Himmler's War-ARC (36 page)

More logically, developing the bomb at Breslau meant that it would be several hundred miles closer to its target, Moscow.

“Does Himmler know about the radiation sickness dilemma?”

Heisenberg winced. “He has been informed and sees no dilemma. He had Skorzeny tell me that anything that kills the enemies of the Reich in any way and no matter how long it takes is a successful device.”

“When will it be ready?” Varner asked. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer. Never would have satisfied him, but they knew that Heisenberg’s life and the lives of the scientist’s loved ones, along with his staff’s, were hostage to Himmler. Perhaps the dying were martyrs and not victims.

“Spring should see it finished. When the thaw comes and the flowers bloom and the world becomes alive again, Skorzeny will be able to move the damned thing, although I really have no idea how he plans to do that. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just get it over with.”

Varner took his leave of the harassed physicist. He had been sent to Breslau by von Rundstedt to get a true picture of the situation regarding the atomic bomb. Rundstedt didn’t entirely trust the reports he was getting from Himmler and Albert Speer.

Varner now wished the field marshal had sent someone else. This atomic bomb, if it worked, was the devil’s brew and anyone associated with it would be damned. He would report about the lingering effects of radiation to von Rundstedt.

Perhaps Rundstedt could get Himmler to reconsider using it on the Russians, or anyone for that matter? Perhaps he could get the Reichsfuhrer to agree to a test or a demonstration to show to the Reds and the Americans just what power the Third Reich possessed?

He shook his head sadly. It was more likely that Hitler would come back to life than that Himmler would show mercy to anyone, especially the Soviets. Dear God, he thought, visualizing the living cadavers, what a hell of a turn of events.

* * *

Private Wally Feeney stood at attention. Morgan was seated behind a table and Feeney was staring intently at an invisible spot on the canvas wall behind him. The soldier did not look in the slightest bit cowed or concerned. The man was twenty-six and had been drafted recently when standards had been relaxed. He said he had bad feet which had previously kept him out of the military. In Morgan’s opinion, Feeney also had a bad attitude. However, the man decently did his job as a half-track driver under Jack’s command.

“Private Feeney, you are accused of fraternization with the enemy. How do you plead and what do you have to say for yourself?”

This was Jack’s first time as judge and jury and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Levin and Whiteside had briefed him, but it wasn’t the same. Nor was the crime all that serious.

“What the hell can I say, sir? I got caught and that’s that.”

“You were having sex with a German woman.”

“Yes sir, she had just sucked my dick and I had paid her for it.”

Morgan sighed. This was not going at all well. “That’s against orders.”

“The nonfraternization rule is dumb, sir. With all due respects, sir, what the hell is wrong with getting screwed or sucked by somebody who wants to do it? And I didn’t force her to do anything, even though the krauts are supposed to be conquered people.”

Ah, an opening. “Last I checked, Feeney, Germany hadn’t surrendered. What if she was one of those fanatical Werewolves we’ve been hearing about? You know, those people who want to go on killing and fighting? What if she had decided to clamp down on your Johnson and leave you singing soprano?”

Feeney laughed. “Then my buddies would have stomped the shit out of her, sir. We ain’t that dumb. We were all looking out for each other.”

This was getting worse and worse, Jack thought. “There were others?”

“Sir, there were four of us. The only reason I couldn’t get away is that I was, well, occupied. Hell, sir, that’s why she was sucking instead of fucking. She said there were too many of us for her to fuck. And, oh yeah, sir, I ain’t gonna give you their names.”

Jack tried not to smile at the mental picture that had emerged. “Feeney, I sense that you’re not too concerned about all this.”

“No sir, I’m not. Look, you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, so can I speak frankly?”

“I thought you already were,” Jack said dryly. “But go ahead.”

“I already said the rule is dumb, so I won’t repeat myself. But let’s get real. You’re going to chew me out and then threaten me with punishment. But what can you do? You can’t threaten to send me to combat because I’m already there. How about permanent KP? Hey, that’d get me out of combat, so that’s a great idea. Loss of rank? I’m a private. Loss of money? I get paid shit and have no way to spend what I do have. Stockade time? The crime ain’t serious enough and, besides, if you sent everybody you caught nailing German pussy to jail we wouldn’t have an army no more.”

Jack mentally conceded the points. “How about if you get the clap and I deny you penicillin?”

“That might work, but I did use a condom. I ain’t stupid, sir. And you won’t cut off my condom supply because I use that to keep my weapon clean. My other weapon that is, the one that goes bang.”

This time Jack couldn’t help but smile. The army issued condoms to the soldiers who had long ago realized that putting one over the barrel of a rifle helped keep the dirt out.

“How much did she charge you?”

“Ten cigarettes, sir.”

“You overpaid. I heard it was a lot less.”

“Maybe, sir. But she was there, damned cute, and I didn’t feel like haggling.”

Jack could understand. Just about every man in the regiment was horny. Ike’s rule was nuts, but he couldn’t say that to Feeney or any of the other men.

“Sir, this may be seriously out of line and maybe it’s none of my business, but we understand you have a girl, an American girl, and she’s here in Europe. Do you realize how fortunate you are? I don’t know what the two of you are doing, and it ain’t my business, but you actually have a female friend on the same continent and that’s gotta be great.”

“You’re right, Feeney, it’s none of your business.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“So, how was it?”

“Just great, sir. It sure as hell wasn’t her first and it was a great early Christmas present.”

Jack had a thought. “Feeney.”

“Sir?”

“You still a Catholic?” Feeney nodded, curious as to where this was going. “You know Father Serra?” Jack added.

“Yes sir. He’s the chaplain nobody likes because he’s such a hard-ass prick.”

“Excellent. Your punishment is to go to Serra for Confession and do whatever penance he gives.”

Feeney paled. “Sir, that’s not fair. He’ll give me a rosary a day for the rest of my life.”

Morgan smiled. “Who cares? And for the record, I’m going to tell the good padre that you’re going to see him, so if you don’t show up he’ll come looking for you. Now get the hell out of here.”

* * *

William Donovan, head of the OSS, was the last to enter the Oval Office. General Marshal glared at him, but Donovan’s friendship with FDR permitted him to take such liberties. FDR barely looked up. He was listless and gaunt, and his face was a deathly gray. “Sorry to be late, sir,” Donovan said to Roosevelt, “but I just got the latest info from my men in Europe.”

FDR brightened slightly. “And what do they say?”

Donovan took the opportunity to remind them that he’d been hurriedly inserting teams into Poland and Russia. There had been no shortage of volunteers from emigrés in England and elsewhere. Even better, these were Polish and Russian nationals who knew the customs and the language. The real problem was keeping them alive in such hostile environments and still able to report.

All of the spies were men. Both sides’ casual brutality to the women of the other side was beyond belief. Women were being gang-raped, tortured, mutilated, and murdered for the simple crime of existing, much less spying. Not even old women and small children were safe.

“Poland and Russia are vast lands, so the handful of teams can only give us a partial picture, but what they show is significant,” said Donovan, “and very disturbing. It does appear to confirm information from other sources that the Germans are pulling out west towards the Rhine, while most of the Russians are simply disappearing into their vast country. What little we’ve been able to glean indicates that the Reds are sending some troops south and others west.”

“South?” mused General Marshall. “That would indicate a sweep through the Balkans and into Yugoslavia, which makes a kind of sense. But why would they be going east and to what destination? And where would they be heading in the beginning of the winter?”

“Perhaps they’re doing as they said—just pulling back to refit and rest?” Roosevelt said hopefully.

Donovan shook his head. “I doubt it. It would be simpler to keep the men in position rather than withdrawing them. I think the commies are up to something.”

“Agreed,” said Jim Byrnes and Marshall nodded, while FDR shook his head.

The information provided by Donovan’s brave people was good, but it merely reinforced what the military’s intelligence people were picking up and was being provided by Ultra. The army’s own inserts, coupled with photographs taken from planes had also seen the withdrawing German army. Access to Russia was extremely limited; thus, information was even sketchier than what was coming from behind German lines. Code-breaking efforts were continuing despite resistance from the State Department who continued to feel that it was a betrayal of trust in Good Old Uncle Joe Stalin.

The army and the navy had mixed feelings about the OSS. Yes, they were brave, but too many were considered lightweight socialites out for an adventure. Marshall thought that was an unfair generalization, but Donovan and his people did play by their own rules and that irked the military.

“Either way,” said Marshall, “it will be many months before the Reds are able to reconstitute their forces against Germany. They are effectively out of the war until at least spring as are we.”

“At least we have won great victories,” said Roosevelt in almost a whisper.

Almost on cue they glanced at the map on the wall. Antwerp had fallen to Montgomery’s armies, but the port was useless. First, it had been thoroughly sabotaged and, second, the Germans still held Walcherin Island, a boggy mass on the Scheldt River north of Antwerp that enabled the Nazis to control access to the city. Montgomery had moved too slowly to prevent the Germans from digging in on the island. Now its capture would require a major effort by the British.

Moving south, Bradley’s and Devers’ army groups had reached the Rhine at a number of spots and were mopping up resistance on the western side of the river. More than half a million German soldiers had surrendered, although the great majority of them were the Volkssturm. What remained of the regular German army had escaped and was ensconced in the forts facing the Allies.

Edward Stettinius had recently replaced Cordell Hull as Secretary of State. He coughed now to get attention. “May we also discuss the situation with France and how it relates to Russia?”

Byrnes and Marshall eyed the man with some distaste. They considered the forty-four-year-old investor and banker “soft,” even naive, particularly regarding Russian intentions. If Stettinius had his way, there would be no code-breaking efforts against the Russians.

“Of course,” said Roosevelt.

“Gentlemen, the Soviets are complaining about what they refer to as our unwarranted attacks on French communists,” Stettinius said solemnly.

“Bullshit,” snapped Byrnes. “The communists attacked several of our supply columns and even killed a number of American soldiers. Our men defended themselves and did a damned fine job of it.”

Marshall nodded. “And our boys will continue to fight off attacks.”

“I’m telling you what the Reds are saying,” Stettinius retorted. “I’m not saying I agree with them. The Russians want guarantees that there will be no more fighting and certainly no support of de Gaulle in his now near civil war with the communists. I’ve spoken with Ambassador Gromyko, obviously speaking for Stalin, and he strongly suggests that we stop using France as a base for operations and stop supporting the French army. Either that or we support the French communists and this Thorez person as France’s legitimate government.”

Marshall slapped the table in a rare show of emotion. “All of which represents a reason, or series of reasons, for the Russians to pull out of the war. The chaos in France is just another excuse.”

Byrnes laughed bitterly. “And it doesn’t matter what we do—it’ll be wrong.” He turned to Roosevelt. “Now do you see, sir, that the Russians are changing their role and can’t be trusted?”

“There’s one other thing,” added Donovan. “One of my teams was able to confirm a tank park near the old Polish border with what they first thought were several hundred German tanks in it being painted and repaired.”

“So what?” snapped Stettinius, in a most undiplomatic manner.

“All of the tanks were Russian T34’s. What the hell are the Nazis doing with a large number of Russian tanks?”

Marshall drew a deep breath. “I can see them capturing some of them in the course of fighting, but hundreds?”

“Yes,” said Donovan, “and my source said a maintenance worker proudly told him there were other parks just like that. He, the source, said that Germany had bought them. The information’s been passed on to the air force and I presume Doolittle’s bombers will plow the park.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Stettinius. “Why the devil would Stalin sell tanks to Himmler? What did Himmler have that Stalin would have wanted so badly?”

There was silence until Marshall spoke. “Vlasov.”

“Dear God,” said Byrnes. The Soviets had recently proclaimed the capture of the turncoat Vlasov and his key lieutenants by a party of heroic Red Army commandos. There would be a show trial and then the executions.

Roosevelt looked around. Agony was etched on his face as he finally absorbed what he’d been told. “They’ve played me for a fool, haven’t they?”

Donovan tried to soothe him. “Sir, they’ve lied to everyone. At least now we know what they are capable of and can react to it.”