He allowed himself another brandy to steel his nerves. He closed his eyes and asked himself if his next action would lead to his death by firing squad. For a minute, he fumbled with his pen and ran his fingers across his stationery.
You must face reality, he thought to himself. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when his intuition had become truth, but he knew the war was lost. Perhaps it was the Normandy invasion. Or it was Hitler’s overreach as he attempted to fight the war on too many fronts. Maybe it was the brilliant deception employed by General Patton in drawing valuable tank resources away from the Atlantic Wall.
Regardless, he could taste defeat in the air. He could smell it on his officers and soldiers alike. He could see it in their eyes and deep in their souls. The evidence was there for him to reach his own conclusions despite der Führer’s grandiose plans for victory.
Rommel smirked as he thought of Hitler’s chief propagandist, Joseph Goebbels. He was no soldier. He was a liar. An expert liar, but a liar nonetheless. Goebbels could trumpet the Wehrmacht successes from the mountaintop, but any soldier who could read a map saw that each of these so-called victories brought the Allied forces closer to heart of the Reich—Berlin.
He shook his head and stared at the block ceiling of the subterranean structure. A chill came over his body as the overwhelming damp earth scent of quick-drying cement pervaded his nostrils.
He muttered aloud, “Such a waste. Years of struggle and effort. Those arrogant fools who have der Führer’s ear thought the Reich would survive a thousand years or more. It is not possible. All great empires collapse eventually. There have been no exceptions in the history of mankind. I know this. We are witnessing the collapse of the Third Reich.”
Rommel set his jaw. He was ready. He gripped his pen until his dusty knuckles turned white, and began writing.
The letter was addressed to Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. He began with a status of the battles being fought in France. He was quick to lay the blame for their losses on the superior Allied air power. Himmler, in a conversation with Rommel many months ago, had acknowledged this weakness in the Atlantic Wall.
Then Rommel got to the crux of the matter. The point of the letter. The pushing open of the door, ever so slightly, to gauge whether Himmler was of a similar mindset as to what the future held for the Reich.
When we travelled together in the jeep at Nürnberg many months ago, we discussed the conflicting ideologies that brought about this war. You and I are soldiers and we recognize our approach to Germany’s greatness differs from the politicians’.
We agreed that our endeavor was a necessary continuation of that war to end all wars both of our fathers endured. Now, like then, the war involves a reconfiguration of national boundaries, power and influence on the European continent. Further, the battles we fight now are a means to recover what had been taken from us two and a half decades ago.
Reichsführer-SS Himmler, our fortunes have turned. We are at a crossroads in our promotion of the Reich. It is time for another approach. For if we do not change our tactics soon, Berlin, and the Reich, will be in peril.
Make no mistake, we will keep fighting until the final victory. However, I fear the war will be lost unless we find another way. It is my duty to relay my thoughts to you regardless of the risks I take. I am a dutiful soldier and will carry out my orders with vigor. My opinions are my own and are based upon my observations on the battlefield as well as many years of experience in dealing with the politicians.
I believe our options are few.
Kapitulation?
Tabun, vielleicht?
Sieg Heil!
s/ Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel
Surrender? Perhaps, Taboo? There was one other suggestion that Rommel intentionally left out—Valkyrie. That topic was certainly taboo around Himmler, but a viable option nonetheless.
Chapter One
Present Day
Aboard USAF WC-130J
Two airmen aboard the Air Force WC-130J aircraft moved to the aft loading ramp and door. The ramp-style door was designed to accommodate a wide variety of oversized cargo, including everything from utility helicopters and armored vehicles to standard palletized freight. In an aerial delivery role, it could airdrop loads up to forty-two thousand pounds. Today, it would drop people.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” shouted Cameron Mills. The former Air Force major held her helmet under her shoulder as the airmen made the preparations to open the ramp. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong with using the paratroop door over here like any sane person would?” She swung her arm to the right.
Gunner Fox laughed at his best friend and fellow member of Gray Fox. “If you’re scared, say you’re scared.”
Cam flipped him off.
The platform door began to slowly open, allowing the turbulent air to enter as well as the noise from the aircraft’s four turboprop engines. The two simultaneously stepped forward to catch their first glimpse of their surroundings. Gunner bent over at the waist and pointed upward toward the sky.
“See, clear as clear can get. Twinkling stars. Smiling moon. Not an asteroid in sight.”
Cam rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Aren’t you the funny one tonight? Are you sure about this?”
“Come on, Cam. It’s a perfect night. Picture perfect. See?”
He nodded again toward the aft door as it continued to lower to a fixed position. Two more members of the six-man crew approached them to conduct a final gear check.
One of the airmen shouted his instructions. “Sir, ma’am, we need you to put your helmets on to confirm operation of your video and audio comms. Also, I need to remind you to flip on your NVG once you deploy your chutes.”
“Roger that!” shouted Cam over the noise.
They were laden with stuff. In addition to their state-of-the-art headgear, they wore protective suits designed to make their bodies more aerodynamic
