Threads of Despair: The Parallel Nazi - 6, page 14
“Kirche, please draft a note to the Americans asking them permission to send an observer to the cleanup operations. Please send it and the note from the Americans to Peter. Please designate this as top secret, and he is not to show it to anyone. He will want to redraft the note and then let me look at it before he sends it.”
“Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor. I will do so immediately.”
“Thank you, Willem.”
Alone again in the office, Schloss picked up the note from the Americans and reread it. Here was yet another historical divergence from his homeworld. The United States had suffered a partial meltdown of a commercial reactor in 1979, but it looked like they had suffered an actual China Syndrome incident in 1943.
The term China Syndrome was another item from his 1982 world, referring to a movie with that title. The 1979 Hollywood film was about a nuclear power plant accident where the reactor core had melted through the base of the vessel, and the tongue-in-cheek reference was of it melting through to China.
He wondered if his transfer to this parallel world had indirectly triggered the accident. If so, the deaths and the damage was somehow his fault. And how would this affect the American war with Japan? Would this encourage the Russians to begin research in this area if they hadn’t already? He was confident that Germany needed to proceed with its atomic research regardless of the consequences. But they would have to be very careful.
§ § §
December 15, 1943; 4 PM
Prime Minister’s Office
Tokyo, Japan
The lights in the office were now lit in the gathering winter dusk. The gloomy weather laid a pall across the city, but Prime Minister Yamamoto felt almost uncontainable joy. The Americans and the British had accepted his offer to negotiate. True, it was a conditional acceptance, but it also projected a ray of hope through the afternoon gloom. It was just possible that he might be able to extricate his nation from the trap it found itself in.
Admiral Shimada slipped through the door into the office. “I understand we received a message from the Americans. What news?”
“The news is good, Shigetarō. They have agreed to meet with us.”
“Have they agreed to a cease-fire?”
“No, but they are guaranteeing safe-conduct for our diplomatic team. The war is fairly quiet right now, so I hope it won’t flare up during this time. We need to make sure we don’t do something to stir things up.”
“And where are we sending our team to meet with the Americans?”
“Kabul, Afghanistan,” Yamamoto replied, his eyebrows rising. “It seems that is the closest neutral country. If you think about it, almost anywhere else raises insurmountable logistic and security problems.”
“I agree. When are we meeting?”
“They suggest the first week of January.”
“The time is short.”
“Yes, The Americans always seem to be in a hurry to do things. But, in this case, I believe we can oblige. But we will have to move quickly.”
“I am surprised the Americans agreed to meet,” Shimada commented. “They hold all the advantages.”
“It surprised me, too. Although we have not lost significant territory, other than Hawaii, I fear we were not in a position to pursue the war any longer aggressively.”
“I wonder what led them to decide to talk.”
Yamamoto stuck his hands in his suit-coat pockets and wandered over to the windows.
“I wonder, also,” he said, rubbing his chin. “They recently suffered a major explosion in an armaments factory. They had to evacuate people from the area because of the poisons in the smoke. I wouldn’t suppose something like that would force them to the table.”
“Who are we going to send?”
“You might as well come on into the office and have a chair, Admiral. We need to evaluate the best people for the team. I would like you to lead it.”
“Me?” Shimada leaned back in surprise.
“Who else? You know what the political situation is like here in Tokyo. If I left to lead the delegation, there would be a rush of people flinging themselves into the cauldron of trying to replace me. The situation is not stable enough for me to leave right now. Plus, you are one of the few people I can fully trust to represent my position as well as that of the government.”
“Point taken,” Shimada commented. “I do not want to go to Kabul in the wintertime. In fact, I do not want to go at all.”
“Sometimes, Shigetarō, we have to hitch up our trousers and do what needs to be done.”
Shimada gave the prime minister a dirty look. “You always come up with these old saws whenever you want us to do something we don’t want to do.”
“It never pays to whip the horse,” Yamamoto said innocently.
“You’re doing it again.”
He shrugged. “I need you to go. When you think about it, there are not many neutral countries we could get to easily. Afghanistan fills the role.”
“Very well. If you think I can contribute, I am happy to serve.”
Yamamoto nodded. “Very well. We shall have to inform our Foreign Office, of course. If we don’t, they will feel dishonored for years to come.”
“We can’t have that,” Shimada answered. “Imagine the shame.”
Both men laughed at the sarcasm, and Yamamoto also frowned to himself. Sometime soon, he would have to inform the emperor of what he was doing. While Yamamoto held the balance of power in the nation, he was not an absolute ruler. He currently was able to control the emperor and cow the opposition. But, if the opposing groups ever figured out how to work together, he would be in trouble.
At least there were some competent people in the Foreign Office who could make the arrangements for talks in Kabul and do it well. He counted on their general enthusiasm to carry through. And he would burn incense to his ancestors in the hope they would smile upon his efforts. He needed all the help he could get.
CHAPTER TWENTY
December 20, 1943; 7 PM
Stalin’s Conference Room
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR
General Ivan Smirnoff felt his palms grow sweaty as a guard ushered him into the conference room used by Stalin and his henchmen. And that was part of his nervousness; he could not help but think of those who worked directly for the General Secretary as henchmen. Though Smirnoff believed in the Revolution, he also was a student of human nature. Even the ideal of the New Soviet Man did not reflect what was true in practice. The presence of the commissars in each unit of the Red Army confirmed that.
The message to attend Stalin was peremptory. And it required five days for him to travel across Poland to a secure airfield where he boarded a waiting plane for Moscow. Ironically, he was in an American airplane. And the DC-3 was more comfortable than any conveyance the Russians had devised for travel. He supposed he should be appreciative of that.
But Smirnoff was most apprehensive over the summoning. Stalin did not summon Generals to Moscow to bestow medals. Stalin would send the award to the field along with a commendation letter and let the party official on the spot to make the presentation. No, Stalin summoned those to Moscow who had attracted his attention for negative reasons. And notably, Khrushchev, his patron, was not present.
Two men were in the room when Smirnoff entered. Directly ahead and facing him from the other end of the table was Stalin. The brooding presence puffed energetically on a pipe and stared at him. Those eyes reminded him of the dead eyes of a shark. The predator at the top of the food chain in the sea. Someone who would mercilessly rip him apart in an instant. But not out of personal animus.
Seated on the left side of the table was Sergei Kruglov, the head of the NKVD. In the ordinary course of affairs, people stayed away as far as possible from the NKVD. These people specialized in terror, and at some level, Smirnoff was terrified. Yet, the plain-spoken Khrushchev was not uncomplimentary of Kruglov, and the General wondered why that was.
Kruglov stood. “General Smirnoff. Thank you for coming to Moscow. We understand the inconvenience, but we thought it was important to speak personally.” He pointed to the chair across from him. “Please. Be seated.”
Smirnoff gingerly eased into the chair and looked at Stalin. The unchallenged leader of World Socialism continued to stare at him. Smirnoff was not sure what to say, so he followed the advice he had learned long ago from his father. When you can think of nothing to say, then say nothing.
After a few moments, Stalin grunted and pulled the pipe from his mouth. “I would think that when the Supreme Soviet summoned you, you would have taken pains to get here as soon as possible.”
“When I received the summons, Comrade General Secretary, I left within the hour.”
Stalin stuck the piped back in his mouth and seemed to mutter to himself as he puffed vigorously. Finally, he pulled it out again.
“Comrade Khrushchev speaks highly of you. On the other hand, Comrade Khrushchev is often full of dermo. Tell me, Comrade General Smirnoff, are you as good as he says?”
“I serve the Revolution,” he immediately barked. “I believe I have been successful.”
“Then why are you not in Berlin?”
That indeed was the question. And Smirnoff had asked that question of himself. He wished he knew the answer.
“Comrade General Secretary, I took over an army in complete disarray. And we faced an enemy who had made very few mistakes to that point. I have recovered the situation, and we are now in complete possession of Poland. When we resume the offensive in the spring, I expect to be in Berlin within a matter of weeks.”
“Not days, Comrade General?” Stalin breathed.
“We will be attacking the capital city of the Nazis, Comrade General Secretary; I expect the Nazis to defend it furiously. I do not want to be overly optimistic. I believe we can win this war, but it will require great toil.”
Stalin laid his pipe down on the table. “I think you make excuses. The Red Army is playing at this. Schloss is a paper tiger.”
Smirnoff studied the Soviet leader as he spoke. Was he serious or playing with him? He had come to Moscow prepared to die. He did not want to die. He wanted to finish the job.
“Comrade General Secretary, if you choose to believe I am a laggard, there is little I can do about that. If you wish to discuss our plans for the spring offensive, I am prepared to explain that to you.”
Stalin continued staring at him. Smirnoff decided that he was not being appraised by a shark but rather by a spitting cobra. Either way, the confrontation could turn deadly in a moment. After a few moments, Stalin picked up his pipe again and knocked the ashes out against his boot. He opened his tobacco pouch and squeezed more leaves into the pipe. Striking a wooden match against his boot, he puffed the pipe alight and blew clouds of vile-smelling smoke into the room. He looked at Smirnoff again, and this time it seemed like his eyes twinkled.
“So… Comrade General. Tell me about this spring offensive you have planned.”
“Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”
He spent forty-five minutes describing the plan along with the contingencies in case of surprise. Stalin asked surprising and probing questions. It was clear Stalin designed some of them to catch him off guard. He answered honestly and forthrightly, thinking that was what a military man was expected to do. There had been quiet discussions at the front about how much the general secretary really knew about military operations, but Smirnoff concluded the man was well informed. Stalin knew what was going on in his country, and that included the military. Whatever else one could say, Joseph Stalin was no fool.
During the meeting, Stalin had reloaded his pipe three times. Finally, he laid the pipe down and folded his arms across his chest. Then he made a shooing motion with his right hand. Kruglov stood up. Smirnoff followed suit. He and the NKVD director left the room. In the hallway, the two men faced each other.
“I would say that you acquitted yourself well, Comrade General.”
“Thank you, Comrade Director. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
Kruglov smiled broadly. “This is often the case with the general secretary. I have found that the best approach to these meetings is never to be evasive. He appreciates candid discussion. He may still have you shot, but the overall risks are much lower.”
“I thank you for that advice. And now, I suppose I should get to the airport and start my journey back to my post.”
“Tonight you will dine with me. Your aircraft will depart in the morning. Come, my car is waiting.”
Smirnoff nodded wordlessly and allowed Kruglov to guide him out of the building. Dinner was not what he expected. The NKVD director led the conversation in small talk and nothing of consequence. The car then took them to a hotel, and Kruglov stepped out on the curb with him.
“The hotel staff has a room prepared for you, Comrade General. They will awaken you at four in the morning for your trip to the airport. We want you safely on your way in case the Germans send their Fortress bombers to Moscow in the morning.”
“I understand. The Nazis’ American bombers are to be respected. I thank you for dinner and your consideration.”
As he began to turn, Kruglov put his hand on his arm. “Understand that Khrushchev and I will try to protect you. But you must avoid positions where you are responsible for failure. Be very careful.”
Smirnoff raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I will be extremely careful. I am always careful.”
“See that you stay that way if you want to live.”
§ § §
December 22, 1943; 10 PM
Reich Chancellor’s Apartments
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
Little Erich did not want to sleep. Schloss and Gisela had taken turns waltzing him around the apartment, but he continued to fuss. It seemed even the tried and true methods of quieting a baby did not work.
“He’s not very agreeable tonight,” Schloss commented. “No respect for his parents, I suppose.”
“Oh, hush, Hennie,” Gisela replied. “This is a normal part of taking care of a baby.”
“It was not a good time for Marlena to be off. It has turned into a long evening. And where is she, anyway? Isn’t she supposed to be back?”
“Give her some time to herself,” Gisela said. “She was becoming weary. Didn’t you notice?”
“That’s what we pay her for,” he grumped.
“I don’t understand you. You are always the soul of patience with Hans and Anna-Lisa.”
I don’t suppose I can explain that I wasn’t the one who carried them around when they were infants.
“I guess I’m just tired tonight, Shatzi. I hoped for a quiet evening.”
She smiled at him. “We do not always get what we want, now do we?”
“I have you. I have three wonderful children. My world is complete.”
“And the rest of the Germans? And the Russians?”
“Pffft. A mere trifle.”
She chuckled deep in her throat. “I am glad to have you here this evening. Even with the fussy baby, it hasn’t been so bad, has it?”
“I suppose not. I spent a long day arguing with Guderian and Rommel. And let’s not talk about Milch.”
“What was the problem with the generals?” she asked.
“They want to task a force to cross the Oder and swing behind the Russian lines.”
“And this is in pursuit of what?”
“Mainly to raise all kinds of mayhem with the Russians. Both Guderian and Rommel are convinced they can send the group in and then extract them successfully.”
“Haven’t we tried something like this before?”
“We most certainly have,” he nodded. “And that didn’t turn out so well, now did it?”
“They must surely know that,” she stated.
“Oh, they do. But it will be different this time, so they say.”
“And what does our esteemed Reichsmarshall have to say about this?”
He smiled at her gentle sarcasm. “He has been careful not to say good or ill about their plans. He is afraid I will blame him if something goes wrong. No, Erhard has his own agenda, and it involves Heinkel. I am almost certain he has found a way to continue the He177 program despite my orders to cease work. But if he has, he is keeping it quiet. Karl hasn’t uncovered anything.”
“Might you be jumping at shadows, Darling?”
“I know that is what it sounds like. However, I have gotten to know the man well over the past six months. He is very good at what he does, but that also includes slinking around behind my back. I am concerned we will discover what he is doing after it is too late. And with the Russians sitting out there on the other side of the Oder, we have no margin for error.”
Marlena slipped into the room. “Allow me to take the baby, Frau Schloss. You have had a long night of it.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad, Marlena. We love spending time with Erich. We were just talking about that.”
The nurse eased the baby away from Gisela and left the room. As she left, the Luftwaffe steward entered with a silver tray with two snifters of brandy and some pastries. He set it on the coffee table and quietly withdrew. Gisela sat down on the sofa next to Schloss and pulled his arm around her.
“I am glad Marlena is home. My arm is about ready to fall off.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Liebchen. After ten minutes, I feel like my muscles are melting.”
“That’s because we women are made of stouter stuff, Herr Schloss. We not only have to raise the children and keep house but baby our husbands.”
“Kinder, Küche, Kirche,” he murmured.
“Ha! This coming from the confirmed atheist.”
“Okay, I’ll give you the first two, then.”
“So kind.”
“Although, with some of the things I have seen over the past few years and dealing with Frau Marsden has somewhat shaken my nonfaith.”
“Nonfaith? That’s a new word. Are you becoming a Christian, then?”
