all was well. She sometimes wondered just what planet her mother came from. Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler hadn’t made a new car since shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Everything they now produced went to the military. Her father said there would be plenty of time for new cars, new houses, and, yes, nylons, when the war was won.
Jessica decided she’d write her father about the idiot pilot of a small plane she’d seen buzzing the Eiffel Tower. Hundreds on the ground had cheered and laughed while the military police glowered in impotent fury. There was no doubt that it was an American plane and she wondered if the pilot would get into trouble. Whimsically, she wondered if it had been Jack.
Finally, the small convoy arrived at their new offices. Sign painters were busy writing instructions to the people already waiting outside. To Jessica’s dismay, there were hundreds of anxious French men and women, some clutching thoroughly confused and squalling small children. Once again, she would be telling hopeful people that she had no information at the moment, and that she could only hope to provide hope for the future.
Someone in the Red Cross had estimated that fully ninety-nine percent of those missing or displaced would find their own way home and to their families. The remaining one percent would be the cause of all the heartaches and grieving. With millions of displaced persons expected, it could still result in many tens of thousands needing their help.
Nor was Jessica comfortable with the ninety-nine percent figure not needing their help. Not when she saw the line of humanity waiting for them.
How was it possible, the Soviet Union’s Foreign Minister, Vacheslav Molotov, wondered, that the senior representatives of two of the world’s major powers were reduced to meeting in a seedy hotel room in Sweden? He had arrived that morning in a transport plane bearing Swiss markings, while his counterpart flew in from Germany in a plane also with Swiss markings. That neither was even remotely associated with neutral Switzerland was irrelevant. What was important was that nobody noticed and, most definitely, nobody at either the Soviet or German embassies was aware of his arrival or that of his counterpart. Embassy personnel were supposed to be trustworthy, but there was an old saying about secrets attributed to an American, Benjamin Franklin, that three could keep a secret only if two were dead. He sometimes wished a Russian had authored that wonderfully prescient quote.
Molotov was thankful that he would not be in discussions with that pompous and crude buffoon, von Ribbentrop. Molotov hated the aristocracy with the true fervor of a dedicated communist. Aristocrats and capitalists were the cause of the world’s ills and he wished he could exterminate them like the Nazis were exterminating the Jews. However, even he had been appalled by the reported numbers of dead coming out of Poland regarding the concentration camp complex near Auschwitz.
At least his counterpart, Franz von Papen, was a real aristo, and not a parvenu like Ribbentrop who’d gotten the right to use the “von” mostly because he’d married well. Von Papen had history and ancestry on his side, while Ribbentrop had simply fucked his way into the nobility.
Von Papen entered the small room, and the two men bowed and nodded. They did not shake hands. Molotov got directly to the point. “You wished this meeting, why?”
Von Papen was not shaken by Molotov’s bluntness. He’d expected it. “It is time to end this war, at least for a while. Our two countries have been tearing at each other like mad dogs, while the Americans and British do nothing. If we are not careful, when the war does end, as all wars do, they will be the winners and our two nations the losers.”
Molotov silently agreed. The Americans had taken their own sweet time getting into the war. They had waited years while Mother Russia absorbed the best, and worst, that the Nazis could hand her. And in return for scores of millions dead and wounded, what did the Soviet Union get? A few thousand trucks and some useless tanks. He knew he was being unfair about American Lend Lease. It was brutally difficult to send supplies by sea around German occupied Europe and an incredibly long way to go overland from Iran and Iraq. Still, the American armies had waited until the heavy fighting at Stalingrad, Moscow, Leningrad, Sevastopol, and Kursk was over before finally sending a pathetically few divisions into France where a small German army had all but halted them. It did appear that the Americans, and their lap dogs, the British, were more than willing to let Russia fight their war.
Molotov kept his expression cold. “May I remind you, von Papen, that your country violated a perfectly good treaty and invaded Mother Russia, thereby starting this ruinous war? May I further remind you that Germany is the cause of all the troubles and all the devastation in Russia that is now going to be repaid by Soviet armies as they invade your country?”
Papen nodded solemnly. “That tragedy was perpetrated by Hitler, Goering, and Bormann, none of whom are any longer with us, thank God. While there is nothing we can do to bring back the dead and remove the devastation, it is possible that we could consider some form of compensation in the future should the war be brought to an end.”
Molotov noted that Himmler’s name was absent from the list of those who’d perpetrated the surprise attack on the Soviet Union. Of course, Herr Himmler, inventor of Germany’s concentration camp system, was as pure and innocent as the new fallen snow.
Regarding compensation, Molotov thought that the Soviet Union would like to take anything of value that Germany possessed, including the dubious virtue of the Reich’s women. This would be in return for the countless rapes and other atrocities endured by the Soviet people. Russia wanted ten pounds of flesh for each pound earlier ripped from her. Still, what was von Papen proposing?
The German diplomat smiled. If Molotov didn’t know better, he might have thought it was with warmth. “My dear Molotov, there is no reason for us to be enemies when our true foe is the United States. The Jewish capitalists will rule the world if we are not careful. If we destroy each other, the Wall Street barons will be in total control and will hold both our countries in bondage. You know that the Americans hate communism, and you must be aware that the Jew Roosevelt’s government plans to turn Germany into a vast farmland devoid of manufacturing and incapable of defending itself. It is a tragedy that we went to war and the Reich accepts the blame for it. Now, however, it is time to change the course of history.”
Molotov eyed the German coldly. “Are you saying there is room to negotiate?”
“Comrade, there is always room to negotiate.”
Jeb Carter whooped into his tank’s microphone at the sight of the German vehicles on the road parallel to his and only a half mile away.
“So much for them being the master race. They screw up just like everybody else and we’ve got them dead to rights.”
The German unit holding the crossroads had made a major blunder. Instead of heading east to safety, they’d taken a wrong turn on a road that looped west instead. By the time they’d figured it out and turned around, Morgan in his little plane had spotted them. Thirty German vehicles were all in a row. Most of them were lightly armored troop carriers like American half-tracks. Most happily, three trucks were towing what looked like 88mm antitank guns and they were accompanied by only a pair of Panzer IV tanks.
The Germans panicked, which was not a smart thing to do. Their vehicles scattered in all directions. Carter whooped again and ordered a general attack, a charge, with machine guns and cannon blazing from his dozen Shermans. The two German tanks gamely turned to protect their charges. Concentrated fire from the American tanks quickly knocked out one Mark IV and the other moved away in reverse, firing and keeping his more heavily armored front towards the Americans.
“They’re getting away,” Carter snarled.
He ordered three platoons to chase the other vehicles while the remaining platoon tangled with the surviving Panzer. A shot from the German blew the treads off one Sherman, but a pair of shells struck the Panzer, stopping him cold. Hatches opened and men jumped out while machine gun fire raked them. One man dropped and two others ran off. Carter recalled that the Panzer IV had a crew of five. Tongues of fire came from the hatches of the
