? Are you certain?”

“Yes sir, it’s been confirmed in several news reports. Roosevelt is dead and the American presidency has been taken over by their vice-president, Truman.”

“That is wonderful! This is the sign we’ve been waiting for!”
 

 
Others who had heard the news gathered outside Himmler’s office or, depending upon rank, came in once they saw he was in an ebullient mood. They congratulated each other and celebrated the good news, which seemed like an omen of relief after the months of retreat and defeat.

“This is the first sign of a split between the Communists and the West,” announced Himmler. “They will not be able to sustain this unnatural alliance without Roosevelt!”
 

The small group cheered and applauded. Himmler moved towards Fegelin and put his arm around his shoulder. His attitude had totally changed.

“Fegelin, you must succeed this time,” Himmler said quietly. “This is our chance, and it will not come again. Get Operation Gambit for me. With it we will exploit this gift and rip the Allies apart!”

Fegelin felt dizzy with the possibilities. He knew what Himmler said was true. It was a miracle that Roosevelt died now, exactly when the confusion of a new, unknown American leader would benefit Gambit the most.

“As you command,
Reichsführer!
”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

13 April 1945

Aboard a Douglas C-53 Skytrooper

10,000 feet over Germany

 
Captain Mack Mackenzie crossed his legs in front of him and tried to get comfortable on the cold, hard metal seat. With only eleven men in the Skytrooper transport, there was room among the twenty-eight seats to stretch out. Comfort, though, was hardly a possibility, with each man encumbered by parachute, pack, and weapons in the unheated cabin. The plane vibrated constantly as the twin Pratt and Whitney engines roared into the night.

Mack fidgeted in his seat, unable to settle down. He was anxious about the drop, a nervous twitter dancing in his gut as his mind rebelled against the thought of leaping out of an aircraft into the darkness above enemy territory. He had parachuted at night before, and the waiting before the jump had always been hard. Plus, he ached to get into action and come to grips with Faust. Until he learned about Colonel Johann Faust’s involvement in Gambit, he had only reluctantly obeyed the order to go on this mission. Now it had become personal, and he knew that nothing could keep him from stopping Gambit. And stopping Johann Faust. Killing him. He thought back to Paris, and the last time he had seen him. The German had bested him, left his mission in ruins, and a beautiful, brave French girl in the hands of the Gestapo. The only mistake Faust had made was not to kill Mack when he had the chance.

I’m coming back for you, Faust. Won’t you be surprised?
 

Rose sat across from Mack, relaxed and seeming to sleep. He opened his eyes and looked down the cabin at the nine other men, each silently wrapped in his own thoughts. He leaned forward to Mack.

“I still can’t believe he’s dead,” he half-shouted over the din of the engines. Mack was staring at the opposite wall of the cabin, his thoughts still in Paris. He heard Rose but it took a second for him to come back to the present.

“Who?” he asked confusedly.

“Roosevelt, you asshole. Who else?”

“Oh, yeah. Me, too. I guess I thought he’d always be president.”

The news of Roosevelt’s death had stunned everyone. It seemed inconceivable not only that he was gone, but that he died short of the victory he had worked so hard to achieve. When they had heard, the men had boarded the Skytrooper quietly, without the usual banter. The mission assumed a more serious demeanor, as if FDR’s death had given each man a personal reason to make this last jump. No one could explain it or had spoken about it, but they all felt dedicated to the success of the mission, to stopping Gambit. To do anything less seemed sacrilegious.

It had hardly mattered to Mack. He was shocked, certainly. His extended family were all heavily involved in Democratic politics back in New York City, and a picture of FDR hung in his parent’s living room. But as the other men spoke quietly with each other about the president’s death, Mack had focused on the mission with a deadly intent, pouring over maps of the area and the latest intelligence reports.
 

The last report brought in by Colonel Prescott was almost too fantastic to believe. The entire German Twelfth Army, responsible for holding the line of the Mulde River against the Americans, was reported to be pulling back to Berlin, leaving only scattered units to man the line. Mack thought it very odd, since it would hasten the meeting of American and Russian forces southwest of Berlin. It meant that they would encounter fewer German forces in Gambit’s operational area. This enhanced chance of survival should have pleased him. But it didn’t, and that worried him, his thoughts focusing on what the Twelfth Army pullout could mean.