Himmler's War-ARC (50 page)

“Would that be bad?” Truman asked. He wished someone other than Stettinius was present. Dean Acheson was vastly preferable to the current secretary of state who seemed to have his own agenda when it came to dealing with the Soviet Union.

“We don’t know,” Marshall answered. “He’s a ruthless, capable and hard-driving general who doesn’t seem to care how many casualties he takes as long as he wins, but we don’t know what he would do as head of state.”

Truman laughed harshly. He was familiar with the situation. “Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

“The Germans will counterattack shortly,” Marshall said, abruptly changing the subject. “Dietrich’s Reserve Army has been ordered to shift north and attack the Remagen bridgehead. We believe he will leave a covering force to keep Patton in check. As if,” he laughed grimly, “anyone can keep Patton in check. As soon as Patton confirms this, he will cross the Rhine in force.”

Marshall stepped to the map of the Remagen area. “We are hitting the German armies, bombing them, with everything we have. Its mission has changed so it has to come out in the day to move. Dietrich’s army is huge and, despite our efforts, a goodly portion of it will still reach the point where it will attack our Rhine beachheads.”

Truman paled. “Can we defend them? Can we defeat that son of a bitch?”

“Mister President, we still don’t have our full forces across. That will take weeks. If we are fortunate and can truly reduce them through air power, we will prevail, especially as we don’t think their infantry is anywhere near first rate.”

“What about their jets?” Truman inquired.

“Here we are on more solid ground, sir. Our air force has been pasting anything that looks like a landing strip or a fuel depot. Ultra says that German pilots are complaining about lacking enough fuel to even take off, much less fight, and that many fields have been so badly cratered as to be unusable. The Luftwaffe will not be a major factor.”

Truman sat back. Were things looking up? “Then what can go wrong?”

Marshall answered. “The weather. Long-range forecasts are for clouds and rain, just like those that delayed the attack at Normandy. If the Germans are able to attack us without hindrance from above, then all bets are off and the battle could disintegrate into a bloody brawl.”

* * *

Stan Bakowski had lost fully a third of his Rangers trying to fight and sneak their way behind German lines.

While they crept forward, the infantry and armor slogged their way up the steep hills of the Rhine valley, taking on each pillbox, slit trench and bunker one at a time. Flamethrowers searched each opening in the German defenses, no matter how small. Black smoke billowed from ventilation shafts, indicating that anyone inside had been cremated. Bakowski shuddered when he saw that.

The Rangers’ job was to find a fifteen-inch naval gun intelligence said was situated well behind the German lines. Its massive shells were exploding in the river, swamping and overturning landing craft and killing by the force of the shock. Other shells exploded in the masses of men and vehicles awaiting their turn to cross the Rhine. Thus, the Rangers’ orders were to avoid fighting. They were to bypass German defenders every chance they could and get in their rear. Of course, it didn’t work out that way. It never did. German defenders didn’t want to be bypassed and shot at the Rangers every chance they could. More than a score of Rangers fell dead and wounded while Bakowski’s men were forced to take out places they should have bypassed.

Finally and after several hours, they reached a point behind the German lines where they could move with relative ease and quickness. Bakowski took out his map and the overhead photos of the area. Of course, the terrain resembled nothing on any of them. Constant bombing and shelling had transformed this part of the world into a moonscape.

The Rangers spread out and looked for clues. They’d been told that the gun was likely that the opening in the hill would be on its east side so the hill could shield it from direct fire. Railroad tracks would be the clue. The giant gun was part of a small train. The gun was mounted on railroad tracks which enabled its crew to run it in and out between shellings.

Bakowski was about to order a search in another direction when, like magic, a massive door in the hill slowly opened. The Rangers dropped and hid. A moment later, a crew of German soldiers ran out and lifted the planking that hid the railroad tracks.

Another moment and the giant gun moved ponderously out into the open. The crew was fixated on prepping the gun and not looking for Rangers.

Bakowski grinned. “First platoon take the gun, second and third follow me.”

Close to a hundred Rangers rose up. The first platoon sprayed the gun crew with bullets, killing many Germans before they knew what happened. A few Germans raised their hands in surrender, but most were cut down before anybody realized what they were trying to do.

Bakowski and two platoons raced into the man-made cavern and confronted a score or more astonished and horrified Germans. Only a couple of them were able to fight back and they died quickly. This time, a handful were able to give themselves up.

Dynamite charges were placed around the big gun and the train. Other charges were placed inside the cavern to drop the walls of the cave as well as to explode the many remaining shells.

They left the cave with their prisoners and moved a half mile away. A German staff car was approaching and they raked it with gunfire. Nobody got out.

“Faster,” Bakowski urged but his demolitions men ignored him. Move too fast and they’d blow themselves up and not the target.

Finally, everything was in order. The plunger was rammed home. First, the wheels on one side of the train blew off. A second later, explosions ripped through the cab. Then without the wheels on one side, the train was unbalanced and it slowly tipped over onto its side. The gun ripped away from its mountings and, like a giant toy, rolled a few yards away.

Next, everything in the cavern exploded and the mountain caved in on what the Germans had built so laboriously. The smoke and dust attracted attention from some American planes. They flew low and quickly determined what had happened. One wagged its wings and they all flew off.

A good day’s work, Bakowski thought. If only he hadn’t had to lose so many good men.

* * *

Varner found his good friend Schurmer in his office stuffing papers into a briefcase. “The rats are deserting the ship,” Varner said.

“Rats usually survive—” Schurmer smiled “—for the simple reason that they don’t go down with the damned ship. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that so many OKW staffers are conspicuous by their absence.”

Varner sat down. “I assume they don’t believe that Dietrich’s army will change the course of history.”

“They will alter it but not change it. They may precipitate a bloodbath, but win the war? I think not. However, if the improbable should occur, everyone who is fleeing will return and pretend that nothing happened.”

“Hans, I am worried sick about my family. I cannot get through to them. The farm is going to be inundated by the battle.”

Schurmer looked at him coldly. “How well can I trust you?”

“Implicitly,” he answered, surprised by the question.

“Easy to say, but we will see.” He wrote a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Varner. “Here.”

“And what is this?”

“What the Americans refer to as a get out of jail card. That is my contact in American intelligence. When you are captured by the Americans, or surrender if you prefer, ask for military intelligence and tell them to contact this person on your behalf. He will not know you but will know me as an agent named Crow and you are Cardinal.”

Varner was stunned. “You are a traitor?”

“You could say Hitler and Himmler were the traitors and I’m just trying to save Germany. You could also say I’m simply trying to save my ass. I don’t care. I’ve been channeling information about the Rhine Wall, unit dispositions, and other bon mots to the Americans for more than a year now.”

“How?”

Shurmer laughed. “Simple. I have access to a good German army radio. I operate it at night when I have to. No clerk is going to deny me. Do you recall when I negotiated with the Americans regarding Paris? Well, it was then that I formalized the arrangement with their intelligence.”

Varner was still stunned. He looked at the paper. “I can’t take this,” he said and returned it.

“Fine. Then look forward to spending the next few years in an American prison camp while they try to figure out if you really were a war criminal and how many Jews you either killed or had killed as a result of your orders, actions, or inactions. Or have you forgotten that you are a general on the OKW staff, and that you actually conspired to hide the fact of Hitler’s death? Oh yes, and weren’t you close to Heisenberg and his blasphemous bomb? Be careful or they might actually think you are a war criminal, in which case you’ll never see the light of day or your family again.”

Schurmer again held out the paper. “With this, you won’t spend more than a couple of weeks in a POW camp. Besides, you did provide me with excellent information that aided the allies.”

“I did?”

Schurmer laughed. “You are such a noble ninny, Ernst. Don’t you remember the day you told me out of the blue that there were no more atomic bombs? That cleared the way for the Americans to cross the Rhine with that little problem taken care of. Now, what is it—prison or freedom to find your family?”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“Ernst, I’m the best friend you ever had.”

Varner nodded and put the piece of paper in his pocket.

* * *

It was time, thought Mastny, enough hiding in a barn and skulking. The Allies were nearby. He could hear the bombing and the artillery. He and the two others had to make their move soon or the opportunity would be lost. Once the Allies overran the farm, they would be nothing more than nameless, faceless refugees. They had to get the wealth they knew was hidden in the Mullers’ house ahead of their so-called liberation.

They stuffed oily, greasy rags into several buckets and placed them near the barn door. Mastny lit the fires and waited. Very quickly, black smoke began to billow and find its way out the door. Janis was the least stupid of the two Latvians. He understood the value of money. And pussy.

Janis ran from the barn screaming the obvious—

“Fire, fire!” He reached the bomb shelter’s hatch, pounded on it and continued yelling. A second later, it opened and Eric Muller bounded out followed by his wife. He turned and told the others not to follow them to the barn.

From the barn, Mastny could see the two women were armed and that was part of his plan. As Eric Muller ran towards the barn, Janis added that Victor was badly hurt. Muller’s expression didn’t change. He was concerned about the barn, not some damn workers.

Eric reached the door first and rushed in. Once inside and in the dark, he paused, puzzled. Mastny hit him in the side of the neck with a shovel, nearly decapitating him. His wife lurched in, out of breath, and Mastny dropped her with a blow to the side of her head.

Victor grabbed Eric’s shotgun while the Latvians took their pistols. They looked towards the house. Both the younger women were standing just outside the shelter, wondering what they should do. They had pistols, but they were safely tucked in their holsters.

“We need more help!” Victor shouted and nearly laughed when the two women raced toward him. A few feet from the barn, the three men stepped out, weapons pointing at the astonished women, who were too stunned to even think of their own guns.

CHAPTER 25

“BUSINESS BEFORE PLEASURE,” Victor proclaimed while the two Latvians laughed. Magda and Margarete lay on the ground by the house where they’d been overwhelmed before they could defend themselves. They were bound hand and foot by ropes from the barn. Their assailants did not bother with gags. Who would hear their screams? In fact, Victor and the others wanted to hear them scream.

Uncle Eric’s body had been dragged from the barn. He was clearly dead, but Bertha was breathing and moaning. Mastny wondered how long that would last. He didn’t care. The German bitch deserved to die. The other two women were guilty but less so. Still, their punishment would be severe.

First they put out the fires in the smoke pots in the barn. Even though fires were common, attracting unwanted attention made no sense. Then they ransacked the house. The sounds of furniture being smashed and walls being broken into carried down to Magda and Margarete. Mother and daughter lay side by side on the ground, still not quite comprehending the terrible turn of events.

The two women wiggled close to each other and tried to undo each other’s bonds to no avail. Margarete began to cry. “Will he kill us?”

Even though there were three men, it was Mastny who was clearly in charge. Magda had no idea what lay before them. Perhaps it would only be rape, which they could survive as so many thousands of German women were learning to their shame and agony.

“I don’t know,” she said to her daughter. They had discussed the terrible fate befalling German women who fell into the hands of the Russians, but they never believed it could happen in the gentle lands east of the Rhine. Magda, however, had told her daughter that she should endure an assault and not fight. One could recover from rape, at least physically, but not from death or mutilation.

Shots rang out from inside the house. The two women looked at each other in shock. A few moments later, Mastny walked out carrying a small bag. He held it up to them.

“I’m disappointed. This is all you people had in the way of jewelry and foreign money? Deutschmarks are going to be useless except to wipe your ass with when this war is over. Why didn’t the Mullers have any English or American money, or even Swiss?” He cackled. “Of course. They were good little Nazis, weren’t they? They put their faith in Hitler and look what it got them.”

He set the sack on the ground. “At least I won’t have to share this with those two fools.”

Magda and Margarete stared at him in horror. The gunshots were Mastny executing his two companions.