Schurmer turned and waved proudly. “Ernst my friend, we are now fifty or so feet underground in what will likely be Kesselring’s Army Group B headquarters in the Rhine Wall. Unless, of course, the command lines change, in which case Monteuffel will be the first tenant,”
Varner grinned. “And not Model himself?
“No, no, we would be far too close to the front for that senior a commander.”
It was indeed impressive. Thick reinforced concrete walls, floors, and ceilings surrounded them, while bare light bulbs provided stark illumination. Numerous phone lines and radios were set up, while wires carrying electricity were attached to the walls. It was a grim and utterly functional dungeon as well as a thoroughly modern communications hub capable of supporting the efforts of a very large army. Varner felt it was also extremely claustrophobic. The walls were drab and water stained from leakage, and there was the pervading smell of moisture. Even though there were food storage areas, kitchens, and lavatories, how long could large numbers of men exist like troglodytes before they went mad?
They had to laugh, however, over a bit of Teutonic thoroughness. Restrooms had been provided for both men and women. “Just what women would ever grace this pleasure palace?” Schurmer asked.
Varner shuddered. “The hell with toilets. Other than the main entrance, how many exits are there?”
“Two main ones that branch out into three exits each. They start shortly after leaving this area. I know what you’re thinking and it’s extremely unlikely that all six widely separated exit points could be blocked by artillery or bombs. We could also exit via ladders up the ventilation shafts if necessary, and not all of those are directly above the command bunker.”
“Wonderful,” Varner said. “Given a choice I’d still rather be in a tank. At least they can move away from danger rather than waiting out a bombardment. I had enough of that in Berlin when the bombs were falling.”
They stepped into an elevator that took them to the surface and welcome winter sunshine. They breathed deeply of the fresh air. “There are a number of senior command bunkers like this and countless other bunkers for lesser commanders and literally thousands for the rank and file who will comprise the Rhine Wall’s garrison. The Yanks and the Brits are in for an unpleasant surprise.”
“My dear friend,” said Varner, “I don’t think what you’re doing will be much of a surprise. Their planes have been overhead every day and they must have countless photographs of the construction of these structures in every stage of development. Seriously, I am most pleasantly surprised and gratified that they haven’t been able to disrupt your works and stop them while in development.”
“Oh they’ve tried, Ernst, they have indeed tried. We lost many good men along with a large number of foreign prisoners, mainly French and Poles, as the Ami bombers got better at their job. Still, they were only able to delay us a little.”
“Are you impregnable?”
Schurmer snorted. “You know there’s no such thing.”
Varner laughed. “I just wanted to hear you admit it. Actually, I’m going to tell Himmler that the Rhine Wall is so strong that not even the combined forces of God and man could take it. And, should the Wall be breached, it’s all the fault of one Colonel Hans Schurmer.”
“It’s good to have friends like you,” Schurmer said, happily returning the sarcasm. “Now you can play devil’s advocate. Tell me how you would breach the wall. I’ve been so wrapped up in building the damned thing I haven’t been able to look at it objectively.”
Varner thought for a moment. “Giant blockbuster bombs like the RAF uses would cause considerable damage if they hit on or close enough to surface bunkers, but I doubt they’d do more than shake the dust in the command bunker you just showed me.”
Schurmer nodded. Blockbusters could weigh from four thousand pounds to more than eleven tons and, like the name indicated, could destroy an entire city block. However, their destructive strength had been factored into his calculations. There was only so much destructive capacity that a bomber could carry.
American artillery would be used to clear out the smaller bunkers and would ultimately cause great damage once the Americans figured out which works were real and which were dummies. Still, well-embedded and strongly constructed defenses would stand a great number of American shells.
“I would be concerned with fire,” Varner added softly. “Flamethrowers shooting down the vents would incinerate or suffocate the inhabitants by drawing out the oxygen.”
Schurmer sniffed. “That presumes the Amis would be on top of us, like we were when we took Eben Emael.”
In the early days of the war, German gliders had landed fewer than a hundred men on the top of the massive Belgium fortress of Eben Emael. They had hurled explosives into the vents and forced the almost immediate surrender of a fort that was supposed to halt the German advance for weeks.
Schurmer dropped his voice to a whisper. “And what about the bomb Heisenberg is working on?”
“Are there no secrets in the Wehrmacht?”
Schurmer laughed. “All right, rumored to be working on.”
“Since the bomb has not yet been built, much less dropped, I have no real idea what the impact will be, no pun intended. Nor does Heisenberg. However, if it is anywhere near as powerful as what the little physicist thinks, then I believe anyone in your command bunker will be in a terrible mess if the Yanks should have one of their own.”
“And we will have the bomb before the Yanks make one?”
“Hans, who the devil knows what the Yanks will have.”
Sporadic rifle and machine gun fire came from the German village. German guns had found a home in the rubble and it would be a tough nut to crack. The 74th’s artillery and armor pounded away, making dust out of the ruins.
Morgan’s air force was on the ground getting refueled from their limited supply. Word had it that V Corps was running out of gas and that future flights would be curtailed. It was frustrating. Carter had complained that the U.S. produced more oil than anyone in the world, so why couldn’t they get it to the front lines? Of course, he knew his argument was irrelevant. Cherbourg and the other Channel ports were finally working, but the massive and growing American and British Armies sucked up immense quantities of supplies that all had to be sent to France by ship. It had become irrelevant where the tankers made port. The fuel had to be off-loaded onto trains and trucks and then driven to the front lines.
“White flags!”
Several white flags could be seen in the ruins. “Cease fire,” Stoddard radioed his units, and the shooting slowly stopped. Not everyone heard the order and some didn’t want to quit when there were Germans to kill. Finally, however, a strange calm prevailed.
A man emerged carrying a sheet attached to a pole. He moved forward cautiously, fully aware that hundreds of weapons were trained on him.
“I’ll handle it,” said Levin. He walked forward a few paces and waited for the German who was clearly and professionally surveying the American men and weapons arrayed against him. Well, let him look, Levin thought. Hell, he probably already knew all about them.
The German was tall, lean and late middle-aged, and carried himself with a dignity that said he’d been in the army before. He needed a shave, wore dirty and ragged civilian clothes, and an armband said he was an officer. Volkssturm had their own ranks and Levin was unsure exactly what the man was. Regardless, he wasn’t going to salute.
“Are you surrendering?” Levin asked in German.
“Yes. I am Major Otto Kuehn and I now command this Volkssturm regiment,” the German responded in English.
Regiment? Holy shit, thought Levin. How many men were in that damned village? “Tell your men to lay down their arms and march out with their hands on their heads. I’m sure you know the routine.”