“The benefit,” von Rundstedt interjected, “is that we could potentially trap the Russian forces all along the Oder River. That would open for us the possibility of recovering most of the territory we had at the beginning of the war. But, more importantly, it would wipe a significant portion of the Russian forces from the table. And if we are going to win this war, we have to remove the Russian ability to fight.”

  Schloss frowned and tipped forward in his chair. “But if we lose another army attempting an encirclement like this, we will be in real trouble.”

  “Herr Schloss,” Guderian said forcefully, “we recently destroyed a Russian army that had invested Berlin. I would describe that as a very high-risk operation, and Rommel took the initiative and executed it before any of us knew what he was doing. But if he had not done that, we would be in a far worse situation today.”

  Schloss stood and walked over to the window. He preferred this view over the one from his window at the Reich Chancellery. He would miss this when they eventually moved the government back to Berlin. The generals’ proposal frightened him. Germany could ill afford to lose another hundred thousand men into Russian captivity.

  “How can we avoid another defeat?”

  “We are in much better shape with our bombing capability,” Guderian answered. “We are confident the Russians have not resupplied their forces along the Oder to any great extent.”

  “As far as we know,” Schloss corrected.

  “As far as we know,” Guderian agreed. “The Russians have also been unable to rebuild their Air Force in any significant numbers. Chuikov has been throwing the new aircraft into the fight in dribs and drabs. At the moment, we maintain control of the air. We have had the opportunity to perform another maintenance cycle on our mechanized equipment. The Russians lost most of their first-line equipment when we locked them in Berlin.”

  “So, you are saying we may not have another opportunity like this?”

  “No, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Guderian answered. “Our successes in this war have been from taking advantage of opportunities as they come along. There will be others, but this is a good one.”

  Schloss looked at the Reichsmarshall. “What do you think, Gerd?”

  “I believe we need to act quickly, Herr Reich Chancellor. If we do not, the opportunity will disappear, and we will have accomplished nothing.”

  “How soon do you need an answer?”

  “As soon as possible. I suspect Rommel has already started moving forces around.”

  “He has,” Guderian had his trademark smirk in place.

  “Very well. We need to take this to the governing Council. However, you have my approval to begin planning and lining up forces. The Council meets this afternoon, and I would like both of you attending, meine Herren.”

  “Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt said. “I am hopeful this will bring great encouragement to the Reich.”

  Schloss placed his hands on the desk. “Was there anything else?”

  Von Rundstedt sighed. “There’s still the matter of General Schörner.”

  “With the size of the forces we will be putting in place for this operation, I had assumed Rommel would be running it and Schörner would be subordinate. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then Rommel will be in a position to either lead the man or relieve him. Honestly, meine Herren, this is not something you needed to bring to me. Rommel should have taken care of it. And tell him I said so.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  Schloss stood up, as did the other two. “Thank you for coming in this morning. You will, of course, keep me updated on the progress of your preparations.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  As the two generals descended to the first floor in the elevator, von Rundstedt glanced over at Guderian.

  “Are you waiting for a good opportunity to tell me, ’I told you so, Heinz?’”

  “Of course not, Herr Reichsmarshall. The next time I talk to Erwin, I’m going to relay the Reich Chancellor’s disappointment that he was not able to handle this on his own.”

  As they left the elevator, von Rundstedt rolled his tongue around in his cheek and spoke dryly. “I believe that will achieve the desired effect.”

  § § §

  May 17, 1944; 4 PM

  Stalin’s Dacha

  Kuntsevo District

  Moscow, USSR

  Joseph Stalin puffed contentedly on his pipe as he watched his daughter Svetlana assemble a wooden puzzle at the side table in his office. It was the first time he had been able to escape from the Kremlin in several months, and he badly needed the change in scenery. His little girl needed to be out of the city for a while, which provided the reason for the trip. However, he did not have to answer to anyone about his travel schedule.

  He was comfortable in this dacha, although he rarely left the office when he visited the place. He rarely used the bedroom, preferring to sleep on the sofa in the office. The dining room was through the doorway on one side of his office, and he did entertain members of the Politburo occasionally at the estate.

  His thoughts turned to the war, and his stomach tightened up again. There was no question he had stuck his hand into an adder’s nest when he attacked Germany. His advisors had warned him about it. But he considered the risks of unrest in the Soviet Union to be far greater than what he faced with Germany.

  That the Red Army had briefly occupied Berlin despite tenacious opposition from the Germans told him the task was achievable. But, Stalin was forced to work with a subpar cadre that had proven incompetent. And, since the surrender of Smirnoff and Khrushchev to the Germans, the logistics had gone from barely adequate to disastrous. Whatever else he could say about the man, Khrushchev was talented and got things done. Now everyone involved in the movement of supplies and matériel to the West seemed intent on blaming each other for the shortcomings rather than stepping up to solve problems.

  “Are we going to have some ice cream, Papa?” Svetlana asked.

  Stalin pulled himself back from his ruminations and smiled at the girl. “Of course, we may have some ice cream, Precious. I was not paying attention there. I will call for some ice cream right now.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  After Stalin had instructed the Sergeant of the Guard to bring ice cream, he returned to his meditation. One of the reasons he liked coming to the dacha was that he could spend extended time thinking without the constant interruptions that were the norm and the Kremlin.

  Chuikov was preparing to force another crossing of the Oder River. Because of the failure to receive his supplies in a timely fashion, the kickoff date was still indefinite. Meanwhile, the Germans were reinforcing against the expected attack, and Stalin was concerned the Red Army would fail once again.

  If only he had military advisers in Moscow who knew what they were doing, but those men feared their own shadows. He needed to talk to Chuikov. Since nothing much seemed to be happening, he decided to summon the general back to Moscow to discuss some ideas he had pondered.

  A quick double knock on the door interrupted Stalin’s reverie, and the Sergeant of the Guard stepped in carrying two bowls of ice cream. Svetlana visibly brightened when she saw the ice cream, and Stalin enjoyed it as well. After delivering the ice cream, the guard remained standing in front of Stalin’s desk.

  “What is it?”

  “Comrade Malenkov is here, Comrade General Secretary.”

  “He can wait.” And Stalin waved the guard out of the room.

  “Now, precious daughter, we can enjoy our ice cream together.”

  “Yes, Papa. Thank you.”

  An hour later, Svetlana walked outside to visit the gardens surrounding the dacha. Stalin did not worry about the girl. A small army of guards surrounded the place, and ten of them were assigned to his daughter.

  “So, Georgy, what do you have for me today?” Stalin asked expansively.

  “I have the armament production figures for the previous quarter, Comrade.”

  Malenkov handed the folder to Stalin. He waited nervously while the general secretary perused the document.

  “We have constructed two-thousand tanks in the first quarter of the year. Is that correct?” Stalin murmured.

  “Yes, Comrade. The plant is now in full production. We are phasing in the upgrade with the 85 gun. I have shifted the focus of the development team to investigating quality issues. We have too many units requiring further work when they arrive in the Red Army depots.”

  “I trust you make an appropriate example of those who are failing the revolution, Georgy.”

  “Indeed, Comrade General Secretary, we are rigorously identifying the malefactors and correcting the problems. I have ordered the arrest of the factory manager. He diverted materials to the black market to finance the construction of his dacha.”

  This was a common enough practice, even in the Politburo. But, the factory manager had the poor judgment to divert material from a strategically important program. The example needed to be made.

  Stalin had laid the report on his desk and now worked on refilling the bowl of his pipe. Once he got it properly lit, he looked up at Malenkov.

  “It seems to me that things go well with tank production. Do you not let your attention drift. Now, what about our aircraft production?”

  “We are on track to produce about forty thousand aircraft of all types this year.”

  “And what of the new type based on what we captured from the Germans?”

  Malenkov swallowed. Though he felt prepared for this question, he wasn’t sure the answer would be satisfactory.

  “We have two aircraft designs in progress. The Yak-15 and MiG-9. We have succeeded in duplicating the engines.”

  “And when will we have production aircraft?”

  “We have constructed fifteen of the Yak-15. It is to give us enough aircraft for extensive testing and to prove out the production line. I anticipate the airplane being in production by the end of the summer.”

  “Not fast enough, Georgy.”

  “We have a more immediate problem with our aircraft production, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Stalin removed the pipe from his mouth and set it down. “And what would that be?”

  “As our aircraft leave the factory, they are immediately thrown into action. We cannot collect enough new aircraft to form squadrons and bring them into battle in sufficient numbers to make a difference.”

  Stalin did not reply for a few moments. He considered what Malenkov had just told him.

  “Are you sure our Air Corps members are not simply making excuses for their failures?”

  Malenkov hid his sigh of relief. He had successfully changed the subject, and it was something that did require attention.

  “I cannot speak to the failures of our pilots, Comrade, General Secretary, but we are not able to commit full squadrons to the battle because each squadron has lost most of their aircraft. When only two or three fighters can attack the bombers, they accomplish nothing. Besides the problem of the bombers, we get overwhelmed by the German fighters.”

  “I understand. It bears further thought, Georgy. I have summoned Chuikov to Moscow, and this is something I will discuss with him.”

  Malenkov nodded. Stalin placed his pipe back in his mouth and studied the document. After a while, he glanced up at Malenkov as though surprised. He waved his hand to dismiss the War Industries Director, and Malenkov walked out the office with a sense of relief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  May 18, 1944; 4 PM

  Reich Chancellor’s Residence

  Nordend-Ost

  Frankfurt, Germany

  Heinrich Schloss stood off to the side with his cup of coffee and watched the women of the house struggle with the recalcitrant baby. It was Gratia’s first birthday. Gisela and Frau Marsden, along with Marlena, Erich’s nurse, had worked hard to make sure everything was exactly right for the party. Unfortunately, Gratia wasn’t having it.

  The child had awakened from her nap in a sour mood, and events seemed to go downhill from there. Her crying fit had set Erich off, and now he wailed as well. The attempt to seat Gratia behind the decorated cake was notably unsuccessful, and they only narrowly avoided terminal damage to the cake from the flailing girl.

  Anna-Lisa managed to get in the way in her efforts to help with the problem, earning a rare rebuke from Frau Marsden. Hans followed his father’s example and stood off to the side, and tried to avoid engaging in the chaos.

  Gisela marched over to Schloss. “Do you suppose you might tend to your son, mein Herr?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  He set his coffee cup down and walked over to hoist Erich from the floor. He began pacing the room while patting the child.

  “Now, now, it’s not so bad.”

  Meanwhile, Peter sat on the other side of the room and watched the mayhem with apparent mirth, despite the glares from Gisela and Frau Marsden. Finally, Gisela snapped at him.

  “Are you going to allow your daughter’s party to be ruined, Peter?”

  “Ha!” Peter chuckled, pulling himself out of the chair. “This is not Gratia’s party. The adults are having a party, and the child is an unwilling participant.”

  “That’s giving it back, Peter,” Schloss laughed.”

  “And you, mein Herr, had better think about the possible results of your unhelpfulness,” Gisela said, pointing her finger at Schloss.

  Schloss seeing the opportunity for retreat, carried Erich from the room. The boy rapidly settled down in his father’s arms and was happy again now that he had escaped along with his father. Slipping into the kitchen, Schloss asked the steward for another cup of coffee, and he met Peter as he walked from the kitchen.

  “The strategic retreat was called for, Hennie. Even Frau Marsden couldn’t settle Gratia down.”

  “Children her age don’t understand about German discipline,” Schloss commented. “When you try it, you get frustrated, and the baby is unhappy.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Peter replied. “Much easier to deal with the diplomatic community.”

  “Even though they tend to act the same way.”

  “Absolutely!” Peter laughed.

  § § §

  May 20, 1944; 10 AM

  DOM Cathedral

  Frankfurt, Germany

  Heinrich Schloss looked around the interior of the downtown Cathedral in Frankfurt. The security implications terrified him. Not only was he seated here with the children, but most of the government was here as well. He approved of weddings in general and favored this one particularly. But a well-placed bomb would wreak havoc with Germany.

  Still, enough security was present to preclude an attack by some maniac with a gun. The Nazi party security team paid close attention to the Reich Chancellor and his family. The team was also responsible for Peter’s security as well as other members of the government. Karl Rainer had his own SS security team, and he made sure that his security meshed well with Schloss’s. The local Polizei was present in large numbers as well.

  The memories of the hotel bombing the previous fall were still fresh on everyone’s mind, and no one was interested in reliving that event. With the experiences of the past four years behind him, Schloss concluded he would never feel entirely safe for the rest of his life. He could live with that but could not avoid the contraction in his gut whenever he was out in public like this.

  Annalisa sat close to him on the left and Hans to his right. The two infants in the family had been left with a nurse, and Frau Marsden assured everyone they would be fine.

  The organ tone changed as the minister walked in, followed by a very nervous-looking Karl Rainer. Accompanying Karl was Peter Schreiber and Lane Johnson.

  The minister opened his arms and intoned, “All rise.”

  The congregation stood and faced the aisle as the processional began. The bride had insisted on an American-style wedding, and Schloss wondered what the Germans thought. Frau Marsden was the first down the aisle, acting as an attendant for the bride. Schloss almost burst into laughter at the incongruity of the scene. It was a day of great joy for the wedding party and their friends. But Frau Marsden glared at everyone, as usual.

  Gisela followed the old lady down the aisle as she was the maid of honor. Once the two attendants had reached the front and turned to face the aisle, the organ segued into the tune of Here Comes the Bride. Howard Simpson marched down the aisle with a radiant-looking Misty on his arm.

  Karl had an indescribable look on his face. For the first time, he had completely lost situational awareness since he was focused on Misty. Schloss found it amusing but was also inexplicably choked up. Karl and Misty were not only friends of his, but they were wonderful people. He was delighted that they would be together, even during this dark time in Germany’s history.

  The minister began working his way through the wedding ceremony. He was using the English ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer, which was a tradition in America. His heavy accent indicated a particular language barrier, and it was heavy going for him. Peter caught his eye, and Schloss could tell he found that highly amusing. Schloss decided to look elsewhere so that the children would not ask him what was funny.

  He decided to watch Gisela, an enjoyable pastime on any occasion. But she glared at him, obviously having figured out what was going on. That was kind of depressing to know that he could not fool anyone anymore.

  Thankfully the minister did not embellish the ceremony, and there was no other music. Everyone got through the vows in good form, and the minister pronounced the couple. Misty looked joyful as they proceeded down the aisle. Karl looked like he had been shot. Peter winked at him as he walked by with Gisela on his arm. Lane Johnson looked terrified with Frau Marsden walking beside him. The old woman seemed to relish doing that to people.

  Howard Simpson had rented a civic hall near the church, and it had been tastefully but extensively decorated for the reception. Since Gisela and Frau Marsden were part of the wedding party, Schloss was responsible for seeing that the children could partake of the refreshments and otherwise stay out of trouble. He was just as happy to stand in the corner with them, drink coffee, and allow the German glitterati to fawn over the newly married couple.