Germanica (12 page)

Winnie smiled. She really did have a nice smile, he realized. “I was hoping for better, but you’ll do.”

While she changed, Ernie took binoculars and checked around. He kept in the shade of the cabin to make it difficult for someone to see him. There were no boats that appeared to be official and none were headed their way. He checked the German coastline and again saw nothing in the way of unusual activity. Maybe he was being paranoid, but constructive paranoia was a good way of staying alive.

“Can you see Hitler or Goebbels from here?”

“Not quite,” he said and turned. He almost gasped. “What have you done with pudgy little Winnie Tyler?”

The Winnie Tyler now before him was slender and athletic looking. She was wearing a blue one-piece bathing suit that hugged her figure like a glove. “It’s an incredible diet, Ernie. It’s called how to lose fifty pounds in five minutes. First you wear a lot of padding under an ugly dress that’s way too large. Then you have your hair cut very short so you can wear a number of wigs and don’t forget thick glasses with clear glass to make you look strange, and then add balls of cotton stuffed in the cheeks. And don’t forget to rub garlic and other stuff on your face and hands so you stink to high heaven. We could have met and discussed matters elsewhere but this was a great opportunity to dress and behave like myself and not have to put on an act with the ugly suit. Unless you decide to behave like an animal, today is a holiday for me.”

“And for me too?” he said happily. “And I am a gentleman and not an animal. Well, usually.”

“You are very nice, but just to keep things straight, I am not going to sleep with you or even kiss you. Today is recreational. I simply need a day off. I don’t want to get involved with anyone until this war is over. I owe too much to my brother.” Her lips began to twitch as she finished, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Tell me,” Ernie asked softly.

“He’s in Honolulu. He’s somewhere in the rusting hull of the battleship
Arizona
where he’s been since December 7, 1941, and I have a very hard time even thinking about it and him. He was three years older than me and he was my hero. He still is. I joined the OSS in order to strike back at the Japs. Unfortunately, I later found that General Douglas MacArthur has no use for the OSS and there wasn’t much intelligence work for a woman in other areas of the Pacific, so I decided to strike at the Japs by hurting the Nazis. Does that make sense?”

“As much as anything else I’ve heard lately. I think it’s time to open the wine. May I raise a toast to your brother?”

She smiled warmly. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

Shock and dismay tore through the 105’s division headquarters at the sudden news. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, thirty-second President of the United States, was dead in some strange place called Warm Springs, Georgia. A heart attack or a stroke the news said, not that it mattered. He was dead and that was all that counted. The entire army and navy were stunned. Grown men cried at the thought of a familiar father figure passing away.

“I didn’t even know he was sick,” Tanner said to Cullen, quickly realizing what a banal statement it was. Who would have told him?

“I guess we should have known in hindsight that he wasn’t well. His most recent pictures made him look old and isn’t it true that he finally admitted that he couldn’t walk? Jesus, we had a crippled sick man in the White House and never knew it. I wonder how I would have voted if I’d known.”

Tanner shook his head. “That’s probably why they didn’t announce it. Besides, what did his being stuck in a wheelchair have anything to do with his ability to deal with the Depression and fight this damned war?”

“Nothing I can think of,” admitted Cullen.

The news was shocking. FDR had been president for twelve years. Many had begun to think of him as immortal. Hell, he was only in his early sixties, which was quite old, but most of them had at least one relative who was older. There were people who had never heard of Herbert Hoover or any other prior president.

General Evans looked distraught and Tanner could hear the sounds of sobbing. Soldiers weren’t supposed to cry, he told himself as he fought back his own tears. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Roosevelt. He had seriously considered voting for Dewey on the basis that three terms was more than enough. But then he’d asked himself if it was time to change captains on the ship of state and reluctantly decided that it wasn’t. Like most Americans, he’d voted for Roosevelt in 1940. FDR had dragged the country from the depths of the Depression and had led the fight against Hitler and Japan. The world had lost a giant and many people felt that they had lost a member of their family. His fireside chats broadcast on radio had calmed and encouraged them, while his eloquent fury had sent the U.S. off to war after Pearl Harbor.

And now he was dead and who the hell was this four-eyed stranger with the tinny voice, Harry Truman?

Evans wiped his nose with a none too clean handkerchief and addressed his staff. “Until and if we hear to the contrary, our orders remain the same. We are to exterminate the remnants of Nazism. It cost us five hundred dead and wounded brave men to cross the Rhine and it is up to us to see that they have not suffered in vain. I don’t know anything about this Truman fellow, except that he’s what we got right now as President of the United States. The next election will be in 1948, so, for good or ill, we’re stuck with him. I would be shocked if he changed the direction of the war. Hitler’s trapped in Berlin and he might just be burning in hell in a short while, and that really ought to change things. Until then, we kill Germans.”

There were nods and grunts of approval. After a pause, Evans continued. “There will be a nondenominational service tomorrow. At least I hope there will be as soon as the various chaplains figure out who’s going to say what. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to honor FDR’s memory with a drink or two from the private stores that just about everyone has. Dismissed.”

“Well,” said Cullen, “Your tent or mine?” It was a joke. They shared the same tent.

“Mine. I’ve got decent Scotch and you’ve got that home brew shit some GI cooked up.”

* * *

Josef Goebbels raised a glass of champagne and saluted the large picture of Adolf Hitler that stared down on them from the wall of the cave. “To the Fuhrer. He is always right. He said that something dramatic was going to occur that would change the course of history and now it’s happened. The death of the Jew Roosevelt will bring an end to the unholy alliance that is strangling Germany. Now, perhaps, the people of England and the United States will realize just who the real enemy is.”

Field Marshal Schoerner lifted his glass as well, “Death to the Jews and death to the communists. Now if only there is enough time for an Allied collapse before our Fuhrer becomes a casualty in Berlin.”

Schoerner put down his glass. An aide quickly filled it. “With profoundest regrets, Minister, I believe it is too late for Adolf Hitler. I cannot see where the death of Roosevelt will mean anything in the short run. The Red Army hordes are in place and will not be deterred. If anything, I believe that Stalin will urge them to fight even more intensely before events and alliances can change.”

“Unfortunately, that assessment sounds correct,” Goebbels said sadly. “That makes it all the more important that we hang on here in the Alps. And that reminds me. I have been to the lovely city of Bregenz and I cannot see how we can defend it against the Americans if they come.”

Schoerner chuckled. “Unfortunately, when people think of Switzerland they think of mountains. Yes, much of the Alps are in Switzerland, but the Alps also extend into Italy to our south and what used to be Austria to our east. Along with those mountain ranges, there are some significant valleys and other areas where the land is hilly but not mountainous. If the land around Bregenz was too rugged, we would not be able to set up a political capital there. We must have roads in order to move our forces and to bring in supplies. So yes, we cannot last forever if the Americans attack with determination and strength.”

“And when the Americans come?”

“There are two fundamental ways they can come and both involve their taking the Brenner Pass. American General Mark Clark’s Fifteenth Army Group must force its way up the mountains in northern Italy to get the pass. They might win through but it will be incredibly bloody. They can also attack from the north using both Bradley’s and Devers’ Army Groups, with Devers’ forces bearing the brunt of the fighting for the simple reason that they are in place and closest. This is good since I do not believe that Devers’ armies are anywhere near as skilled as Bradley’s. We also believe that Clark’s Army Group is as exhausted as those of ours he is fighting.”

Goebbels nodded agreement although he was clearly unhappy at the thought of American divisions forcing their way through to Bregenz.

“Bregenz has other advantages, Minister. First, our sources say that the Americans have assured the Swiss that they will not bomb the town if we do not make too big a show of our being there. Second, if it does appear that the Americans are going to be victorious, our armies can simply lay down their arms while we escape to Switzerland and on to South America. The Swiss might not be too happy, but I have it on good authority that they will not stop us or fight us. The vast amounts of money from the Reich and from Jews that is now in Swiss banks will buy us a sanctuary for enough time to arrange passage to South America. I’ve been told that Argentina is lovely this time of year.”

“Or any time of year,” said a reassured Goebbels. “I don’t particularly care what happens to my slut of a wife, but I do want my children to survive. Along with myself, of course,” he laughed. “Of course it will all be moot when the alliance against us falls apart. My guess is that it will be the French who collapse first and then the British. I firmly believe that the Soviets will see nothing to their advantage in pursuing us into the mountains, especially if we can confront them with a nuclear threat. I have been to Professor Esau’s cave and am impressed. He has a pair of V1 rockets and a number of men working on them and on the bomb itself. He wants more of everything, of course; who doesn’t? But he has assured me the bomb and the improved V1s will be ready. He and his assistants are well aware that their lives depend on it. If the bomb is not ready, they will be shot. The Americans are in for a bloody surprise.”

“Why did he bring the V1s and not the V2s?”

“He said that the V1 is a more primitive and therefore a more rugged device. He also said they were easier to transport and will be easier to set up and fire when the time comes. I deferred to his knowledge.”

“A good idea.”

Schoerner continued. “So our war will be against the Americans alone and whoever this Harry Truman person is. Perhaps we should salute Harry Truman with another glass of champagne.”

“A splendid idea.”

Schoerner laughed. “I still cannot get over the idea that a physicist named Abraham Esau is not Jewish and I don’t care how many times his ancestry was checked. I will feel much more confident when Heisenberg shows up.”

Goebbels smiled. He was recalling the massages he’d been getting from several lovely and pliant German women since arriving at the army’s headquarters. “Then let’s drink another toast. Let us lift our glasses to the new Republic of Germanica.”

* * *

What will the Americans do without Roosevelt? wondered Lena. His death had come as a shock to all of the refugees as they moved towards where they hoped the Americans would come before the Russians. She thought it ironic that a number of Germans were jubilant that the man they referred to as the “Jew Roosevelt” was gone. In their Nazi minds, it was the Americans who had started the war and who were bombing German cities and slaughtering German civilians. They seemed to have forgotten enslaving Poland and Russia and brutally conquering other innocent nations.

No one had ever heard of Harry Truman. Some even thought his name was Thurman and that he was as Jewish as Roosevelt. She had to remind herself that she was surrounded by Germans and somewhat alone with her feelings of hatred for the Reich. Her consuming fear now was that the death of their president would result in the Americans halting their conquest of Germany and leaving her in limbo. What would she do then?

She still traveled with the nuns and found them a puzzling bunch. With the exception of Sister Columba, none of them spoke to her or even looked at her. She thought they were sometimes laughing at her, but that was almost to be expected. She was dressed as a nun but was absolutely not a Dominican. She was able to confirm that the other sisters were fairly young, which was also puzzling.

“That is because the old ones could not travel,” Columba had said. “We left them behind with our prayers. And I told the others not to speak to you,” Columba admitted one evening. “The less they know, the less they can tell anyone. Right now I believe we are safe from the Gestapo or the SS, but that could change in a heartbeat. If the Americans show any sign of weakness, the Reich will emerge again.”

And where were the Americans? Rumors had them everywhere. The latest said they were a few miles to the north and heading towards Stuttgart. Her column of refugees was moving slowly because they had to bypass the mountains. American planes continued to fly overhead and some of them flew so low that they could see the pilots’ faces. What were they thinking? she wondered. Much of an entire nation was on the move, fleeing from the terrors of defeat and the vengeance of those who had been oppressed.

Travelling in large groups meant safety. Too often they had come on the naked, mutilated and desecrated corpses of those who thought they could go it alone or in small groups. Former inmates recently freed from concentration camps were delighted at the opportunities to take vengeance on those who’d persecuted and imprisoned them. Who could blame them? she thought. Some of those former inmates she’d seen were starving and wide-eyed with anger and pain. They wanted food and there hadn’t been enough for their German overlords. They’d been kept in vile living conditions for years where they’d been beaten, starved, and many of their friends and loved ones murdered. She found herself wondering what had happened to her father. It was a painful window on her past that she tried to keep closed. But now that the end appeared near, thoughts of her past were coming back. Perhaps the Germans kept good records of those they imprisoned. She thought that he had been sent to Dachau, but she wasn’t certain. The Americans had overrun the infamous concentration camp, so someday she might be able to go there and find out his fate. But not now. It was too dangerous.