Parallel nazi 07c1, p.21
Parallel Nazi 07c1, page 21
Wahlberg stopped at the entry desk and handed his orders to a Luftwaffe captain. The captain carefully studied the orders and looked up at Wahlberg.
“I don’t understand, Herr Colonel. There have been no movement orders for the flag officers in this camp.”
“These are the orders right here, Herr Captain,” Wahlberg tapped the paper with his finger.
The orders were legal. Why, Wahlberg’s staff had typed them up at his direction. He was surprised the captain had questioned him. That was nicht akzeptable.
“But, no one should be removed from this camp,” the captain protested.
Wahlberg decided the time-honored army method was appropriate to solve this problem. So he got loud.
“Captain, what is it that you don’t understand about the orders?” he screamed. “I am supposed to take herren Smirnoff and Khrushchev to a meeting, and I am delayed by sniveling incompetence. It is too bad the Gestapo is gone. But you will certainly be having a conversation with the SS about this.”
“Colonel…” the captain stammered. “General Guderian let me know in no uncertain terms that only he could authorize our guests from leaving the camp.”
“Who do you think signed this, you imbecile?” Wahlberg waved the orders in front of the unfortunate captain’s face. “Who do you think told me to get these men?”
“Listen,” the colonel continued, “you perhaps have not heard what is going on.”
“What is going on, Herr Colonel?”
“Not here. Come over here for a minute.”
The captain followed Wahlberg off to the side of the reception area. A few moments later, he returned, sliding a combat knife into the sheath taped inside the sleeve of his shirt. He nodded to the four soldiers with him. They followed as he walked deeper into the camp.
Each of the soldiers was a dedicated Communist like him, and he had carefully guided their activities in the Wehrmacht, and they would do as he ordered without question. And the plan was to take the two Russians away from the camp to someplace in the countryside where they could be quietly killed. However, Wahlberg’s inexperience at wet operations was what brought things to a halt.
The captain was not quite dead. He dragged himself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood, and reached up with a shaking hand to press the emergency button on the side of the desk.
CHAPTER THIRTY
June 6, 1944; 4 AM
Pearl Harbor
Hawaii Territory, USA
Chief Mayfield occupied his usual desk when Captain Alan Carper hurried into the office of ComSubPac. There was an impatient look on his face when he saw Carper walk through the door.
“The Admiral has been waiting for you, Captain,” he said reprovingly.
“Sorry, Chief. Someone got a truck crosswise on the dock when I was down at the boats. I had to wait for the dock workers to get it out of the way before I could get past. For some reason, they don’t have a lot of respect for Navy captains.”
“Sounds like they were smart fellers,” the chief replied. “You can go on in.”
Carper knocked twice and opened the door to Admiral Charles Lockwood’s office.
“Admiral, I apologize for being late.”
“I heard, Al. Not a problem. I always have plenty on my desk to keep me occupied. Should I have a word with Commander Tyler down on the docks?”
“No, Sir. Looked like a civilian driver got himself crossed up and drove out onto the wrong pier.”
“Very well. Siddown, Al. We need to talk.”
Carper took the proffered chair across from the admiral.
“How familiar are you with our relations with the Soviets?”
Carper raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard enough to know that we might’ve joined the Krauts in their war against Stalin if we didn’t have our problems in the Pacific Northwest.”
“That’s about the size of it. Stalin has managed to torque the Brits two or three times, not to mention what they did in Kabul. And then there was the bombing at the Royal Hawaiin.”
“Do we know that they were behind that, Sir?”
“Yes,” Lockwood replied. “It was open and shut. The briefing packet I received from CincPac confirmed it. And it brings us to the topic of this conversation.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Carper felt uneasy about where the discussion was leading. While he settled into his new role without difficulty, he was still getting to know his boss. The man was easy to work with and genuinely looked after his people. But Al still had a hard time reading the man, and it made him nervous.
“The government is concerned that if the Soviets defeat Germany,” Lockwood began, “they may increase their activities in the Pacific, specifically the Northwest Pacific.”
“Against Japan, then?”
“Against Japan and possibly against Alaska. They were sending money and arms to the Chinese communists, although that has all but stopped since Stalin invaded Germany.”
“I heard that the Soviets have their hands full in Germany,” Carper commented.
“That is true. But that war won’t last forever. Which comes to the crux of our conversation.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“We need to slip a sub into Vladivostok harbor and see what they have there.”
“So, we haven’t been able to get somebody on the docks there with a camera; I take it.”
“That’s right. And I think we’ve tried.”
“Navint must want badly to see that harbor,” Carper said. “Sending in a sub is a high-risk operation. Who did you have in mind for this? Even with the war over, most of our units have taskings already.”
“Who would you recommend, Captain?” Lockwood asked.
Carper pondered the question and shook his head. “I don’t know, Sir. We’ve been training our skippers to be aggressive and opportunistic, but I’m not sure that’s what we need for this mission. Probably chicken of the sea.”
Lockwood snorted. “Chicken of the sea, indeed. I like that phrase. I reached the same conclusion you did. I think I would like you to take the mission.”
“Sir, I didn’t see that coming. But this is something I think I can do. Which boat would you like me to take?”
“Your comment about the taskings for our boats is well taken. The Joint Chiefs told Admiral Nimitz that all of the current taskings are important, but we still have to do this.”
“Kind of them to manage CincPac’s resources for him,” Carper put an edge in it.
“Well, Nimitz wasn’t happy about it, to be sure. Oh, everyone agrees on the need for intel. But, there was some debate on how to go about the tasking. The Army wanted to send a B-17 out of Japan. But to see anything useful, it would have to fly inside the Soviet five-mile limit.”
“And it would probably get shot down.”
“I agree,” Lockwood nodded. “No, this is the way to do it. It’s a moot point anyway. Nimitz gave me the tasking, so we must do it. The only thing available that could do the job is the Essen.”
Carper sighed. “I knew my sins would come back to haunt me.”
Lockwood laughed. “Ha! You made a righteous decision when you fired the skipper last week, Al. He had completely lost control of the crew. I don’t understand how Dick Steck made it so far in the Navy. And he was a ring-knocker, too.”
“I don’t know, Admiral,” Carper said with a grin, “Annapolis turns out its share of idiots.”
“Don’t push it, Al,” Lockwood growled. “Just because you didn’t go to the trade school.”
“Right. How long before I need to sail?”
“I can give you a couple of weeks to collect a crew and get your boat shipshape. You can raid whoever you think you need to get a crew together, and I’ll give you cover when everyone starts screaming.”
“Covering it under national security usually quiets things down,” Carper commented. “Especially since it’s true in this case. Can I pull Greg Rogers out of his boat to be my exec for this trip?”
Lockwood nodded slowly. “Yes, I think you may. I was probably going to give him Essen anyway. He has done well on Hessian.”
“So, can I let him know that he can have the boat after this mission?”
“Let’s not tip our hands just yet. Jolly knows his capabilities, and he has let it be known he would prefer we not demobilize him. Let’s see how things go. And I have one other task for you.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“We are reactivating the base at Subic Bay. The Fulton will be leaving San Diego on or about July first for Manila. She will support the subs until we get the base back in operation. I want you to sail there after your mission and get the submarine operations settled down. I’ll fly the debrief team out there to talk to you.”
“So Subic will be a forward base for us, then, Sir?” Carper asked.
“Yes. We are negotiating with the Japanese for basing rights in Yokosuka and whatever else we can grab. But the Filipinos want us back in Subic, and it’s a great harbor.”
“A lot of history there, too.”
“Right. Okay, Al, any questions before I turn you loose?”
“No, Sir. I assume there will be a briefing packet on the mission itself?”
“Yes. That is coming from Washington, so you know how realistic it will probably be.”
“I understand.”
“Got my orders for me, Chief?” Carper asked as he walked out of Lockwood’s office.
“So far it’s VOCO, Sir,” he replied, meaning Verbal Orders of the Commanding Officer.
Captain Carper returned to his office and began jotting on a notepad. There was a lot that had to be done and not a lot of time to do it.
§ § §
June 7, 1944; 4 PM
Old Executive Office Building
Washington, DC, USA
It had taken Erich Schumann far longer to study the confidential document than he expected. The Americans had brought an almost Germanic efficiency to their documentation process. It provided more information than he expected to find, but plodding through the report was laborious.
Now that he had finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. After his lunch, he had returned to the office, and the Army sergeant had retrieved the document for him. Schumann had immediately noticed that the sergeant had neglected to relock the cabinet. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he had closed the binder with the confidential report and replaced it in the cabinet. He pulled out the top-secret version and returned to the table.
There was a significant element of risk to what he was doing, but the payoff would be considerable. He pulled out a Minox camera and began photographing pages in the document. He had to replace the film cassette several times because of the size of the document, but he was motivated to work quickly. The sergeant would return promptly at 5 PM to lock up the report, and he needed to have things in order at that time, whether or not he had completed photographing the document.
General Groves had scheduled a dinner with Schumann to review the German’s conclusions from the document. Following the dinner, Schumann planned on visiting the German embassy to deliver the films to the military attaché. The attaché was a covert member of the Munich Faction and would ensure that the films were developed, printed, and sent to an anonymous office in Munich rather than Frankfurt.
Whenever the true Nazis regained power in Germany, Schumann expected to be appointed to run the atomic project in the place of that Jew lover, Heisenberg. And with the development of atomic weapons, he expected Germany would soon rule the world. It was an honor as well as intimidating to be a part of such a powerful destiny.
He had glanced at his watch and saw that he had a half-hour remaining before he would expect the sergeant back. He looked up suddenly when he heard the doorknob turn. He quickly placed the camera in his suit-coat pocket and slid his notepad over the report. Perhaps he could fool the Americans at least once.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
June 12, 1944; 9 AM
The State Department
Washington, DC, USA
The Reich Ambassador to the United States, Hans Thomsen, felt uncomfortable as he was ushered into Cordell Hull’s office. He wasn’t quite sure, yet, what had happened, but Erich Schumann had managed to slam his fingers in the car door in dramatic fashion. The need for ministerial-level people to deal with the problem indicated its severity.
“Thank you for coming to see me this morning, Mr. Ambassador,” Hull started the meeting.
“I am always willing to consult with our American friends, Mr. Secretary. How may I help you this morning.”
“This has to do with the German representative appointed to observe our cleanup operations for the industrial accident out west.”
“Yes, Erich Schumann. May I assume that something bad has happened.”
“You may,” Hull’s said coldly. “We had given Mr. Schumann access to a confidential document reviewing the accident and the cleanup operations. Somehow he got hold of the secret version of the document and was in the process of photographing it. It is a serious breach of trust, and the President has asked me to speak to you on this matter.”
Thomsen took a deep breath. It was far worse than he expected. He knew that Germany supported a string of agents in Washington. Everybody did this. But when the Americans allowed a special representative of the Reich to participate in one of their most closely guarded secrets, everyone understood the sensitivity of the activities.
“I… I don’t know what to say, Mr. Secretary. I agree that this is a serious matter. The Reich Chancellor gave solemn assurances that we would respect the confidentiality of the material, and he communicated that intent to me. How was Mr. Schumann able to gain access to the secret material?”
“We are not entirely sure at this point. Our preliminary investigation indicated that an oversight on the part of US Army personnel. This allowed Mr. Schumann to see the secret document. We are investigating everyone involved, including General Groves. Mr. Schumann has not been cooperating. Since he does not have diplomatic immunity, he will likely face some kind of legal jeopardy.”
“I understand. What can I do to help?”
“Would it be possible for you to speak with Mr. Schumann? He is facing espionage charges which mandate long prison sentences and may include the death penalty, and we are not sure he understands what he faces.”
“Of course, I would be glad to speak with him. I don’t understand what he was thinking. I saw the briefing packet he was given before his trip over here. His mission was to learn how we could avoid a similar accident in Germany.”
“Precisely. I must say that I am dismayed about Doctor Schumann’s actions. The president asked me to, and I quote, find out what the hell is going on.”
“I’m sure the Reich Chancellor’s reaction will be more colorful,” Thomsen noted. “However, I am prepared to proceed to a resolution.”
“When would you be available to interview the prisoner?” Hull asked.
“I am at your disposal, Mr. Secretary.”
“Excuse me, then, for a moment.”
Hull stepped into the outer office and gave instructions to his secretary to arrange a meeting for Ambassador Thomsen with General Groves, Erich Schumann, and whoever Groves thought should be there.”
Hull walked back into his office, and Thomsen stood up.
“My secretary will notify you when he arranges the meeting.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. And thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“You will forgive me if I do not attend the meeting,” Hull said. “I do not feel I could add anything of value. My purpose this morning was to serve as the messenger.”
“Of course, and I understand.”
Even by mid-June, the weather in Washington, DC was dreadful. The temperature and humidity seemed to wilt everything. Thomsen climbed into the back seat of the 1939 Horch Phaeton to ride back to the German embassy. Although the top was up, the side curtains were open, giving the ambassador a warm, humid breeze for the journey.
The workmen had completed the air conditioning installation in the embassy the previous week, which was none too soon as far as Thomsen was concerned. He now looked forward to getting back to his comfortably cool office so he could begin planning how to deal with the mess that idiot Schumann had caused.
Things had been going well for Thomsen. After Hitler’s death, Schloss had avoided war with the United States. This enhanced Thomsen’s position and worked hard to secure a good working relationship between Germany and America. While the two nations were not formally allied, they actively shared military information and were becoming major trade partners.
And now, this Schumann fellow was endangering everything they had worked to accomplish. The first thing to do was to draft a message to Peter Schreiber, apprising him of the situation and what Thomsen was doing about it. Then he would visit the prisoner and try to ascertain what was going on with the man.
§ § §
June 13, 1944; 6 PM
Chartwell
Westerham, Kent, UK
“I’m grateful for your dinner invitation, Dad,” Randolph Churchill said.
Winston Churchill looked across the table at his son. “I’m delighted you were able to attend. It has been too long since we have been able to simply talk.”
“How are you doing, really, Dad?” the son asked.
“As well as can be expected. My income from my lectures has exceeded expectations. I won’t become wealthy from this line of work, but it enables me to live comfortably.”
“That is good to hear. When the queen dismissed you, I feared everyone would be afraid to touch you.”
