This time Colonel Downing was being very formal. Their conclusions would be kicked up to Eisenhower and maybe all the way to Marshall.
“Then it is your opinion, Colonel Grant, that Guderian will attack Patton and not the other way around?”
“Correct, sir.”
“And the others in the group concur?”
“Yes sir. We’re getting too much corroborating information from too many sources.”
If anything, they’d been overwhelmed with information. First, the photos from planes that flew with impunity over southern Ontario either took pictures or made observations. The Germans had done a masterful job of hiding their tanks, planes, and infantry from prying eyes, but their efforts were a long ways from perfect.
Eyes on the ground, consisting of Canadians who wanted the Germans defeated, along with the OSS, reported the movement of large numbers of tanks and manpower westward. Since that German line was holding its own against Patton’s pressure and didn’t need reinforcing, the only conclusion to be drawn was that a German spoiling attack was imminent.
These same eyes also reported that many of the tanks and other vehicles destroyed by airpower had been dummies. The vast majority of German armored strength had not been touched.
This idea had met with resistance from a number of sources. After all, didn’t Patton greatly outnumber the Germans he was confronting and wasn’t he gradually whittling them down? Breakthrough and victory weren’t right around the corner, but they did appear inevitable.
And as to the airpower being ineffective, that was absolute heresy to the air force brass who seethed at the thought. Yes pilots exaggerated, but film cameras did not, and they showed that between a third and half of German armor had been destroyed.
General Henry, “Hap,” Arnold commanded the Army Air Force and he was a firmly believed that airpower would play the decisive role in the Ontario campaign. He had been livid at the thought that the bombings had been so ineffective and flatly denied the accuracy of the intelligence reports.
The air force also refused to accept the idea that many of the “tanks” and other installations bombing had destroyed might have been dummies.
Downing was glum. “I don’t know whether we’re right or wrong, but I can’t imagine that Guderian, one of the leaders in blitzkrieg warfare, would simply sit by and let us punch his army to pieces without doing anything about it. It’s just not his style.”
“Nor can I, sir,” said Tom.
“Relax Tom, interrogation is over. I believe what you’re saying and we’re all on the same page. Von Arnim might let that happen, but that man got his skull crushed and it’s Guderian who’s in charge and Guderian believes in attacking.
Grant took a seat. “What do you think Patton will do with the info?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. I think the higher brass will argue the idea to death and give Patton a lukewarm and watered down warning. Ergo, you are going to Patton’s headquarters to give the great man a personal review of the situation. With a little luck, you might be there when the hammer falls. It’ll be great experience for you. Just try not to get shot.”
Alicia was dismayed at the thought of Tom again leaving Washington. Even though she’d been shot at by Canadian Nazis and bombed by the Luftwaffe, she still thought it was much safer in Washington than in Patton’s headquarters where the war was being fought on a daily basis.
Her work as a courier from the intelligence experts at Camp Washington hadn’t changed. Now, however, she and Tom had found a small, cramped, two room second floor flat in a house run by Mrs. Kosnik, the woman who had lost her son. She’d been living on the first floor and had been keeping the upper floor vacant for when her son came home. Obviously this was not going to happen so she decided to rent it to Alicia, a woman she considered a friend.
She had gone to visit relatives in Ohio and, even though grieving, was thrilled to have someone look after her house. Alicia and Tom were equally thrilled to have a place they could live in privacy in a town that was exploding with new arrivals and where housing was at an expensive premium. Nor could Tom pull rank. Downing had laughingly said that there were a quarter of a million lieutenant colonels within a three block area of the Pentagon.
The fact that they were within a couple of miles of the Pentagon was a further blessing. Rationing of many items was in full swing and it was getting more and more difficult for the average person to get gasoline, and almost impossible to get tires as production of both cars and rubber for civilian purposes was severely curtailed. As military personnel, they could gas up military vehicles and they did get more gas for their civilian cars. Alicia hadn’t owned a car, while Tom’s was a 1938 Buick, which he cheerfully admitted was a tank. She thought it was large enough that they could have lived in it if they hadn’t found Mrs. K’s flat. As an additional bonus, Mrs. K’s place had a garage and most of the time the car was locked away. Like most people, they either took the bus or walked.
Now there were long lines outside grocery stores. This was nothing new. The Depression was too recent a memory. Long lines of people waiting for food handouts had been normal only a few years earlier. Nobody was going hungry, but there were limits, especially regarding beef. Again as military personnel, their food allowance was larger than others and they always had the option of eating at the Pentagon or Fort Meade. Sometimes she felt guilty about that, but it quickly passed. She and Tom were serving their country, both had been shot at and injured, and both were working for military pay while some civilians were making obscene amounts of money. Her father had told her of factory workers making more than ten thousand dollars a year.
She laughed. Between the two of them they weren’t making anywhere near ten grand a year. Ain’t civilian life grand, she thought?
The federal minimum wage was thirty cents an hour and a prudent person could live on that if he or she didn’t live in an expensive area. Inflation was beginning to run about ten percent, which might just end that idea.
Alicia and Tom were privy to enough information to understand the horrors people were enduring in other parts of the world; thus, neither had any patience for whiners and complainers.
She had gotten out of work early so she could cook a special dinner for the two of them. He would be leaving Washington tomorrow. As she walked up the path to the house, she saw that a light was on in the upstairs living room. Tom was home first.
She opened the door and trotted upstairs, pleased that they’d have more time together.
“Hey,” yelled Tom, “I think dinner’s going to be late.”
“Why?” she asked as she entered the bedroom. “Oh.”
Tom stood at the side of the bed. He was naked and he had a bottle of wine in each hand.
“Who needs dinner,” she said happily as she began to undress.
Tinker smiled affably at the surly German guard. After a cursory look at his identification, Tinker was admitted to the headquarters of the German military establishment in Toronto. He entered through the back door, of course. He was a janitor.
He went to the cleaning closet where he got a broom, bucket and mop, and put them all in his push cart. He had the entire third floor to clean. With the tools of his trade, he was almost invisible. Nobody noticed cleaning people, waiters, or servants unless they did something to attract attention, and the Germans were no exception.
He entered the office next to Neumann’s and closed the door. It belonged to a Gestapo officer who was out inspecting the prison camps north of the city. Tinker knew that because he’d read the man’s schedule. There was shouting going on in Neumann’s office. If he was very still and listened intently, he could make out the words. Neumann was talking, no yelling, at the head of the Black Shirts, Jed Munro. The fact of their raid on the restaurant and the subsequent gunfight that cost the life of Wally Munro was all over Toronto. The civilian population was outraged at both the Black Shirts and their bed partners, the Gestapo.