North Reich (70 page)

      
“Ain’t no justice,” said Lambert.
 
“Of course, there rarely is.”

      
The men decided to keep their combined forces in the former German headquarters.
 
They would sit tight until relieved by other American units who were heading towards the area.
 
Landry had already made contact with units approaching the city and had gotten the word that the Germans were surrendering.
 
It made no sense to go out and risk getting shot by either a trigger-happy American or a fanatic Nazi.
 
No, their war was going to end with a whimper and not a bang.
 
At least for a while and maybe for a long while, Tom thought.
 

The war would be moving across the ocean, but he would try to get stationed at the Pentagon where he could be close to Alicia.
 
She hadn’t quite told him as much, but he was pretty certain she was pregnant and only waiting for him to get back safely before she broke the news.
 
She didn’t want to burden him, but she’d told Missy who’d told her husband who, of course, let it slip.

He was contemplating this when Sergeant Farnum, his arm in a sling, dragged in a very disheveled former State Department rep Wade Dylan.

“Look what I found, colonel, and yes, he was hiding.”

Dylan looked like hell.
 
His clothes were torn and his face was bruised.
 
“You didn’t hit him, did you?”

“No sir, he was that kind of a mess when I found him.”

“Neumann did it,” Dylan said.
 
He straightened up and fussed with his clothing.
 
“For some reason, he thought I had betrayed him.”

“Had you?” Tom asked.

To their surprise, Dylan smiled.
 
“Of course I had.
 
That was my purpose in staying behind in the first place.
 
Did you really think I was such a horse’s ass when you first talked to me?
 
I had a role to play and I think I played it quite well.”

“Bullshit,” said Farnum.
 
Tom noticed that Lambert was very quiet.

“Not so,” said Dylan, "and Detective Lambert can confirm it.
 
When I was first left behind, my contacts were with the State Department.
 
When the OSS came into being, Detective Lambert, aka Maple, was my connection.
 
He will confirm that my code name was Stanley, as in the Stanley Cup.”

 
“Curiouser and Curiouser,” said Tom.
 
Now more than ever he wanted to get back to Washington.

“What do we do now?” Farnum asked.
 

Tom stood.
 
“First, we get everyone the hell out of this building in case somebody remembers that it is the German headquarters and decides to bomb or shell it.
 
When we find another place to hole up, we wait for the cavalry to arrive.
 
Landry can radio our situation and Lambert, since the phones are working, why don’t you call Sherry and let her know you’ll be home for dinner.”

Neumann had again changed his mind.
 
Trying to make it west and then south to Mexico was absurd.
 
The only safe course was the most obvious.
 
He would surrender to the Americans along with the rest of Guderian’s army.
 
To do that, he had killed a German soldier and taken his uniform.
 
He then buried the cash he’d taken from the safe.
 
It was all either American or Canadian and would prove useful when he was released.
 
As a prisoner of war he would need no money and having any large amount would be suspicious.
 
He kept a hundred dollars Canadian for incidental expenses.

      
Months earlier he’d had his SS blood type tattoo removed from his arm, and now he was proud of his foresight.
 
When captured, the Americans would be unable to identify him as an SS officer.
 
He would be able to get lost in the crowd.
 
There was the remote possibility that someone would recognize him, but that was a chance he would have to take.
 
He would let the Yanks intern him and then wait for the opportunity to escape if he wasn’t released first.
 
At the rate things were going so badly for the Reich, it wouldn’t be long before there was an armistice. After all, who would want to punish a poor simple German soldier who’d been deluded by Hitler?

      
He staggered.
 
There was a sudden sharp pain in his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath.
 
He grabbed his chest and felt something sticky.
 
Blood.
 
What the devil, he thought as he slumped to the ground.

      
Almost three hundred yards away, Hipple grinned and lowered his rifle.
 
“Got him,” he said.

      
Canfield, who had been only a short distance away, had mixed emotions.
 
“Great shot, but we’re trying to encourage them to surrender.”

      
“Sorry, sir, but he had a rifle and didn’t much look like he was surrendering.
 
I won’t do it again.”

      
Canfield had nothing to say to Hipple who was clearly un-contrite.
 
It was one more dead German in partial payment for all the friends he had lost.
 
He just wanted this to end so he could go home.

Epilogue

As head of the Irish Republic, Eamon De Valera had many conundrums to resolve and this was one of the worst.
 
The old saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, had been Ireland’s mantra since Germany and Great Britain first went to war in 1914 and then in 1939.
 
Hitler might be a monster, but he was fighting the country that had oppressed and brutalized Ireland for far too many centuries.
 
For many living in Ireland, the thought of hated England being pounded into rubble by anyone, even Nazi Germany, pleased them.
 
The rumors of what the Germans were doing to the Jews were dismissed.
 
The idea of mass murder on the scale reported had to be untrue and besides, who liked the Jews?

      
Thus, Ireland had declared itself neutral, although taking limited actions that favored Nazi Germany, and these included providing sanctuary for U-boats in Irish rivers.

      
The Irish people were not without mercy and thought it appropriate that they sell food to the English.
 
It pleased them that Irish potatoes and other foodstuffs were helping to keep England from starvation.

      
All of this came to a halt when Germany invaded the United States.
 
The U.S. had been the land of hope and opportunity for the people of Ireland for a century.
 
Hundreds of thousands had immigrated to America and now, it was said, there were more Irishmen in the U.S. then there were in Ireland.
 
It went without saying that many tens of thousands were now serving in the American military and fighting the Germans who were at war with the hated English.

      
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, de Valera thought, but who the devil was now my enemy and who was my friend?

      
His secretary opened the door to his private office and de Valera nodded.
 
Two men entered.
 
Both wore the uniform of the United States army, although considerably rumpled.
 
They had arrived by submarine and had been able to freshen up slightly at the American Embassy before rushing to see de Valera.
 
The matter was that urgent, they’d said.

      
De Valera greeted them graciously, shook their hands, and told them to sit.
 
They were introduced as Major General Lucien Truscott and Colonel Thomas Grant.
 
They declined an offer of refreshments.
 
There wasn’t time, the more senior American said.
 
“Mr. President, we have news for you that might be quite upsetting and, if handled improperly, could result in loss of life.”

      
De Valera sighed.
 
He had a good idea what was coming.
 
“I assume you are here to tell me that you are going to violate Ireland’s neutrality.”

      
“Only if you force us to, sir.
 
Let me be blunt.
 
A massive American fleet is
en route
to Ireland and it is escorting a large number of troop ships.
 
Until England is stabilized, America has no base to use to bring the war to Hitler.
 
Thus, we must have such a base in Ireland.”

      
“And our neutrality means nothing?”

      
“Not if it costs American lives,” Truscott answered coldly. “We had hoped to give you at least a little more time, but we were delayed by bad weather and mechanical problems.
 
The American fleet is now approaching your shores.
 
Two divisions of American soldiers will be landing at first light at several locations.
 
It is up to you to either order your armed forces to stand down or to fight and be slaughtered by forty thousand well-armed and experienced soldiers.”

      
De Valera stood and the others did as well.
 
The Irish prime minister had no choice.
 
Not only would his small army be cut to pieces if it resisted the Americans, but it was likely that many would refuse to fight against the United States.
 
The U.S. could do what it wished.
 
Germany was in decline.
 
Not only had she lost badly in both North America and Russia, but, as a result, her satellites and allies were getting restive.
 
There were rumors of a negotiated peace floating around, and peace would be a very good thing.
 
Regardless what he thought about becoming a de facto ally of Great Britain, it was clear that doing so was inevitable and would put Ireland on the winning side.
 
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

      
It was two o’clock in the morning.
 
If he was going to communicate a message of non-resistance to his army, he had to do it now.
 
His secretary had been listening, his face pale.

      
“It would be idiocy for us to resist you,” de Valera said grimly.
 
“The orders will go out immediately.”
 
He nodded and the secretary skittered out to draft a short message.
 
“You’ve gotten what you wished.
 
You may leave now.”

On the Dublin street outside de Valera’s private quarters, Truscott and Grant breathed in the cool morning air.
 
It was still dark and few were about.
 
The car from the embassy awaited them.

      
Truscott smiled.
 
His mission had been a success.
 
The thought of Americans killing Irish was almost too awful to contemplate.
 
In a short while he and Grant would be flying back to Washington via Iceland and Gander.
 
With American forces in Ireland, Hitler would be further isolated.
 
He had made only one commitment to de Valera and it was almost funny.

      
No British soldiers would be permitted to land in Ireland.

Robert Conroy

www.spectrumliteraryagency.com/conroy.htm

After taking early retirement from automotive management, Conroy decided to combine his loves of history and writing. After discovering that Kaiser Wilhelm had plans to invade the U.S., he wrote his first alternate history, “1901,” in which the invasion took place. "1901" was a Book of the Month Club Alternate.  Altogether, seven of his novels have been published (plus two e-books) and three were nominated for the Sidewise Award, with “1942” winning the award for 2009.  He has also written for Military History Magazine.  He finds alternate history fascinating and the possibilities never-ending.  He will not run out of plots.