On the last night of their honeymoon, she played for him. It was like he’d dreamed and she’d promised; only this time they both were naked.
Thus it was with immense sadness that they returned to their uniforms and duty the next week. Alicia knew that Tom would be treated to cheers and jeers while she would have to endure the winks and knowing smiles from other women. She would smile bravely and endure it. Like she had a choice, she thought. Missy told her to tell the girls that she had totally worn the poor boy out. Alicia assured her that would not happen.
She was at her desk at Camp Washington, going over some redundant reports, when she heard the piercing scream. She jumped up and ran down the hallway, nearly knocking over a Western Union delivery boy whose shocked expression told her everything. Oh God, she thought.
Mrs. Kosnik, everybody called her Mrs. K, was seated at her desk but slumped over in her swivel chair. She’d fainted and two other women were trying to revive her and hold her up. Mrs. K was a retired math teacher with two sons in the navy. Without being told, Alicia knew that now she had only one.
The telegram was on Mrs. K’s desk. It was short and terse. The navy deeply regretted that her son, Stanley, had been killed in action. There was no word as to when or where. She vaguely recalled that Stanley had been on a destroyer. Alicia wondered if the destroyer had been sunk, in which case the casualties might have been heavy, or if he had just been one of a smaller number because of Jap kamikaze attack. Did it matter? There was no mention of burial, so that meant he’d likely been lost at sea or buried at sea. Poor Mrs. K wouldn’t even have a grave to visit.
Mrs. K had revived a little and was looking around wildly. She caught sight of the dreaded telegram and moaned like her heart was breaking, which it surely was. Her two friends continued to hold her upright. Alicia tried not to sob, but it was helpless. Was this going to happen to her? For how much longer could Major Tom Grant avoid going into combat? How would she handle getting such an awful telegram?
Alicia’s stomach churned. She turned and ran into the women’s room and vomited into a toilet.
Captain Franz Koenig had been ordered to report to Guderian’s underground and hidden headquarters and wait for the general to return. As everybody else seemed to have something to do, Koenig went to the map room and studied a map of Canada, looking for updates and changes, and finding very few. Still, it was fascinating to see the forces arrayed against each other and wonder just how much of the information was accurate and how much of it was speculation when it came to the enemy’s forces.
The map of the Soviet Union on another wall was particularly vague. A massive German army had crossed the Volga near Stalingrad and was advancing towards the Urals. Curiously and despite the fact that the Reds were being pushed into a corner, there was little indication of any major Russian forces threatening the German Army. He found that difficult to believe. Were the Reds planning an ambush? They’d tried that before and had almost pulled it off at Stalingrad.
Koenig had read reports saying that the only enemy von Paulus’s army was confronting was mud. Russia in the spring was an ocean of mud. Better them than me, he chuckled. Koenig had heard Guderian and, before he’d been hurt, von Arnim, talking about the Russian campaign. Both had idly wondered if Paulus was up to the task of wiping out what remained of the Red Army. Von Paulus had been a good staff officer, but had not held a field command until Stalingrad where he’d almost lost the battle. Like most Germans, Koenig assumed that the Fuhrer knew what he was doing. He shuddered. At least he hoped the Fuhrer knew what he was doing.
“Like what you see, captain?”
Koenig snapped to attention. He was gratified to see that Guderian looked amused. “Sir, would I be impertinent if I said I don’t understand much of the rationale behind the distribution of our forces?”
“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” Guderian said, and idly waving for the captain to relax. “If you don’t understand what we’re up to, then the Americans might not either.”
The German forces in Ontario had been divided into two unequal halves. The smaller one, West Front, faced Patton’s army on the Windsor to Sarnia line. Despite the fact that a very large American army had crossed and confronted the German army, there had been little movement by either side. Intelligence intercepts said that the Yanks, stunned by their defeat east of Windsor, were waiting to get newer Sherman tanks to replace their pathetic M3’s. This could not be done overnight and it wasn’t just a case of swapping one tank for another. Crews and mechanics had to be changed and trained. What actually seemed to be happening was that American armored units with Shermans were replacing units with the M3s and all of that took time.
The larger portion of the German army was arrayed just east and south of Toronto, and along the line of the Niagara River. Many units were well back of the river, and that puzzled Koenig.
Guderian caught Koenig’s puzzled expression. “We have too much land and border to defend. Remember the saying that he who defends everything defends nothing? Well, that is the situation here, although we are in reasonably good shape. For the time being, the Americans cannot or will not either cross the Niagara River or launch amphibious operations against our flanks. Have you figured out why?”
“I would surmise that they are concerned about our submarines.”
“In part, yes. We have six U-boats in Lake Ontario and three in Lake Erie. The Yanks have no idea that the number is so small, and are looking hard for them. They are concerned about the possibility — no, the likelihood — of an LST jammed with soldiers being hit and sunk with a thousand or more dead. They are appalled at the thought of hundreds of bodies washing up on American shores. No, they will not cross either lake until it is safe.”
Guderian jabbed at Buffalo on the map. “Nor will they cross the river. For one thing, we have fortified it, especially the part east of the falls where we might be vulnerable. The part west of the falls is treacherous because of the possibility that men and boats could be swept downstream and over them.”
“A most pleasant thought, sir,” said Koenig and immediately wondered if he was being presumptuous. Too late now, he realized.
Guderian chose to ignore the comment. “An even more important deterrent is the presence of large cities in the area. We would probably wind up fighting in Niagara Falls, Ontario, along with other Canadian cities like Hamilton, St. Catharines and any number of smaller places like Niagara-on-the Lake. Street by street fighting would occur and, again, the attackers would suffer immense casualties. Also those places would be destroyed in a battle and, after all, Canada is an ally of the U.S., and one does not go around destroying allied cities if it can be helped.”
Koenig smiled. “And we would return the favor by bombing and shelling Buffalo and the New York version of Niagara Falls, among other American cities. This would horrify the American people who believe, foolishly, that they are still safe from war. I would presume that the only place left to cross would be around the Youngstown area where the river enters Lake Erie.”
“Yes, captain, you may presume that and you may also presume that we are fortifying that area as well. You doubtless further noticed that most of our best units are being held well away from either border, and that is so that we can react quickly once an attack actually does arise. Personally, I feel that they will ultimately attempt a series of amphibious landings both east and west of Buffalo while Patton puts pressure on us from the west. Now, captain, what are our weaknesses?”