Truman shook his head violently. “Jesus, no. Already I’m being castigated because of the civilian casualties caused by dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I have no regrets regarding those two bombs since they ended the war and saved millions of lives, but I don’t want to introduce them into the European war. The American public was fine with killing Japs, but they would not feel the same way if we began nuking Germans, even if they were Nazis. There are scores of millions of Americans who are of German extraction and they would be outraged. And, like it or not, we cannot ignore the fact that the Germans are white and the Japs yellow.”
“That, sir, leaves a massive and bloody attack by us, the use of poison gas to root them out, or, despite your protests, a nuclear drop in some uninhabited Alpine valley to let them know we’re serious. Finally, there’s cutting off their Swiss supply lines and starving them out.”
“Is ‘none of the above’ on the list of answers?”
Marshall almost smiled. “Sorry sir, but no.”
“And what about the risk of a German nuclear bomb? Nobody yet has totally ruled it out.”
Truman stood and looked out a window. The antiwar crowds had dwindled since the news of the latest German atrocities had been published. Joey Ruffino had been true to his word. He had apologized in the newspapers and gone home. Truman wished him well. Maybe when this was over, he’d get in touch, maybe invite him to the White House for a real visit.
But first this war had to end. If it lasted another winter, the clamor for a negotiated peace would arise anew and with greater fervor. Memory of the recent atrocities would fade and Americans would want their boys home safely from Germany, just as they were beginning to return from the Pacific.
Truman thought for a moment and smiled. “General, here is what we will do. First, we will prepare at least one atom bomb to be dropped in the Alps. Publicize the fact that we have it and it might just get the Nazis’ attention. Second, we will inform the Swiss that their free ride is over, that they must stop supplying the Germans. Either that or we will take action to ensure that they do.”
“General Guisan will not like that,” Marshall said. “He’s repeatedly said that the Swiss Army he commands will fight and even retreat into the mountains if it is threatened, just like the Germans are planning.”
“The hell with General Guisan,” Truman snapped. “We will let him know that we might have to violate Swiss neutrality and enter her territory, but it will be only so that we can get those damn Nazis. And if he wants to retreat to his mountains, we’ll let him. We won’t go after him. He and all of Switzerland can sit there in the mountains and freeze their asses while we chase the Germans. And no, we are not going to launch a massive and bloody attack against German defenses, and it doesn’t matter if they have the bomb or not.”
Marshall looked at Truman. He was puzzled. “You haven’t said anything about the use of poison gas.”
Truman smiled wanly. “I know.”
* * *
Winnie sat on a park bench and pretended to read a paperback copy of Gone With the Wind. The novel was one of her favorites and she’d read it a number of times. She’d never been to Atlanta, although she’d like to, and she’d never seen a plantation, or a slave for that matter. Margaret Mitchell’s prose had brought those images alive for her. This version was a casualty of the war. In order to save paper and wood, it had been printed on sheets so thin that they were almost sheer. She felt that the pages would fall apart in her hands. If she ever got it home, she would preserve it like the antique it was sure to become.
No matter. She wasn’t there to read. Her job was to keep an eye on twelve-year-old Helga Suzanne Goebbels. The oldest daughter of Josef and Magda Goebbels and a couple of large and solemn guards, along with a pair of sturdy looking women, had gone shopping in Arbon. The thought amused Winnie. Arbon was a long ways from being a major fashion or retail center. It was nothing more than a very plain little town of no distinction.
It was clear that Helga’s two male guards wanted to be where they could actively protect Helga, using force if necessary. They were very concerned about their charge’s safety. They kept looking at Winnie as if they knew who she was, which she thought was highly likely. The two women were far more tolerant and it occurred to Winnie that there had been few excursions like this in quite some time. Even though the Goebbels family was safe in Bregenz, there was still the possibility that someone would change the rules of war and bomb the German capital.
She looked up and glanced across the park. Ernie was on another bench. He caught her eye and made a big production out of pretending to pick his nose. She stifled a laugh and pretended to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Later, she would tell him that’s what civilized and cultured people did back in Philadelphia. A microphone was under her bench and they were connected by a wireless radio, and it was linked to a nearby building where anything of note was being recorded.
“Why do you hate us?”
Winnie was startled. Young Helga was standing only a few feet in front of her. Damn it, she thought, she hadn’t been paying attention. Helga’s guards hadn’t been either and they moved up quickly. Ernie stood up and moved closer. Neither she nor Ernie were carrying weapons this day. Dulles had been adamant on that. Thou shalt not annoy the Swiss, was his command.
Helga turned to her guards and waved them back. “No one is going to hurt me,” she said in a small but strong voice. Reluctantly, they took several steps back. Ernie found another place to sit and did.
“I don’t hate you,” Winnie said.
“But you’re an American, a spy, and all Americans hate us. I even know you’re name, it’s Winifred. And the man over there is named Ernie. Are you two lovers?”
“No, we’re not,” she stammered, surprised by the blunt question. “And let me repeat myself. I do not hate you. Ernie does not hate you and Harry Truman does not hate you either.”
Helga smiled briefly at that and Winnie realized that the girl was really quite pretty. “But you support the Jews and the Jews are the cancer that is destroying the world. Hitler and the Reich were put on this earth to stamp out the cancer. Why have you stopped us?”
Winnie took a deep breath. “Helga, do you consider the Jews to be human?”
The question appeared to puzzle her. “No, of course not, at least not entirely. They are less than human. They might look human, but they are not. They rob and steal from true Aryans.”
“What about the Poles and the Russians? What about other Slavs and Gypsies?”
She shook her head. “They are near human, almost human, as well. Everyone knows that.”
“And the Japanese?”
“Disgusting vermin we Germans had to deal with. I’m glad they’ve been destroyed. Sometimes back in Berlin I’d see the little yellow men in their ridiculous uniforms strutting around Berlin and I wished I could strike them because of their arrogance. It was almost as if they considered themselves Aryan and our equal. I’m glad they were punished.”
Winnie was amazed. How could an open and pretty young girl say such things and do so without any apparent emotion. “Do you feel the same way about the murders of the Jews in the death camps?”
Helga became solemn. “I’m shocked that you believe that propaganda. There are no death camps. There are prisons and of course people have died in prisons. People always die. And the people in prisons are, of course, people who have committed crimes. Life in a prison is not gentle and it shouldn’t be. I’ve been listening to my parents. They say that the United States has no right to say they are more moral after bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki and killing hundreds of thousands of civilians, even if they were Japanese.”