Robert Conroy - Himmler's war

“Yes sir.”

The colonel shook his head. This was news to him. “Well, I guess there are no minor accidents in an airplane. Not like a tank bumping into a tree. Hell, the tree would likely lose. We’ve lost men killed and injured in training, but nothing like ten percent.”

“Of course, sir, there’s also the thought that we have more than enough bomber pilots and planes?”

“What?” Whiteside said incredulously. “That better be somebody’s idea of a joke.”

“Sorry, sir, but it isn’t. There’s a feeling among air force brass that the Nazis are on their last legs and that victory is just around the corner, so a lot of pilots and trainees are being declared superfluous and transferred to other branches. Obviously, top brass doesn’t talk to me, but there are rumors and nobody’s disputing them.”

“Shit.”

“It gets worse. The air force thinks they’re running out of targets.”

“Bull-fuck and double shit,” Whiteside said, his face reddening. “Why don’t they come and ask the guys who are trying to clear Nazis out of the way? They want targets? Hell, I’ll give them a dozen just a few miles away.”

Whiteside again shook his head. “Jesus, what a war. Well, here we are, and, even though you don’t know diddly about tanks, I have no choice but to put you in charge of Headquarters Company B, the position held by your predecessor. You’ll be in charge of setting up the regimental headquarters when we move and for security at all times. The CO is Colonel Stoddard. He’s at division getting orders and you’ll meet him soon enough.”

Whiteside looked through some more papers. “You a college graduate?”

“Not quite, sir. I made it through three years at Michigan State College in East Lansing, Michigan, before I got drafted.”

“Life’s a bitch,” the major muttered. “I ran a hardware store in Cleveland.”

“May I ask what happened to the guy I’m replacing?”

“What happened shouldn’t have. I wrote a letter to his family saying that his Jeep struck a mine and he’d been killed instantly. Of course it didn’t happen that way. He saw a dead kraut officer and tried to take the dead guy’s Luger as a souvenir. Unfortunately, the body was booby-trapped and your predecessor lost his arms and his face. And he didn’t die instantly. He screamed for two hours before medics got enough morphine in him to shut him up. Permanently. Rule number one for rookie officers is don’t go souvenir hunting. I’ll have someone take you to your quarters and you can meet Captain Levin. He’s in charge of Headquarters A Company.”

Morgan was dismissed but had a point to add. “By the way, Colonel. Maybe you don’t want to wish for close-in bomber support.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter what propaganda they’ve been feeding you, but bombers can’t hit anything accurately from high up. If you’re within a couple of miles of the target, you’re in more danger than the krauts.”

“Shit.”

“Frankly, sir,” Morgan said wickedly, “the safest place to be when bombs drop is right at the target.”

First Lieutenant Phips did what he was told. In the middle of a clammy and rainy night, he gathered the crew of Mother’s Milk and they were taken away in two trucks while he rode in the back seat of an army sedan. The trucks were buttoned up and there were shades on the side windows of the sedan. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought that the army didn’t want anybody to see him.

And why not? He was a pariah. On finally making it back to base, he’d had his ass chewed up down and sideways for having broken formation; thus putting both himself and others at risk. He’d endured it because he knew his superiors and peers were right and that he’d committed a major wrong.

Even worse, one of his men had been killed and likely as a result of his stupidity. Phips had been told in no uncertain terms that it might just be a cold day in hell before he ever saw the inside of a plane from the pilot’s seat again. It was further implied that his crew would be broken up and that saddened him. They would pay for his fuckup and that wasn’t right.

Thus, he wasn’t really surprised when the trucks containing his crew went one way and he the other. He’d tried discussing matters with the sergeant driving him, but the sergeant tersely said he was not allowed to talk to him, which further depressed Phips.

After several hours of slow driving through the English countryside, they pulled up in front of a guard post where their papers were scrutinized and the car searched before being sent on. There was a splendid looking country manor house that might have been several hundred years old and it was surrounded by a several dozen large army tents and Quonset huts. To his surprise, they went to the main old building where Phips was hustled down an ornately furnished corridor lined with portraits of distinguished looking people in historic costumes, and finally into a room containing only a couple of chairs. His duffle bag arrived a few moments later and was deposited with a thud by his feet.

A little while later, a full colonel entered and glared at him. Phips snapped to attention and was told to sit down. The colonel was maybe forty and was powerfully built. Phips quickly noted combat ribbons on his chest.

“I’m Colonel Tom Granville with army intelligence and I’ve got a few questions for you. For the record, confirm that three days ago you flew a B17 named the Mother’s Milk over Germany, East Prussia to be precise. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Was your plane alone?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes sir. At least after we shot down that ME that’d been chasing us all over the place.”

“Good job doing that, by the way. And after killing the ME, you knowingly and intentionally dropped a load of bombs on some buildings you spotted at the last second?”

Oh Jesus, Phips thought. Despite the antiaircraft fire they had hit a school, or a convent. He visualized dead and maimed children. He swallowed. “Yes, sir. We dropped the bombs to save on fuel and the buildings were the first things we saw.”

“Any idea just what the hell you hit, Lieutenant?”

“No sir. One of my crew said it was Germany so it didn’t much matter and I agreed. We just had to lighten our load so we could get home.”

The colonel’s grim-set mouth flickered. Was that a smile? Maybe he hadn’t hit a school. Granville continued. “Well you certainly did hit Germany and you did make your way back, and you did shoot down that ME, and now we don’t quite know what to do with you.”

“Sir?”

“Without divulging our sources, let me say that we now know that Adolf Hitler was at one of his secret headquarters in Rastenberg, Prussia, when a lone American B17 bomber flew low over the compound and dropped a load of bombs on his ugly fucking head.”

Phips jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, Lieutenant, oh my God. Germany has just announced that he was injured in a one-plane bombing attack. However, we are getting subtle hints that his Fuhrer ass is dead and that his unlamented demise will be announced in a few days. This delay will give the new Nazi regime a chance to get settled. The krauts are saying it was a Jewish-American conspiracy to murder Hitler. However, we know better, don’t we? It was just one dumb, lucky son of a bitch in a lost B17 who dumped a load of bombs to save fuel and hit the jackpot.”

“And you’re sure I did it?”

“Yes we are and, until this all gets sorted out, you and your crew are going to be kept incommunicado. We don’t know whether to give you a medal for maybe killing der Fuhrer or court-martial your ass for breaking formation and maybe for losing a crewman. Maybe we’ll do both. A medal would look good on prison fatigues, don’t you think?”