Himmler had sent SS troops to Carinhall ostensibly to protect Goering from a possible coup. Instead, they’d taken him prisoner and had him sent to a small private hospital outside Berlin where he was under heavy guard. Goering, of course, was too far gone in a narcotic fog to realize what was happening to him. He would stay in the hospital and in a drugged stupor until a decision was made regarding his future.
Martin Bormann, Hitler’s secretary and party chancellor, held power only while Hitler lived. Himmler had taken steps to isolate Bormann. He was held in protective custody by another SS detachment. Himmler was exacting sweet revenge against the man who’d plotted against him and tried to humiliate him in front of Adolf Hitler. Sadly for Bormann, Bormann had forgotten that while he had great influence with Hitler, it was Heinrich Himmler who had a private army.
As further security, Himmler had brought in one of his favorites, SS General Sepp Dietrich, who had raced to Berlin with several thousand SS soldiers. Berlin was secure. Whether Hitler’s death was an accident of war or an assassination from within, no one but he would take advantage of the situation.
His secretary tapped on his door and informed him that Field Marshal von Rundstedt and Foreign Secretary Joachim von Ribbentrop were ready. Himmler preferred small meetings. Large groups, in particular during these uncertain times, drew attention and could lead to panic among the people.
The field marshal and the diplomat seated themselves and stared at Himmler with differing degrees of expectation and deference. Von Rundstedt was an aristocrat, while Ribbentrop presumed to be one. Like most aristocrats they looked down on Himmler and ignored the fact that Himmler’s godfather had been the prince of Bavaria, a fact that was important only to Himmler.
Himmler began. “Gentlemen, let me begin with the obvious. Our beloved Fuhrer has been brutally murdered by an American-British-Jewish conspiracy. Steps are being taken to track down and destroy the perpetrators and they will succeed. Several diplomats and even some generals are involved and will be dealt with severely. However, we have a tremendous duty ahead of us. We must win the war.”
Rundstedt nodded. “It is also an opportunity.”
“How so?”
Himmler could see the older man choosing his words with care. Hitler might be dead but it was still dangerous, possibly even fatal, to criticize him. Many generals, Rundstedt included, had been critical in the past. Rundstedt had criticized Hitler openly, mocking him as a “Little Corporal” in reference to Hitler’s First World War rank, but had carefully not crossed the line into treason.
Rundstedt smiled slightly. “Hitler is dead; thus, we will no longer have his brilliant intuition and inspiration to guide and inspire us. Instead, we must depend on our more pedestrian intellects to get us through the growing crises.”
Well said, Himmler thought, even if it was a bald-faced lie. “I am aware that the professional military disagreed with the Fuhrer on many occasions,” Himmler responded, “but had always acquiesced in the end. And look what it got us-France, Poland, and much of the Soviet Union.”
Rundstedt laughed harshly, more confident that his comments hadn’t been rebuffed. “It got us lands that the Soviets and the Americans are rapidly taking back from us. If we are not careful and if we do not act quickly, the Third Reich will become a footnote in history, and we will all be dead or prisoners.”
Himmler flinched, but he could not disagree. It was exactly what was preying on his mind and the field marshal was correct. On the other hand, Ribbentrop’s face showed shock.
“Then what should we do, Field Marshal?” Himmler asked. “How can we attain victory?”
“It may depend on how you define victory, Reichsfuhrer. If you mean forcing Russia, the United States, and Britain to the surrender table, such is not likely. If you define victory as the survival of Germany, the Nazi Party, and we here, then yes, that definition of victory is attainable. However, in order to do that, I am afraid that we will have to take some steps that are repugnant and even go against what our late Fuhrer has directed.”
Ribbentrop, attempting to be the diplomat, regained control of himself and kept his face expressionless. This was what Himmler expected. “Go on,” Himmler said.
“In order to defend Germany, I need men and supplies. It is that simple. Right now, many tens of thousands of trained German soldiers are languishing away, far from the field of battle because the Fuhrer declined to give up any ground we’d taken, especially against the Soviets. I suggest that the circumstances have changed and that we must act with decisiveness and haste while there is still time. Our scattered armies must be retrieved and our extended defensive lines shortened.”
Finally Ribbentrop spoke. “You would have us give up our conquered territories?”
“Quite frankly, yes.”
“Other than that, do you have a plan?” Himmler asked.
“In theory and development, yes. However, I am not ready to divulge it without input from Speer.”
Himmler concurred. The young Albert Speer was the Minister for Armaments and Munitions. The capabilities and limitations of the economy were paramount to their plans. “He will attend here tomorrow.”
“And what about me?” Ribbentrop asked, almost plaintively.
“With Hitler dead,” Himmler said, “you might find it easier to negotiate with our enemies. Sound them out. See who really wants this war to end and what their true terms are.”
In Himmler’s opinion, Ribbentrop was useless and his attempts to bring peace would prove futile. He’d failed miserably as a negotiator in the past, often insulting those with whom he was supposed to be negotiating. Would anyone ever forget the time the man greeted the king of England with the Nazi salute? And in London no less. He’d become the laughingstock of England and the diplomatic community. For the time being, however, Ribbentrop was the best he had.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt looked up from his stamp collection and smiled genially. “Well, is the fucking little paper hanger dead or not?”
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General George Catlett Marshall, no longer winced at his President’s obscenities. He sometimes wondered whether FDR swore to be one of the boys, or to aggravate his senior general, or because that was just the way he talked. Marshall thought the latter. Many people had canonized the President as the perfect man, but the truth was that he was a cripple who couldn’t walk a step, and a man who drank and swore. And womanized. Jokesters in the know laughed about his womanizing and some wondered who wouldn’t stray if a cold and stern Eleanor Roosevelt was all he had to come home to?
“Sadly, sir, we aren’t sure what his condition is,” Marshall said. “The Germans have admitted that he’s badly wounded, although they’re saying he’s recovering. They’re also saying it was nothing more than as a despicable assassination attempt and a Jewish-American conspiracy. They are again cracking down on dissidents, although I wonder how many are left after all these years. Whoever they are, I feel sorry for them.”
“And what do you think, General?”
“I think he’s dead.”
Roosevelt leaned over the desk in the Oval Office and stared through his glasses at the array of brightly colored stamps, some of which were quite rare. “And why?”
“A very ambitious Heinrich Himmler is in charge and several of those associated with Hitler have, well, disappeared from the scene and perhaps forever. I believe Himmler and Goebbels are setting the stage for an announcement of Hitler’s heroic demise, after which, Himmler will be proclaimed the new Fuhrer.”