Braun had begun to think that either getting jobs in a defense plant or actually doing something with Swenson Engineering might become necessary. Working in a plant had its merits. They might have access to areas that might otherwise be restricted, which could put them in a position to cause damage.
That lovely thought was quickly crushed when they watched how packages, even mundane items like lunchboxes, were checked by guards admitting workers to their job sites.
They had discussed assassinating prominent Americans but found the ones they’d like to kill, like Nimitz or DeWitt, too well protected, while civilian targets like Governor Olson or his probable replacement, Earl Warren, were not important enough. The deaths of politicians would not affect the American war effort. There was also the uncomfortable truth that, in order to murder someone with a rifle, the killer had to be within two hundred yards of his target and even closer if he wanted to use a pistol. Using a gun meant a high chance of discovery, capture, and subsequent death, which neither man wanted. Nor could they figure out a way to get a bomb anywhere near a human target.
Reluctantly they considered robbery as a means of funding their operations, but that carried its own inherent dangers. They might be recognized, or they might leave clues that local and federal police might follow. They were soldiers, not professional criminals, and might easily make mistakes.
A final alternative was gradually becoming the most attractive, at least to Krause. They would do as much damage as they could with the resources that remained. When these ran out, they would simply abandon their base in San Diego and head into the American heartland where, they hoped, they could disappear, picking up new identities and living quietly until Germany won the war. Braun balked at the thought. He admitted it might someday become necessary, but was convinced that they still a duty to perform and orders to obey.
They returned to the apartment above the phony engineering company, pleased that they had made a decision.
Krause sat down heavily on a tattered overstuffed chair in their living room above the shop. “So, what will our target be this time?”
Braun smiled knowingly. “With the chaos caused by the Japanese bombardments, I believe the Americans will be looking outward, not inward. Thus, I am comfortable with another attempt on their trains. Perhaps this time we’ll get lucky and hit one loaded with people. That will get their attention.”
Krause nodded agreement and raised his arm in salute. “Heil Hitler,” he said and then added sarcastically, “Heil Japan.”
Braun shook his head. “Fuck Japan.”
Farris and the other company commanders snapped to attention when the grim little major entered the room. They were in a small office in what had been their battalion’s headquarters. Farris thought in the past tense because he’d heard rumors of big changes afoot.
The major nodded. “At ease and be seated, gentlemen. I am Major George Baylor and I’m fresh from the Thirty-Second Infantry. I will be this battalion’s commanding officer. Major Harmer is being reassigned back east.”
This was said with a half smirk. Harmer had been a good buddy of Captain Lytle’s all the way back in Pennsylvania. When Lytle didn’t feel like drinking alone, he drank with Harmer. In the opinion of many in the unit, Lytle completely dominated the older Harmer. There were other rumors that Harmer owed Lytle money from back in civilian life. Farris felt that many complaints against their late and unlamented company commander were backstopped by his good buddy from back home. At least this Baylor character looked like an officer. Despite a lack of height, he looked fit and trim, and carried himself with what some called a command presence. Farris smiled to himself and wished he could do that. Maybe command presence was something that grew on you.
Baylor continued. “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors that the battalion is moving; well, they are correct. In a few days we will commence packing up and heading north. The powers that be have decided that the campaign in Alaska is moving in dangerously slow motion and needs to be goosed along. They are also seriously concerned that the Japs in Anchorage may be getting desperate and are going to attack what few troops we have in Fairbanks. They’ve already made a small move part of the way up the road in that direction.”
Baylor paused to let his comment sink in. “Gentlemen, that means at least six thousand Japs are headed toward an American force that is much smaller and in large part consists of civilian volunteers, along with Negro construction troops. You may not be aware, but there are no roads to Alaska, although one is being built. The engineers have been told to cut out the niceties and just plow through the trees as fast as they can so a line of vehicles, or even troops on foot, can get through before winter shuts everything down. Also, there is no rail line up there, and sending troops by ship is an obvious no-no what with the Japs controlling the ocean. And while there is an airfield up there, it is small and jammed with planes bringing in supplies for the troops who are already there, along with other support personnel who can expand the little base.
“That means we go by truck as far as we can and then we walk. Maybe that will give us a chance to improve on our recon skills which I understand are nonexistent. That doesn’t matter to the army. We are listed as recon and as recon we will go and as recon we will fight. Any question?”
Farris raised his hand. “Yeah, Major, when do we leave?”
“Two to three weeks, which will give you some time to get your men in shape and learn some basic combat skills.”
“What about our current tasks, like patrolling the beaches and walking the tracks?” inquired another company commander.
“If you can work it into your training schedule, do it. Otherwise I don’t think we can get too worked up about Japanese invaders. Saboteurs are another problem, and I’m not pleased that we’re cutting back on those patrols. Try to find some way to combine the two if you can. Smaller patrols works well for me. Any further questions? Good. Go back and give your units the good word. Farris, stay here. I want to talk to you.”
Steve waited impatiently while the other two company commanders, both first lieutenants, walked out. One glanced at him with what looked like pity. When they were gone, Baylor invited him to sit down.
“You’ve done better than well, Lieutenant, which is why I’m keeping you on as commander of A Company. We’ll get you a bump to first lieutenant to give you some credibility with the others, but I am impressed with the way you handled that burning tanker, and the shelling of Lytle’s HQ. I’ve read your reports and memos. Lytle forwarded them on to the division, probably hoping we’d use them to replace you because he thought you were such a pain in the ass. Fact was, we were going to replace him. We knew he was an incompetent lush, but we had other more important things on our plate. Sadly, we didn’t do it soon enough and good men died because of that decision.
“By the way, you were the only officer in the battalion who tried to do anything about this miserable state of affairs. All the others were quite happy to let things slide along. I will be riding a few people’s asses real hard to see who’s good and who isn’t, but I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you. Now, who do you want for a first sergeant, since that person was wounded?”
“Easy, sir, Stecher.”
Baylor made a note. “No surprise. Stecher’s short a stripe but we can take care of that, and it’s going to strip your old platoon of leaders, but I’ll juggle some bodies and make it work. Got any questions?”