Robert Conroy - Germanica

“Give me the password,” one of the soldiers said in English and Tanner nearly collapsed with joy.

“I don’t know the password. I’ve been running from the Germans.”

“Sure, and maybe you’re one of those shits who’ve been disguising themselves as Americans and blowing up stuff.” From the way the others deferred to him, the speaker was likely an officer.

“My name is Scott Tanner and I’m a captain in the 106th Infantry Division. Who are you?”

“Not yet. I ask the questions. Hey, if you’re telling the truth, you were one of the yellow bastards who surrendered, weren’t you?”

“Not everyone surrendered,” Tanner bristled. “I sure as hell didn’t. Can I put my arms down?”

“No. Who won the American League batting title last year?”

“Lou Boudreau and he hit.327. Bobby Doerr was second.”

“Not bad. Now, who’s the coach of the Green Bay Packers?”

“I don’t fucking know and I really don’t give a shit,” Tanner snarled. “I’m cold, tired, wet, hungry, and I ache all over. I think I’ve got trench foot and I don’t want to lose my feet. Unless you plan on standing here talking all day, I’d like to see a medic and get something in my stomach.”

“Sounds fair,” the American officer said and lowered his rifle. “By the way, you’re filthy and you need a shave.”

Tanner knew he was filthy but hadn’t considered his beard. He checked his chin and realized he’d grown a fairly full head of chin hair. The officer grinned. “You look a lot like Abe Lincoln would’ve if he’d been a hobo.”

Others came forward and took Scott by the arms and gently led him back to where a couple of jeeps were parked. A soldier opened some K-rations and Scott wolfed down some biscuits.

“You know what day this is, Captain?”

Tanner laughed. He had lost track of days. “No idea.”

“It’s January first, 1945. Happy New Year. Maybe this year will be better than the last.”

Couldn’t be much worse, Tanner thought.

* * *

Life in Berlin revolved around the Allied bombers. The British bombed at night and the Americans during the day. Some days they bombed every day and night and some days they did no bombing at all. Despite the fact that it was a major target, the Chancellery, the hub of the German government, still functioned. Today there had been a pause in the bombing. Everyone understood that it wouldn’t last, but people would enjoy the respite while it lasted. It gave them a chance to shop for what limited and severely rationed food was available, and it gave them time to try to repair the damage to their homes.

Josef Goebbels, Martin Bormann, and Albert Speer had commandeered a small conference room and some privacy. They did not want aides and secretaries as possible witnesses. The three men glared at each other. Goebbels and Bormann were rivals and each despised the other, while Albert Speer was the architect of the Nazi’s war effort. The men were nervous. Bormann, age forty-five, had insinuated himself into the position of personal secretary to Hitler. It was a position of obvious influence. It also required a very annoyed Goebbels to defer to his rival, a man he thought of as a thug and a snake.

Goebbels was slightly older at forty-eight and much better educated. He had earned a PhD from Heidelberg University in 1921. He was the Gauleiter of Berlin and the Minister of Enlightenment and Propaganda. He had thrived by subordinating his personal ambitions to those of Bormann’s. He was also incredibly homely in many people’s opinion and walked with a limp because of a club foot. In all, he was an unlikely candidate to be one of the heads of the Master Race. That women found him attractive was generally attributed to the fact that he was powerful.

At forty, Albert Speer was the Minister of Armaments and War Production. An architect by profession and education he had excelled at providing the weapons the Third Reich needed to fight the long war. Despite Speer’s efforts, the war appeared to be winding down and defeat was staring at them.

Two other members of Hitler’s clique were not present. Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, was trying to lead Army Group Upper Rhine, while the Hermann Goering was in his mansion at Carinhall and doubtless trying out some new narcotic. Himmler would be kept abreast of the discussions, while Goering’s existence would be ignored.

The men were nervous and could not stop shifting in their seats. Enemy bombers were not overhead but they could be at any moment. There had been suggestions that the Party headquarters be moved to the vast underground military complex at nearby Zossen but Hitler had so far vetoed it.

Bormann tapped lightly on the table. “Let’s get on with it. Once again, the Fuhrer has changed his mind and not a moment too soon. It is becoming apparent that our offensive in the Ardennes will not be as successful as anticipated.”

Goebbels lowered his head at that comment. His analysis of the Ardennes offensive was a gross understatement. The offensive had involved much of the Reich’s military reserves and was rapidly becoming a total disaster. The defeat of the German armies west of the Rhine meant that so much less would be available to confront the Red Army as it approached from the east. It also meant that the defenses along the Rhine would be that much weaker against the resurgent Americans. It was a dismal situation.

Bormann continued. “The Fuhrer has decided that the German government must move to the National Redoubt in the Alps, and that includes everyone in this room.”

Speer looked up in disbelief. “We have no such redoubt. I was not permitted to go beyond the planning stages.”

Bormann eyed him coldly. “Knowing you, Herr Speer, you doubtless exceeded your authority and are farther along than you would like to admit at this time.”

Speer flushed. “In a manner of speaking, your words are true. What I did was prepare to move critical production facilities to new areas as we have been doing for some time and yes, that does include the Alps. We have dispersed our factories to protect them from Allied bombers. I also identified and developed storage areas to provide supplies for large numbers of refugees, and we have built living quarters for those who will work and live there.”

Bormann actually laughed. “And would the German army be defined as a large number of refugees?”

“It could,” Speer admitted, “but that’s not for me to decide.”

Goebbels was in turmoil. He and his wife had pledged to die in Berlin with his beloved Fuhrer. They had no wish to live in a world without Nazism. Now he was being given a chance to survive. No, he was being ordered to survive. “If it is the Fuhrer’s decision we will, of course, honor and obey it. Will he come with us?”

“Most emphatically no,” said Bormann. “He is determined to die in Berlin if the army is unable to hold off the Red Army’s hordes. Should that need arise, the Fuhrer feels that he should die for the cause of Nazism. He feels that today’s Germany does not deserve him or the Nazi Party and should be destroyed. However, he has decided that the seed of Nazism should endure and that it should be nurtured and grown in a national Alpine Redoubt.”

“Has he decided who should be the person in charge?” asked Goebbels hopefully. He and his wife had six small children. They had decided that they all should die and would not even think of surrendering. He already had the cyanide pills that would end their lives.

Bormann smiled knowingly. “You and I will go to the redoubt and run Germany together. You, Herr Speer, will also be there, and you will leave immediately to begin developing a new country.”

Speer shook his head. “This is a vast undertaking, or it could be. I will need to coordinate with the army.”