1945 (9 page)

Manstein smiled and nodded his thanks.

"Full operational details for the invasion to be on my desk within thirty days. Training schedules in Russia are to be doubled immediately."

Hitler looked back at Göring.

"For the Luftwaffe the task is twofold. First you must gain air superiority both in the Midlands and the North, so that the invasion is not hindered by the RAF and the Royal Navy. Next you must destroy the American fleet. Do not doubt that they will come to you. The Americans will not stand idly by and watch England fall. Harrison made that clear to me at Reykjavik.

"According to our naval planners"—he nodded toward Doenitz—"the Americans will be able to marshal a fleet of at least twenty carriers at several ports along their east coast and perhaps even recall elements from as far as Pearl Harbor. They also have available four active divisions, three in the United States—one infantry, one airborne, and one Marine Corps—plus one Canadian infantry, which we can expect will be loaded aboard transports. This fleet should be ready to sortie to England's relief by day twenty-five and will take ten days more to make the crossing."

"The American fleet will be pounded from the time it leaves port until it reaches English waters," Göring puffed. "I have developed plans for Luftwaffe ground units to seize airstrips in Iceland and Greenland. The Americans will have my planes overhead from the beginning to the end of their voyage. And I do mean the end," he said with a laugh as he leaned forward in his seat to look directly across at Doenitz. "Of course, Admiral, your U-boats will be there to pick off what's left," the Air Marshal added with poisonous condescension.

"Just provide decent reconnaissance this time," the man in charge of the German navy replied icily, "and we will harvest our share."

Hitler slapped the table and the two fell silent.

"We need two years to complete our own bomb. To ensure that we have those two years, England must be eliminated once and for all, so that it can no longer serve as a base for air attacks. Furthermore, our holdings in Africa must be pushed clear into the Congo to secure the uranium mines, and to prevent the Americans from building air bases there. But, above all, their fleet must be destroyed, because without their navy the Americans are simply not a threat. To that end, I expect full cooperation between all branches of service." He scanned the room, pausing thoughtfully on Doenitz and Göring. "Full cooperation. Those who do not cooperate will be replaced."

"My Führer, I believe it is my duty to you to raise some concerns," Doenitz said after a moment's silence. All eyes turned to Doenitz, and then toward Hitler to gauge his reaction.

"Go on then," Hitler finally said, apparently all affability.

"My Führer, this American fleet survived attacks from over six thousand Japanese suicide planes during the 1944 campaign. They lost only fifty-six ships, only two of which were carriers,
light
carriers. Only one fleet carrier was lost, not in the batde but as it was being towed back to Pearl Harbor. They will not be an easy nut to crack."

"And our own carriers, which you pressed so hard for?"

"In an open engagement against twenty American carriers they would be quickly sunk," Doenitz replied simply. "We must keep them out of that engagement so that they can continue to support the invasion of England, and later, if they survive, help take the islands in the South Atlantic."

Hitler glared at him. "Then why did you press so hard to have them built, if they can do nothing when the so-terrible Americans come? Why? We ceased production of the current generation of fighters so that you could have your
verdammt
carriers!"

This was not precisely true. Hitler himself had concluded that after England had stood down there would be no need for prop-driven fighters before they were made obsolete by jets, which were scheduled to be in full production by 1946. Better the financial resources go to weapons that would still be useful well into the 1950s, when it might be time to deal with the Americans. Besides, the folk needed butter as well as guns. Or so he had thought before the Manhattan Project. Now — "If it weren't for your
pointless
demands we would have twenty thousand fighters and fighter bombers! The American fleet would be sailing into a—into a furnace!"

"We won't need his carriers," Göring interjected. "Sinking that fleet is a job for the Luftwaffe. And, trust me mein Führer, even with only one thousand jet aircraft, we have the means to accomplish that mission."

In one of his volatile mood shifts, Hitler nodded calmly to Göring. "Go on, explain it to them."

The rotund head of the Luftwaffe stood up and went over to the map.

"For one thing, this time their fleet won't be facing pilots drunk on saki, and flying bamboo planes." He laughed expansively. After glancing at Hitler, the group joined in.

"For another," Göring continued, "the Americans must drive straight for the Channel, since by this stage the invasion will already be in progress and their only hope for saving England will be to defeat us immediately. Our third Air Fleet, which will have just completed its task of destroying the RAF, will now turn to face the Americans as they move into the channel. The American carriers will have some of their new Phantom jet fighters, perhaps a hundred of them. They will be overwhelmed by our thousand Gotha 229s. The rest will be prop planes, Bearcats and Corsairs. Our Me-262s will annihilate them.

"As for the carriers themselves, we will have over one thousand of the new television-guided Henschel 300 rocket bombs, which have double the range of our preliminary 294 version and can strike from a maximum range of nearly forty kilometers." Hitler nodded appreciatively. He was thoroughly briefed on this particular superweapon, and approved of it heartily.

Beaming with delight, Göring continued. "They will be air launched from specially equipped Ju-288s that will move under fighter protection to within thirty kilometers of the carriers before doing so. Six or seven hits from these bombs, diving vertically, each loaded with half a ton of high explosives, will sink even their newest "Midway class carriers. Simultaneous torpedo strikes will be carried out on carriers and other war vessels using Arado 234s. Transports and lighter ships will receive the attentions of rocket-firing Me-510s. As soon as the fighting vessels have been disposed of, any transports that have survived will be invited to surrender. If they do not—well, they cannot be allowed to reach England, of course."

Göring paused for breath and triumph, then continued. "When my boys are done with them, your precious carriers will be safe enough, Doenitz. Maybe even the French fleet will finally sortie out to do battle with the American lifeboats that will cover the sea."

Hitler too looked around the room triumphantly, as if Göring's promises had already guaranteed victory for the Reich.

"With England denied to them as a forward base and their fleet smashed, the Americans will have no means of striking at us for a year or more. By then two things will have happened. First, we will be within months of developing our own atomic bomb. Second, yet another generation of wonder weapons will be in the hands of our military. New York and Washington will be at our mercy, and if they continue to fight they will soon be facing atomic bombs delivered by rocket.
That
will destroy their will to resist. If it does not, they will simply die."

Hitler's gaze slowly swept the room and each in turn nodded approval, even Doenitz. This meeting is concluded," he announced. "You know your duties. Get to them."

As the men who ran the Reich filed out, they noticed a towering SS officer waiting in the antechamber. All were curious, those who recognized him even more so than the others. Almost before the last of the group had exited, an aide gestured the tall SS officer into the presence. As the door closed behind him, Colonel Otto Skorzeny snapped to attention and heiled Hitler.

Hitler smiled and motioned for Skorzeny to join him at the conference table. This time Hitler's affability was not assumed. Otto Skorzeny was his kind of soldier. "Sit down, my dear Otto. You are well? Your leg—does it still trouble you? That was a magnificent achievement—and on one leg!" Hitler laughed admiringly.

As he sat, Skorzeny laughed modestly in response. "Compared to your achievements in the Great War, my Führer, mine are pale. And what is a broken leg compared to a year in hospital from poison gas?"

"Otto, Otto, you deserve your glory. As for me, I was an enlisted man, a runner. How can that compare?" Hitler was enjoying their little gavotte. Here was praise from a man whose praise had meaning.

"You were one of the few, the very few, enlisted men ever to win the
E.K. Ein,
the Iron Cross First Class, my Führer."

"Kind of you to say so, Otto, very kind." Hitler basked for a moment, then turned the conversation to the matter at hand. "Perhaps you are wondering why I have asked you here today. It
has
been a while since I have enjoyed the presence of your company in private."

"I must confess, my Führer, to a certain curiosity," Skorzeny said as dryly as he thought wise.

"You are to plan for a mission, the most difficult of your career."

Skorzeny said nothing, but within him joy began to kindle.

"America and Germany will soon be at war."

At last.
Skorzeny allowed a flicker of that joy to shine through. Hitler nodded approvingly.

"This shall be the final struggle. All that we risked is as nothing compared to that which we now embark upon; truly this is the culmination of
Mein Kampf.
And you, Otto

Skorzeny, shall strike the first blow." Hitler looked him in the eye, man to man. "To one such as you I will not belabor the personal advantages that will accompany success. But do consider this: your success or failure will determine whether the Reich survives or is destroyed. In your hands rests the future of Germany."

Both Skorzeny and, despite himself, Hitler, were caught in the moment. It was as if some higher power, the German race itself perhaps, were reaching through them to grasp the future in its fist.

After a time, Hitler motioned for Skorzeny to follow him to the far wall, where the map of the United States waited. Hitler extended his pale hand. "Here"—jab—"is the target you must destroy. This is not a job that the Luftwaffe can do alone, though Göring has pleaded otherwise. With my background I realized immediately that it required a combined effort by air and ground assault forces led by someone with consummate special skills."

Skorzeny nodded his thanks at the praise.

Hitler proceeded to explain the situation in detail, concluding with, "The full resources of the Reich will be at your disposal. You will answer directly to me and to no other. If you have problems with anyone, report them directly to me. Before you leave talk to Speer and Kaltenbrunner. They will provide you with briefings on the target. I expect you to develop a full strike plan and deliver it to me within the week."

Grinning like a starved wolf that has finally scented blood, Skorzeny leaned forward to study the target for just a moment more. This would be a very difficult assignment. His joy was complete.

December 12 Drop Zone "Alpha"

Colonel Otto Skorzeny leaned out into the roaring slipstream and craned forward to catch a glimpse of the target. Only six or seven kilometers away now, it was a hell of explosions and fireballs. The ground itself spasmed under the assault. The sense of the demonic was further enhanced by streamers of the new jellied gasoline smearing across the landscape in long arcs of white-hot annihilation.

He pulled back in and checked his watch. The last of the bombers should be clearing their runs by now.... A final string of debris-spewing explosions walked across the target, audible even above the shrieking wind and the howl of engines.

Skorzeny reveled. Again the world was as it should be. The sky was illuminated with fire, blanketed by shadows and smoke. The air stank of half-burned oil and gasoline, gunpowder residue, leather and sweat tinged with the scent of fear. War was a dream that burned in his soul, and that strange passion was awakening. Once again there would be the thrill of the hunt, and of the kill. He smiled a smile of cold delight. Like his master, in the absence of a better reason Skorzeny would start a war for the pleasure of it.

Suddenly the plane banked over sharply, nearly hurling him out the door. A bomber shot past off their starboard side not twenty meters away, exiting the target area by going straight into the stream of transports. Skorzeny turned and looked back at his adjutant.

"Karl, I want the name of that pilot!"

Major Karl Radl nodded. The pale dueling scar on his right cheek stood out in the firelight reflected into the transport.

A yellow light snapped on by the side of the door. Skorzeny took hold of his static line and gave it a tug to make sure it was firmly hooked up. He looked back at the fifty men in double line behind him.

They were his best, which meant that they were the best: Headquarters Platoon of the
Friedenthaler Jagdverbande,
the elite special-operations team of the SS. Survivors of Malta and two long years in Russia, they were all, save for a few young probationers, part of his family, closer every one than any brother of blood could be, unless he too was a brother in arms. It was with these men that he had reached the previous apex of his career with the drop behind enemy lines to capture Marshal Koniev in the final days of the Leningrad campaign. Even Hitler had been impressed by that.