Robert Conroy - Himmler's war

Wall was about to respond when the man’s sergeant smashed him in the face, bloodying his nose. “Watch yourself or he’ll dump your worthless ass in this fucking river.”

What a wonderful idea, Tyree thought.

Margarete and the others huddled in the bomb shelter that had become her uncle’s pride and joy. The battle wasn’t anywhere near them yet, but it was evident that the Americans were invading to their west and, if successful, would overrun the farm. Now all they had to contend with was the sound of bombs and artillery. Nothing had yet fallen near them. Their move to the shelter was prudence. The laborers weren’t with them. They had their own shelter just outside the barn.

Magda looked at her daughter in the dim candlelight and smiled wanly. “I sure am glad we came here to be safe, aren’t you?”

Before Margarete could respond, her uncle glared at them. “We should be at peace. That fool Himmler should have negotiated with the Allies.”

Margarete was shocked. “I thought you believed in Hitler and ultimate victory.”

Her Uncle Eric sniffed. “I worshiped the ground Hitler walked on but he is dead and Himmler is a pale shadow of the man. I believed all this shit about super weapons and then we’ve used them-rockets and atomic bombs-and what has it gotten us? More death, that’s what. The Americans and British are still coming and we have nothing to stop them with. Tell me, when was the last time you saw a German plane, other than the pissant one Ernst and that boy you like arrived in? No, we have no planes and soon will have no army. The Americans can stand off and destroy us piece by piece and Himmler is letting that happen. If he cannot end the war then he should step aside and let someone who can take over.”

He coughed and spat on the ground. Bertha was about to scold him but saw the look on his face and changed her mind. “And I’ve had it up to here with super weapons,” he continued. “The V1 and V2 rockets were supposed to win the war and they didn’t. Then the atomic bomb was supposed to win it for us, and what has happened? Russia may be slowed down but the Americans are still coming. You know what that means? We don’t have any more bombs. We had one bullet in our gun and we fired it. We may have wounded the wild animal we shot at, but not mortally. Russia will be back and the Americans are here.”

Eric coughed again. The air in the shelter was stuffy. He was about to light his pipe when Bertha smacked his arm. He glared at her but put the pipe away.

“And tell me, little Margarete, what did you think of our army, the Volkssturm? Old men and young boys, wasn’t it? I should be in it. I got a letter calling me up and I ignored it. One war was enough. Half the Volkssturm will be slaughtered while the other half will surrender. It’s already happening,” he said glumly. “Germany is doomed.”

His rage out of his system, Uncle Eric looked fondly at his niece while Bertha remained stonily silent. “I may be an old fool, but I am not so foolish that I cannot learn.”

Himmler and the German high command had retreated to the reinforced bunker complex built for Hitler under the Chancellery. There was fear that the attacks on the Rhine Wall would bring on new and more devastating bombings of Berlin that would cripple Germany like the atomic bomb had wounded Russia.

Von Rundstedt thought the reason for going underground was that Reichsfuhrer Himmler was afraid. In his opinion, the former chicken farmer was himself a chicken. Himmler was pale, thin, and nervous. His hands shook and there was a twitch in his eye. The next few days would determine whether he and the Reich endured or would become footnotes in history.

Rundstedt broke protocol and began. “Reichsfuhrer, we have to make a decision. It appears that our plan to reinforce our troops confronting Patton might have been a mistake based on insufficient information. The Americans to the north used landing vehicles that didn’t need to be hidden. The sighting of American landing craft in the south was a ruse, a kind of Trojan Horse.”

“Why didn’t we see this?” Himmler said. His voice was barely a whisper.

Varner stood quietly against a wall. Because you didn’t want to see, he thought. But what game was Rundstedt playing?

“I’ve spoken with Admiral Canaris,” said Rundstedt, “and he is now of the opinion that most, if not all, of our observers in the north have either been killed by the Americans or turned by them. In short, we were blind but didn’t know it.”

Himmler nodded. “What do you propose?”

“The reserve army must be turned around to confront the American First Army under Hodges and not Patton’s Third.”

Fifty-three-year-old SS General Sepp Dietrich, who commanded the Reserve Army, stiffened as he realized what Rundstedt was proposing. He’d been recently promoted by Himmler to the rank of field marshal, which greatly annoyed Rundstedt who felt that Dietrich simply lacked the experience and qualifications to have such a distinguished rank or command such a large force. Rundstedt had suggested Dietrich, a mediocre general at best, command the Reserve Army, but had not expected the man’s promotion to field marshal. That Dietrich also looked pale and exhausted seemed to confirm Rundstedt’s doubts. But Dietrich was an SS man through and through, which meant that his total loyalty was to Heimrich Himmler.

“Can you do that?” Himmler asked of Dietrich.

“It will cost us,” he answered with surprising candor. “We are now moving our tanks and troops at night to hide from the Americans and are still taking serious casualties. In order to get to the northern targets we will have to move during the day and the Americans will hurt us even more.”

“But can you do it?” Himmler insisted, his voice rising. “Can you get your army to the Bonn-Remagen area and attack through to the Rhine? Can your army isolate the Amis before they become too strong? Can you cut them off and defeat them and force them to surrender?”

Dietrich looked like a man who’d just been offered a cup of poison. His reserve army had several thousand superb tanks, but the infantry was suspect, even though Volkssturm units had been reinforced by the remnants of SS divisions culled from the Russian front when the Soviets had stood down.

Before Dietrich could answer, Rundstedt turned to Himmler. “You have three divisions of SS in Berlin doing little more than standing around with their thumbs up their asses. I submit that they should be attached to Field Marshal Dietrich’s army to help make up for losses and to stiffen the spine of the Volkssturm.”

“But those forces are to maintain security in Berlin,” Himmler said in what was almost a lament. Varner was shocked by the pain in Himmler’s voice.

“Reichsfuhrer,” Rundstedt said coldly. “If the Reserve Army is defeated, then there will be no need for security in Berlin as the Reich will have been destroyed and we will all be fugitives. Berlin is not now directly threatened and won’t be if we win. If we lose, it won’t much matter. You have garrison troops, remnants of Luftwaffe units, Volkssturm, and even some naval units who can be used to secure the city. Three full divisions of SS troops could turn the tide of battle.”

“I could use them,” Dietrich said so softly that Varner almost felt sorry for the man.

“Then take them,” Himmler snapped, “and for God’s sake, win with them.”

Jessica was slumped over her desk in near despair. The rumbling sounds of battle could be heard in the distance and all she could think of was Jack. Was he safe? Was he involved at all in the battle? She thought she would be ill. Occasionally, thoughts of Jeb and Levin and the others she’d met intruded. She’d never realized how awful it was to have loved ones in harm’s way. She didn’t think she had the strength to go on, but what choice did she have? How did wives and mothers do it back home while awaiting news? The answer was simple-they endured their agony because they had to. There was no other choice.