At least the roads had been plowed, he thought. The latest round of snow blown in from Lake Erie had been pushed to the sides of the roads. He turned off the main road and drove up a gravel driveway to the small white wooden cabin. A battered pickup truck was parked a few yards away from the building. A couple of men got up and looked at him. They didn’t seem too concerned, which surprised Curran. Now, where were the others? The report said there were at least four men.
Curran got out awkwardly. His hip was killing him. “Okay, boys, who are you and what’re you doing here?”
The two men looked at each other and said nothing. Curran began to get angry. He did not like smartasses giving him the silent treatment. “Enough. Now answer my question.”
Two other men, each carrying military style rifles that Curran recognized as Mausers entered from the woods to his left. The first two men seemed relieved, while Curran began to feel decidedly uncomfortable. Damn it, maybe he should have radioed in for backup and just sat tight until it arrived.
Curran stared at one man who was being deferred to by the others while shifting his hand towards the holstered revolver at his side. “Who gave you authority to be here?” he asked.
“I gave it to myself,” the man said in accented English as he swung his rifle and fired. The bullet hit Curran in the chest, knocking him on his back. The pain was intense and he couldn’t breathe. His vision began to fade.
“I’m sorry,” the shooter said coldly. “You are brave but very foolish. This will make it faster.” The shooter stood over him and fired again, this time into Curran’s skull.
The leader of the group calmly lowered his rifle and spoke in German to his men. “Drag him far into the woods. Then drive that car into the woods as well. It’s time to pack up and leave. He will be missed and other policemen will be here before long. Now move.”
“A thought, captain,” said the oldest of the three other men.
Captain Albers smiled tolerantly. He and Sergeant Gorbach went back a long ways, even to the frozen suburbs of Moscow where Albers had lost a couple of toes to frostbite. “I have never been able to stop you from speaking your thoughts, sergeant.”
“Then may I suggest stripping the policeman’s body and dumping the corpse in the woods a few miles from here. I would also suggest putting the uniform and the car someplace where we can find them. Who knows, both might come in handy.”
Albers nodded agreement. A local police car and a uniformed driver might just prove useful.
“As always, an excellent idea, sergeant. I think it might be at least a couple of hours before the local police either miss this man or can even come out here.”
Albers gave quick orders to disassemble their priceless radio and load everything else, uniforms and weapons, into the truck. His men were all veterans and they moved with swift efficiency. Within minutes they were driving down the road with the squad car following. The half-naked body of the unfortunate Deputy Curran was in the trunk. Gorbach had even shoveled dirt and snow over where the policeman had bled onto the ground. With a little luck, other policemen might think that their comrade hadn’t even been the cabin. That would buy them some time and they didn’t need all that much to disappear into the woods.
Albers had four other teams in the area awaiting final orders, and he would join with one of them and await the day they were turned loose on the Americans.
General Heinz Guderian eagerly accepted the invitation to meet with von Arnim for dinner at his headquarters. He’d been out in the field inspecting troops and trying to stay out of von Arnim’s way while he prepared for the coming battles. It wasn’t easy. Guderian had a large number of suggestions he hoped he’d be able to make. He had to admit, however, that von Arnim had done a solid, professional job of preparing his growing army for the monumental task ahead.
Von Arnim greeted him cordially and, after an excellent dinner featuring the quality of steak long since unavailable in Germany, the two men sat across from each other on large leather chairs. A fire burned in a fireplace as they enjoyed their brandies.
Von Arnim spoke first. “Tell me, in your opinion approximately how many people know the attack will take place on April second?”
“Of necessity, dozens, perhaps more. The closer we get to the target date the number will grow and grow. It has to. Our men have to be prepared.”
“Yes, and that number will begin to include junior officers and enlisted men until practically the whole army will know the secret. And if they know it, the Americans will surely find out if they haven’t done so already.”
“But will they know or merely suspect?” Guderian asked. “Apparently the Americans had some warning of the attack on Pearl Harbor and chose to ignore the possibility. Stalin had some foreknowledge of our attack on the Soviet Union in 1941, but he too ignored it. Both countries chose to adhere to their preconceived notions and the results were disastrous. Will the Americans act on their suspicions and attack preemptively? I certainly would. However, they will not.”
Von Arnim laughed. “As would any reasonable man. The Americans are not always reasonable, however. Their military and political focus is on the destruction of Japan. Based on intelligence from our embassy in Washington, the American government wishes that any German problem will go away. I agree that they will not move preemptively. It goes against their absurd sense of morality.”
“Even so, you are not comfortable, are you?”
“No, I am not. Do you recall when I said that the time for the attacks could not be changed? Well, I didn’t quite tell the truth. The Fuhrer gave me some latitude in the matter. While I could not attack any later than April second if I wished to retain my rank and my head, I could accelerate the timetable. Today is Tuesday, the twenty-first of March. We will attack on Saturday, the twenty-fifth, only four more days from now.”
Guderian lifted his glass in salute. “Excellent. Now, how many of your men know of the new date?”
Von Arnim grinned in satisfaction. “Counting you, less than a score and all of them are sworn to secrecy. All commands have been ready in all aspects for several days and all have been told to commence hostilities at or after midnight on hearing the code word. The word, by the way, is Grendel, the name of the monster from Beowulf.” He sighed happily, “I always liked that tale.”
“As do I,” said Guderian. He was pleased. The April second date had been bandied around just a little too much for his comfort. The Americans had a phrase — Loose Lips Sink Ships — and he felt that loose lips also destroyed tanks and killed soldiers.
“Of course, not everyone will get the word,” added von Arnim. “In particular, I doubt if the men we’ve planted deep in the United States will all get the message of the change. They will begin their war on April second or any time after the twenty-fifth of March when they realize it has commenced. Who knows, staggering our efforts might just be more effective.”
“What about Neumann, the Gestapo, and the Black Shirts?”
“The Gestapo will recover. Neumann will be angry for a while, but my orders come directly from Adolf Hitler. He will not question them. As to his Black Shirt Brigade, they can all rot in hell for all I care.”
Wally and Jed Munro let their men stretch and get ready. There was a full squad of Black Shirts with them, and they were excited at finally being let off the leash. For too long they felt they hadn’t been permitted to hurt either the enemies of the Reich or those Canadians who hated the Black Shirts. The racially mongrel population of Toronto had begun to make fun of them because of their inactivity, and that was intolerable. They’d even lost a few of the brawls that had taken place. The Munro’s were beginning to lose both heart and manpower as several of the Black Shirts simply quit.