“I must say that the government is far more coherent than I thought it would be after the move,” Peter commented.

  He sat in one corner of the parlor holding Gratia and exercising the rocking chair.

  “Far better than I expected,” Schloss replied. “I was pleased with how quickly things settled down.”

  He sat on the sofa, holding Gisela’s hand while using the other to sip from his omnipresent coffee cup. Erich lay sleeping in a cradle in another corner of the room. Hans and Annalisa sat at the dining table. Hans was working through arithmetic problems, and Annalisa was coloring ferociously.

  “If General Rommel can force Smirnoff to surrender in Berlin, will we move the government back, my darling?” Gisela asked.

  “That is a good question. I have pondered that myself.”

  “I wonder if it might be better to just keep the government here in Frankfurt until we get the war concluded,” Peter commented.

  Schloss set down his coffee cup. “I was thinking much the same thing. If we move the government back quickly, we might have to reverse things if the Russians come storming across the Oder again. Next time we might not be so lucky.”

  “Was Rommel wise to swing behind the Russians like that?” Gisela asked. “I mean, that’s how General Model got trapped in Poland.”

  Schloss laughed softly. “It is hard to argue with success. That being said, it was a risky move.”

  “Will this get him in trouble?” She asked.

  “Not from me. So far, it has paid off for us.”

  Peter chuckled. “You have to remember; this is what Rommel does best. He was in a similar situation with the English in North Africa, and he tied them in knots. I would say the Desert Fox has struck again.”

  “My main concern,” Schloss mused, “is that Stalin will move heaven and earth to open a path to Berlin.”

  “So you think he will try to pull his forces out of Berlin?” Peter continued.

  “No. I think Stalin will order them to hold Berlin at all costs.”

  “Does that mean we will eventually have to take back the city?”

  “Mein Gott, I hope not. This is where von Rundstedt and Guderian are clever. If we keep Berlin blockaded and let the Russians wither on the vine, they will eventually have no choice but to surrender.”

  “But is that realistic, Hennie?” Gratia was starting to fuss, and Peter’s rocking became more pronounced.

  “This is where we have to trust our generals, Peter. Now that we hold Frankfurt am Oder, Guderian is going to put Model back in charge. It’s a defensive position, and that’s what Model does best.”

  “From what I have seen, Model is a genius at that. What’s Rommel going to be doing?”

  “He’s going to visit Schörner’s operation. That’s the one von Rundstedt is worried about. General Schörner has done well so far, but he OKW does not consider him to be the best tactician in the Wehrmacht.”

  “Will von Rundstedt relieve him?” Gisela asked.

  “Not immediately,” Schloss replied. “So far, he has delivered. However, he’ll be the first one to see the Russians when they come over the hill.”

  “That’s kind of frightening,” Peter said. He now stood and began walking around the room, bouncing the baby.

  “Losing Berlin was bad. If Model can hold the Oder crossings, I think we have a good chance to turn this thing around. But things could still go very wrong.”

  “But, you still believe we will win this, right?” Peter asked.

  “I do. I don’t think it will be easy, but I think we can do it. I believe our original strategy is valid. If we do not allow the Russian bear to sink its claws into our forces, we can keep bleeding him. The key is to make it impossible for Stalin to resupply the red Army. He may not know it, but he is overextended. I want Berlin to fall back into our hands like a ripe apple.”

  Frau Marsden eased into the room and set a fresh cup of coffee next to Schloss. She then walked over to Peter.

  “She is fussy because she needs to be changed, Herr Schreiber.” She slid Gratia away from Peter and laid the baby across her broad shoulder. The baby immediately stopped fussing.

  Peter raised his eyebrows and looked at Schloss. “I wish I knew how she does that.”

  “I doubt you will get her to tell you,” Schloss smiled.

  “I know she won’t. Doesn’t that bother you, Hennie?”

  “Of course not. It is what it is. Some of us are more pragmatic than others.”

  Gisela looked at Peter and then turned to study Schloss. Then, she elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Quit tormenting Peter! What if he gets mad at you and leaves?”

  Peter chuckled. “Oh, Hennie doesn’t need to worry about that. I have too much fun at his expense.”

  Schloss turned to Gisela. “You see, he really does love me.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” Peter retorted.

  § § §

  March 16, 1944; 2 AM

  Near Lodz

  Soviet Occupied Poland

  “This is going to be tougher than I thought,” Sergeant Hans Friedmann said softly.

  “Is it even going to be possible at all?” Corporal Uwe Baumann asked.

  Once again, the two German soldiers from the Abwehr were moving on foot across the Polish countryside. While their friends and acquaintances in the German army were willing to swear that the two men were ghosts because of their exploits in enemy territory, the Abwehr operatives were aware of the risks. And those risks increased every time they slipped behind the enemy lines.

  Their control, Major Dagobert Damm, was as fully aware of the risks as they were. And while Friedmann and Baumann lurked in the Polish countryside, Major Damm sat in his office, chain-smoking and sipping scotch whiskey while waiting for any news of his people.

  The two German soldiers watched from a slight rise in the ground as the Russian workers feverishly repaired the railroad track. The city of Lodz was completely dark, but the Russians had trained banks of spotlights upon the work crews around the site, bathing them in almost daylight intensity.

  “They will have trains running through there by morning,” Baumann commented.

  “Just so. And the woods are crawling with Russian patrols.”

  The two men had twice nearly stumbled upon a group of patrolling soldiers. It seemed the Russians had learned a hard lesson about defending against sabotage and guerrilla attacks. Increasingly they were willing to spend the manpower to patrol along their railroad tracks to prevent interruptions in the traffic.

  “I think we’re going to have to withdraw and call it in, Uwe.”

  The Corporal chuckled softly. “No argument from me, Sarge.”

  The Abwehr had thoughtfully provided the two operatives with a portable radio. Portable was a relative term, and the radio equipment added 20 pounds to their gear. But it was this eventuality that Major Damm had in mind. The radio allowed the teams to avoid close contact with the Russians. He didn’t believe in sacrificing his people unnecessarily, and this was the best team he had.

  Friedmann and Baumann moved away from the area about two kilometers and halted along a hilltop copse. Baumann held the flashlight while Friedmann carefully tore a page out of a one-time codebook. He quickly scribbled a note with a pencil and then converted it into code.

  “Okay, turn around, Uwe.”

  Friedmann lifted a flap on Baumann’s backpack and slid out a radio key and headphones. He flipped a switch, and the indicator light began to glow. About 30 seconds later, he began to hear static on the headphones. With the radio warmed up, he began tapping on the key to raise the operator sitting in a JU52 orbiting above Frankfurt am Oder.

  Thankfully he quickly made the connection and transmitted the message. Hopefully, the Russians who remained at the worksite would welcome the Luftwaffe bombs at daybreak. After receiving the acknowledgment, Friedmann switched off the radio and replaced the headset and code key. He buttoned the flat back down and patted Baumann on the shoulder.

  “How does the battery look, Sarge?”

  “Still reading nearly six volts. We’ve been careful with it.”

  Friedmann flicked his lighter and held it to the paper. The note and code sheet practically exploded in flame, and very little ash remained.

  “That always amazes me,” Baumann commented.

  “Another little gift from the Americans.”

  “Where to now?”

  Friedmann studied their surroundings carefully. “I think we will just hole up here for the day, Corp. The brush is pretty thick, so it should be secure. Besides, we need the rest.”

  “I think I’m good for a while, Sarge,” Baumann said.

  Friedmann looked at his radium watch dial. “It’s 5 AM now. If nothing else happens, wake me at ten.”

  “Right, Sarge. Nighty night.”

  Friedmann rolled out his sleeping bag and climbed in. In the middle of March, the temperatures were still below freezing at night. He was glad they didn’t have to hump explosives down to the tracks. Observing and reporting was safer, although safer was a relative term.

  He pulled off his boots and slid into the sleeping bag. Gradually he could feel his feet again. Usually, he would drop off to sleep within thirty seconds, but this morning he was reflective. The two of them had quite a run, and they had numerous successful missions to their credit. He wondered how long this could continue. Although they were cautious, sooner or later, their luck would run out. It always did. And the longer he continued in this job, the greater was his desire to survive the war.

  Corporal Baumann was able to sit very still as he scanned the area and listened carefully. There was no benefit in being surprised by a Russian patrol. He watched and pondered. These lonely watches gave a man time to think. He thought about his chances of surviving the war and was not optimistic. The Sergeant seemed to be slowing down a bit. Baumann didn’t know if this was age creeping up or if Friedmann was just tired. But, he was determined to do everything possible that would help him avoid leaving the Sergeant’s body in the forests of Poland.

  Meanwhile, Major Dagobert Damm sat in his tent drinking whiskey and chain-smoking. The Junkers radio plane had retransmitted the coded message to him. After decoding it, he picked up his field phone and called the Luftwaffe liaison. He much preferred expending Boeing Fortresses to destroy the Russian infrastructure rather than losing irreplaceable field assets.

  CHAPTER NINE

  March 20, 1944; 9 AM

  Grandview, Washington, USA

  Brigadier General Mark W. Clark looked up as Chief Master Sergeant Irwin Jacobs knocked on the door frame.

  “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “An Admiral Raymond Spruance is here to see you, sir. He is not on the calendar for today’s meetings.”

  Clark sighed as he stood up. “I guess if there’s an admiral out there, I suppose I should see him. Send him in, Sergeant.”

  “Coffee, sir?”

  “No. I need to make this quick.”

  General Clark sized up the Admiral as he walked into the office. The two men knew each other slightly from before the war. Both had been identified for future leadership, and the number of senior officers in the prewar military was limited. The two men saluted and then shook hands.

  “What brings you to the end of the earth, Admiral?”

  Spruance shook his head. “The president asked the CNO to send someone out here who knew the difference between a porthole and an asshole, and I guess I drew the short straw.”

  “So the president decided I wasn’t doing enough to fix the problem here.”

  “No, General. The president and the CNO both made it clear that you were in charge. I am to suggest to you that you put me in charge of some aspect of your operation that you would prefer not to mess with.”

  “But you are senior to me, sir.”

  “Out of school, General, your second star is coming through in the next couple of days. For our sins, we have both been selected to clean out the Augean stables. As far as any blame is concerned, the president promised that any of that would fall back upon him.”

  “You talked to the president?” Clark asked. “And I’m not remembering my manners. Please, sit down, Admiral.”

  “Sergeant,” Clark yelled, “bring in the coffee. And some doughnuts or something that would be good.”

  “Right away, sir.” the Sergeant called.

  General Clark slid back into his chair and gazed thoughtfully at Spruance.

  “You might as well call me Mark, Admiral.”

  “And I am Ray. And yes, I was at the White House, and I was supposed to be reporting to San Diego. When I arrived there, I got put on a B-25 and flown to Washington. And please pardon my appearance. I thought fortune had smiled on me when I snagged the seat on a C-54 out of Pearl. Right after I talked to the president, they shoved me into another B-25, and here I am.”

  “Clark snorted. “I thought you looked a little dog-eared for an admiral.”

  “With your permission, General, I plan to find someplace to get cleaned up and then come back here to do whatever you need me to do.”

  The desk sergeant knocked and then entered the office with a pitcher of coffee and two mugs in one hand and a plate of donuts in the other. He set the donuts on the desk and poured a cup for the two flag officers.

  Spruance snagged a donut and downed it in two bites. “Forgive me, General, but I’m about thirty-six hours since the last meal. The army usually throws sandwiches on the planes, but we got left out somehow.”

  “Will breakfast do, Admiral?”

  “I hate to impose, but I think it will.”

  “Sarge,” Clarke yelled again. “Rustle up some breakfast for the Admiral. He can eat in the meeting room.”

  “I’m on it, Sir.”

  Clark thought for a few moments and then reached a decision. “I think what I am going to have you do, Admiral, is manage the personnel side of this goat circus. I have my hands full covering the physical aspects of the disaster. If you can help arrange the resources, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  Spruance now studied the General. “They have you managing what should be an Army Corps of Engineers project, and you want me to handle G1 and G3.”

  “I think you’ve figured it out already. For a naval officer, you catch on quickly.”

  “I have my moments. You are not from the Corps of Engineers, right?”

  Clark laughed out loud. “No, sir. I am not. The Corps of Engineers has been blamed for this disaster out here, wrongly so, I believe. General Groves put together a first-class operation, and the fact that things blew up like this was just sheer bad luck for him.”

  “Scuttlebutt that has it that the President sacked General Groves because of the disaster out here,” Spruance commented.

  “As far as everyone is concerned, that is the truth. However, notice that General Groves now works in the White House as the President’s science advisor.”

  Spruance nodded in understanding. “So Truman got him out of the line of fire.”

  “That is exactly it. Groves flies out here every other week so that I can pick his brain. But everybody keeps it very low profile.”

  “I can assume, then, General, that the personnel situation here is as screwed up as everything else?”

  “Almost. I know you probably won’t be able to do much until your staff gets here, but I’ve got two captains and a major trying to manage it for me. They are dedicated, but they don’t really have the experience to make good decisions.”

  “I don’t have a staff, General. The CNO told me he would send me whatever odds and sods he could scrape up. If I can identify people to help, he would do his best to get him released to me. What I can’t do, however, is take staff from Admiral Nimitz. Things are quieting down a lot in the Pacific, but the war is not technically over.”

  “And we have a Corps of Engineers Captain who likes to get his jollies by blowing up hotels.”

  “God, General, what a mess that was! We were lucky no one on the negotiating teams got killed. It was bad enough to nail five civilians.”

  Clark looked down at his desk and the stack of paper that he needed to read. He looked back up at Spruance.

  “I’d like to chat for a while, Ray, but I have several urgent items to cover this morning, and you need to get settled in. May I suggest we meet for dinner so we can start hashing things out.”

  Spruance stood. “That would be very good, General.”

  “Sergeant!” Clark yelled.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Please see to it that Admiral Spruance is given quarters and then introduce him to the G1 and G3 people. And reserve a table for the two of us for dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away. I have breakfast coming for the Admiral, Sir.”

  Clark turned back to the Admiral. “Thank you for coming, Admiral. I do need the help. But, you’re going to be on your own in terms of finding staff and just about everything else.”

  “I understand. Thank you, General.”

  The two men saluted, and Admiral Spruance walked quickly from the office. Clark sat down with a bemused expression on his face. Just having a new subordinate drop in on him like this was not how the American military operated. Right now, though, everyone was making it up as they went along. Clark hoped that Raymond Spruance was as good as his reputation indicated.

  The sergeant guided Spruance into a side room where a plate with bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns waited.

  “God, that looks good, Sergeant. Thank you.”

  “If it is okay with the Admiral, I will have your bags placed in your quarters. When you are ready, I will take you to your office.”

  “You have quarters already? That was quick.”

  The sergeant looked apologetic. “Actually, I’m still working on it, Sir. And I’m very sorry, but it will probably be a single room in the BOQ. Living space is tight right now.”