“We kick-off the operation in three days, Comrades. The ToT will be at 6:30 AM on June 21. You have performed well in getting ready for this. Does anyone have any concerns or questions?

  “All things considered Comrades,” a Major-General said, “we are in better shape than any time since the start of the war. “

  “We have our preparations in place,” a Lieutenant-General commented. “The question in my mind is whether the Nazis will cooperate.”

  Chuikov waited for the laughter to die down. “The Nazis have not been very cooperative in this war. I hope to teach them better in just a few days.”

  “Execution of the Time on Target requires no great coordination on our part. But are we certain of the targeting information?”

  “It’s not as current as I could wish,” Chuikov admitted. “I worry that sending too many scouts into the area might spook the Germans, and they are unpredictable enough as is. Our mapping points are dialed in, though. You should be prepared to call fire down upon any units you stumble over. Just pay attention to your map grids. Colonel Lignarov doesn’t want you dropping rounds on his head.”

  The laughter was slightly forced. Friendly fire was a problem in all armies, and despite the pains the artillery groups took with the maps and targeting information, accidents still happened. The fog of war was a genuine concept.

  “Remember to push hard. Schörner has but four divisions. Once we encounter resistance, we will immediately move to flank the Germans. Once they are isolated from their train, we can cut them up at minimal risk. Beware, though, that Schörner has a reputation for being overly aggressive. Once we are in contact, he may push hard against us. Under those circumstances, retreat far enough so that the Germans are inside your flanks. Then you can swing around and have them in the sack.”

  Chuikov looked around the table. “If there are no further questions, you are dismissed. We will meet at the same time tomorrow. Please be ready with your status reports. That is all.”

  The general watched as his people left the room. His adjutant stepped to his side.

  “I’m just glad we aren’t trying to force a crossing of the Oder,” the adjutant commented.

  “As am I. I am hopeful we can punch through to Prague, and we should be able to do so. But once the Germans figure out what we are doing, they will respond quickly. That’s when things will get dangerous. According to the original plan for this war, we should be sitting on the Atlantic coast with all of Western Europe in our grasp. That didn’t work out quite as we expected, now did it?’

  “I am no longer sure why we are even fighting this war. I should think we would do better by being friendly and convincing the Germans of the superiority of the Marxist Dialectic.”

  “I have sat in the same room with the Party General Secretary along with the head of the NKVD and commerce. They are consistent in saying the Germans started this. Absent compelling evidence, I have to accept that.”

  The adjutant internally debated whether to say more. All the preparations originally made for the war told him that the Soviets planned to invade Germany rather than the obverse. There was a time to speak in the Soviet Union, and there were times to remain silent. He wondered if Chuikov believed everything the people in the Kremlin told him. Since the general hewed to the party line, the adjutant decided it was best to say nothing more.

  The adjutant decided to change the subject. “I am surprised the Germans haven’t noticed what we are doing.”

  Chuikov agreed. “They are hard to fool. On the other hand, Silesia is large, not to mention the Polish territory. This makes it correspondingly difficult to watch everything.”

  “I hope we can make it to Prague.”

  “Let’s try to be more optimistic, Tino. I believe we can get there. And once we are parked in Prague, we will have the interior supply lines. They will have a hard time dislodging us, and they won’t be able to flank us because of the terrain.”

  The general poured himself a cup of coffee and retreated to his office. He was convinced the Red Army was adequately prepared for this operation. He was concerned about morale, though. Even his adjutant seemed uneasy about it. Was there anything Chuikov could do about it? He gave it some thought as he drank his coffee and then called the adjutant into his office.

  “I’m concerned about morale. I think I will spend the day tomorrow visiting the commanding officers and provide some encouragement. The Germans are not ten feet tall.”

  “I will be happy to take care of it, Comrade General.”

  As he walked out of the office, he considered what Chuikov wanted to do. He agreed that the Germans were not ten feet tall. But they were all of seven feet tall. The Nazis had chewed up several armies worth of men and equipment and had stopped them at the Oder River. General Smirnoff was the only Soviet general who had succeeded in making the crossing and managed to capture Berlin, however briefly. The only reason the Red Army was still in the game was due to the superior numbers of men and equipment.

  For some reason, the adjutant had a bad feeling about the upcoming operation. Chuikov was a top-flight general, but the adjutant was convinced that the general was being too aggressive. It was a safe assumption that the Germans could also read the maps and know which areas were vulnerable.

  § § §

  June 18, 1944; 8 AM

  Pearl Harbor

  Hawaii Territory, USA

  Two anti-submarine corvettes accompanied the USS Essen as it steamed out of the harbor. It was a carry-over policy from the war when there was always the risk from Japanese submarines sneaking in to put torpedoes into ships that didn’t have the sea room to maneuver. It was probably no longer necessary since the peace treaty was signed, but Captain Alan Carper thought it was still a good idea.

  The watch-standers on the large cargo vessels and tankers generally paid attention to other ships but sometimes would not spot the low-lying submarines. Hopefully, they would spot the two small warships and start watching the ocean. Hopefully. This was why Carper was on the bridge when they left the harbor.

  Carper was also concerned about the scratch crew aboard the Essen. The only member of the original crew now aboard was the Chief Engineer. Scotty Attwater was a grizzled thirty-five-year veteran of the Navy and was probably why the previous crew did not fall completely apart. His seniority made him Chief of the Boat.

  There was no question about Chief Attwater’s experience, qualifications, and leadership. But there was only so much he could do with an incompetent skipper. Carper had sat on the review committee after Essen made port. Based upon what they heard, Lieutenant Steck was a whisker away from a mutiny. There were several bad apples on the crew, but everything that followed was the skipper’s responsibility. And Steck had taken a bad situation and made it worse.

  Chief Attwater had identified the troublemakers for him, so Carper was able to demobilize them. He didn’t feel good about dumping them onto the civilians, but there wasn’t enough evidence to send them to the Naval Prison at Portsmouth. Carper and Admiral Lockwood had scattered the rest of the crew around the flotilla. And between his and Jolly’s efforts, they had managed to scrape together a decent team. But that was just the beginning.

  Carper watched as the corvettes signaled God speed and turned away. Fifteen minutes later, he turned to the officer of the deck and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Okay,” Carper said conversationally, “sound General Quarters, Emergency Dive.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  A moment later, the diving klaxon began with its typical ah-oog-ah sound. The watchstanders slid down the ladders from their posts on the conning tower so quickly that they looked like they were falling. Carper took a quick look around and then jumped down the hatch. He quickly stepped out of the way so the OOD wouldn’t land on him. He then walked over to where the diving officer watched the controls. Rogers had the con, so Carper mainly observed.

  “Green board, Sir,” the diving officer shouted.

  A row of green lights indicated that all of the hatches and other openings were shut.

  “Dive, dive, dive,” the Executive Officer called.

  With a gurgle and a whoosh, the ballast tanks began filling with water. The sound was similar to one-hundred toilets flushing at the same time.

  “Ten degree down bubble,” Rogers ordered.

  “Ten degree down bubble, aye, Sir,” the dive plane operator replied.

  Rogers looked over at Carper and raised an eyebrow.

  “Two-hundred at five,” Carper said.

  “Make your depth two-zero-zero feet,” Rogers ordered.

  “Two-zero-zero feet, aye, Sir,” the dive plane operator immediately responded.

  “Turns for five knots,” Rogers again ordered.

  “Turns for five knots, aye, Sir.”

  The Essen was a new build German design and was very much at home in the depths of the sea. She was also quieter than anything else out there. Rogers walked over to stand next to Carper.

  “How did we look, Skipper?” Rogers whispered.

  “Slow.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “You know what you need to do,” Carper stated.

  “Oh, don’t I ever,” Jolly grinned.

  “I’ll leave you to your fun, then.”

  Rogers walked over to the sonar operator. “Anything on the roof right now, Eddie?”

  “Not unless they stopped to drop a fishing hook into the water, Sir.”

  “Let’s hope not. All right. Emergency surface,” Rogers ordered. “Surface, surface, surface.”

  “Helm, give me fifteen degrees up-bubble,” Rogers called.

  “Fifteen degrees up-bubble, aye, Sir.”

  The sound of high-pressure air flowing into the ballast tanks echoed through the boat. Carper could feel the surge as the motors went to flank speed. He put his hand on the corner of an equipment rack to avoid falling. Fifteen degrees might not sound like a steep angle, but that was really pushing it on a submarine.

  A minute later, the submarine was on the surface.

  “Rig for surface operation,” Rogers commanded.

  The diesel engines rumbled to life as the watchstanders scrambled up the ladder again.

  Rogers picked up the microphone to the 1MC. “This is the Exec. Department heads to meet in the wardroom in ten minutes.”

  “Going to tear a strip off of them, Jolly?” Carper asked.

  “You betcha. This was a really pathetic exercise.”

  “You get to teach them what the navy is all about, then.”

  “There’s a lot of fun in this job, don’t you know?”

  Carper laughed and turned to climb back up to the Conning Tower. “I have the con, Jolly.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. Captain has the con.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  June 20, 1944; 4 AM

  Liegnitz

  Lower Silesia

  Erwin Rommel stood outside of his command headquarters tent, holding his binoculars. The early morning quiet was now rent with the roar of artillery as the Wehrmacht began its advance towards Poznań. The commander of the armies in the East had designed an action that utilized a strategy perfected by the Germans – the lightning war, or Blitzkrieg.

  During the previous winter, Rommel, Guderian, von Rundstedt, and the OKW General Staff had discussed, debated, and refined a strategy to win Germany's war. They had dissected a compilation of successes and failures in the current conflict with Russia as well as the previous European war.

  The results of the effort were published in an operations manual that was distributed to the general officers and followed up with training seminars. It would ensure that the soldiers down to the unit leaders would know what was expected when they engaged the Russians.

  General Rommel worked hard not to show his nervousness in the days leading up to the offensive. Walter Model’s disastrous attempt to surround and cut off the Russian army in Poland was still a bitter memory, and no one wanted a repeat of that failure. And Rommel was using a similar strategy for this offensive. Once again, Heinz Guderian made sure to keep the governing council of the nation informed of his plans. He had learned that if Heinrich Schloss was involved in the discussions and decisions concerning the attack, he would freely accept responsibility for any failures.

  This time, Rommel would refuse to accept failure. A significant component for success lay in attitude and morale. As far as anyone could tell, the Wehrmacht was determined to win this one. Still, Rommel could not quiet the roiling in his stomach as the first units advanced out of Liegnitz.

  Rommel’s adjutant slipped up next to him. “All is well, so far, Herr General.”

  “Everyone got off all right, then?” he asked.

  “Yes, Herr General.” the adjutant replied. “There were no delays, which, I believe, is a first for us.”

  Rommel chuckled. “Maybe Herr Murphy is still in bed.”

  “We can hope,” the colonel replied fervently. “Predicting the Russian reaction is something I have given thought to during the night hours.”

  “Why, Colonel Lehmann, are you telling me that you didn’t sleep like a baby last night?”

  “Did you, Herr General?”

  “I believe the answer would fall under command confidentiality.”

  Lehmann nodded. “I understand.”

  Rommel glanced at his watch in the early morning darkness. The faint light of the radium treated dial allowed him to see the time,

  “I suppose we should begin preparations to move the command post forward. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the first delay.”

  “Of course not.”

  The ripping-canvass sound of artillery shells was followed by an explosion. It seemed nearer than the artillery emplacements.

  “It looks like the Ivans were quick off the mark on their counter-battery,” Rommel commented.

  “I should, perhaps, get back to work, then,” Lehmann responded.

  “Yes, I think you should, as should I. Enough wool-gathering, Johann.”

  The officers and clerks in the command tent were efficiently marking positions on the acetate overlay hanging with the map. Privates and corporals manned a bank of field telephones and quickly routed messages to the captains and majors who updated the plot. After Erhard Milch’s inglorious exit, von Rundstedt and Guderian had worked wonders in quickly restoring efficiency and esprit to the Wehrmacht. And the sense of optimism was apparent in the tent, and Rommel hoped that optimism was not misplaced.

  § § §

  June 20, 1944; 4 AM

  Hirschberg im Riesengebirge

  Silesia

  Vasily Chuikov walked quickly into the command tent and over to the map. The symbols were maddeningly imprecise.

  “What do we have?” he demanded.

  Brigadier General Plotnikov moved over to stand next to Chuikov.

  “The Germans unleashed a massive artillery barrage to the north of their positions in Liegnitz. It appears they are driving north again.”

  “Back to Breslau?’

  “I sent out scouts as soon as we heard of the incursion. We think they are headed to Poznań.”

  “So Schörner has made a mistake,” Chuikov stated. “Get the team together. I need whoever can get here by 0600. We need to decide whether this changes our plans.”

  “Whether to move towards Prague and cut off their supply lines or directly attack them?”

  “Correct. Start thinking about it, Comrade General. Whatever we decide, there is not a lot of time to improvise. I don’t think Schörner can hold Poznań, but if he gets there, he will make a mess of our supply train.”

  “I’d better get busy then,” Plotnikov murmured. He walked over to the plotting table and summoned the couriers. He began issuing orders. Chuikov studied the map and then walked into his office. The coffee had been prepared ahead of time and was ready. He poured a cup and sat down at his desk. He began doodling on a piece of paper. He was not drawing anything in particular, but pushing a pencil around helped him think.

  § § §

  June 20, 1944; 4:30 AM

  Frankfurt am Oder

  Germany

  Colonel Obrecht Kuhn stood on a sandbagged parapet and scanned the Russian position across the Oder River. It was a quiet morning. The offensive out of Liegnitz probably had kicked off at 4 AM. Rommel was a stickler for doing things correctly and on time. Kuhn shivered, although the morning was not that chilly. He half expected the Red Army to flow across the river into Germany proper, and he had little to stop them.

  The colonel was nervous about the strength of his forces since Rommel had ruthlessly stripped the German assets along the river to bare minimums to support the offensive in Silesia. And, Guderian had fully committed the German reserves to the operation. If something went wrong, there would be nothing to stop the Russians from marching to the Atlantic. He trusted Guderian and Rommel. And von Rundstedt was a soldier’s soldier. But the memory of Model’s Polish adventure was still fresh.

  § § §

  June 20, 1944; 5:30 AM

  Reich Chancellor’s Office

  Nazi Party Headquarters

  Frankfurt, Germany

  Not being able to sleep, Heinrich Schloss had been in the office since 4 AM. He had received the message from von Rundstedt that the offense had begun. Ironically, he had been able to forget about that for a while as he busied himself with the work on his desk.

  He had fortified himself with a cup of coffee before leaving the house and was just feeling the tendrils of sleepiness that came from getting up to early. Willem bustled into the office with a carafe and several cups on a platter. Schloss had been careful with his eating lately and so decided to reward himself with some Danish. Kirche had made sure to include several pieces of cheese Danish on the platter.

  “Bless you, Willem. I’ll take back all those things I have said about you.”

  “What things would those be, Herr Reich Chancellor?”