a lover, who was killed in Poland. I had a brother who was killed in France. We grieved but thought Hitler would soon stop and all would be better, even though we would have paid a terrible price. But then he invaded Russia and later declared war on the United States and my family and I realized it would never stop until Hitler died. Now he’s dead and the fighting still goes on. Will it ever stop?”
There was nothing Jessica could say. She stood up and walked around the desk. Hilda stood and the two women embraced.
Colonel Tom Granville took the slip of paper from the solemn-faced young lieutenant who saluted and left as quickly as he could. Jeez, thought Granville, do I have that nasty a reputation? Or is it Beetle Smith?
He read the message, smiled, and walked into Smith’s office. The general looked up and grimaced. “Hitler still dead?”
“Yes.”
“Then why the hell are you bothering me?”
“Take a look at this, sir,” Granville said as he held out the note.
Smith read quickly. “How reliable is your source?”
“Very.”
Granville reminded Smith that he had been operating his own intelligence service and getting information from behind the German lines from a number of sources. Some were individuals who were heartily sick of the war and the brutality of the Nazi system, while others were simply hoping to save their asses if the Americans won, all the while hoping their betrayals would go undiscovered by the Gestapo. They were walking a fine line and one stumble could mean a horrible death.
He didn’t care about their motives, only that their information was accurate.
“Refresh me,” said Smith. “Who the hell is he?”
“His code-name is Crow, and he picked it out himself. Easier to remember that way. He’s a field grade German officer whose information heretofore had been limited to tactical issues such as unit locations, defensive strengths and location, and similar stuff. This is the first time he’s provided anything even remotely this big.”
“Do you know his real name?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
Tom smiled tightly. “When the war’s over, General.”
“Prick,” Smith said amiably. He fully understood that he didn’t have a need to know. “So this Crow makes contact with someone else who is higher up in the Nazi hierarchy who decides to let Crow in on a very important secret right out of the blue.”
“There may be more to it than that. I suspect a long-standing personal relationship, but we won’t know until later, if at all.”
The general stroked his chin. “So Crow is reliable and, therefore, you believe this new character he code- named Cardinal is on the up and up as well.”
“Sir, I believe Crow and Crow believes Cardinal. Crow explains how Cardinal got the information and it seems plausible.”
“A lot of people said the Japs wouldn’t attack Pearl Harbor and everyone thought that was plausible, too. Tom, do you believe in this enough to forward it up to Ike and then across the water to Marshall and Truman?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well then,” said Smith, “let’s do just that.”
Truman entered the Map Room, took a seat and lit up a cigarette. “What is it this time, gentlemen, good news or bad news?”
“A little bit of both is in order,” said General Marshall. “First, we have confirmed that the Nazis only had one bomb and do not have the resources to build another. This has come from Ultra intercepts as well as reports from people on the ground who have spoken to key members of Himmler’s staff. They also say that neither Heisenberg nor Skorzeny has yet emerged from Russia and are probably dead.”
“No loss,” Truman said. “Too bad Himmler’s not dead as well. Now, what about Russia?”
Secretary of State Stettinius responded. “It does appear that Marshal Zhukov has taken over, at least temporarily. He’s announced that a new prime minister will be elected shortly. However, ‘temporarily’ under those circumstances could stretch out into decades. Some of my analysts think Zhukov could be nominated and thus become the permanent head of state.”
“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.
