North Reich Read online

  North Reich

  Robert Conroy

  Robert Conroy

  North Reich

  Prologue

  Adolf Hitler laughed sardonically as he read the latest communication from the Japanese Prime Minister, Hideki Tojo. It had been sent to Germany's Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop and forwarded to him. Several other high ranking Nazis gathered around Hitler in his mountaintop retreat, the Berchtesgaden, and joined in the merriment. Hitler laid the letter on a table and stepped out through the glass door and into the cold. The view of the surrounding snow-covered mountains was breathtaking, especially since Hitler was now at the top of the world he surveyed.

  With unintended irony, the Japanese letter was dated December 7, 1943, precisely two years after Japan's overwhelmingly victorious attack on the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor. It was now evident that the nation of little yellow-skinned and racially inferior people was in serious trouble. Hitler and all good Nazis despised Japan. Their current “alliance” was merely a marriage of convenience.

  Japan’s problems proved the wisdom of Hitler's refusal to declare war on the United States two years earlier. The mutual defense pact pledged Germany to come to the aid of Japan if she was attacked, but did not require Germany to do anything if Japan was the aggressor, which was clearly the case on December 7, 1941. Ironically, a change in the treaty that would have required Germany’s participation had been drafted, but not yet signed when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor

  Thus, Germany had stood back and declined to declare war. The Japanese had stiffly contended that they needed no man's help to defeat the U.S., especially white men, and at first it seemed like they were right as they racked up victory after victory in the Pacific. But without having to fight Germany, the U.S. was able to totally focus her immense material resources on Japan, a nation that Hitler considered a third rate power at best. The once mighty Japanese fleet was being destroyed by America’s overwhelming naval power and the Japanese army was being isolated, bypassed and rendered impotent. Bombs were falling on Japanese cities causing immense fires and great loss of life.

  Hitler gestured for Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel and Heinrich Himmler to step outside with him. It amused him to see their reaction to the cold. Keitel, as head of the OKW, was commander of Germany’s armed forces, while Himmler headed up the SS and the Gestapo.

  He glared at the two men who were shivering. “Japan wants direct help fighting the United States. How can we do that without involving ourselves in another war?”

  Keitel stiffened and blinked as he always did when he had bad news for his Fuhrer. “I don’t believe we can,” he said and Himmler nodded agreement.

  Hitler concurred, but didn’t say so. Instead, he almost spat out a response. “The Japanese thought they were better than Aryans and are now begging for help from us. They have been defeated in the Solomon Islands, and our intelligence says that the Americans will soon be attempting to liberate the Philippines. I am tempted to ignore this letter and leave them to their fate.”

  Hitler and his coterie had contempt for the American fighting man and the Wall Street Jews who controlled him. This opinion was reinforced by the enormous amount of time that it was taking the United States to defeat what they felt was a third rate Asian horde.

  “The American soldier is nothing,” Keitel said. “It will be America's superior industrial power that will overwhelm the Japanese, not the American soldier. With few exceptions, Japanese weaponry is inferior to America’s and cannot be produced in any real quantity. Without German help, my Fuhrer, Japan is doomed.”

  Himmler also concurred but added, “However, the sooner we take on the U.S., the sooner we defeat them and then eliminate the Jewish presence in North America. Let the U.S. fight a two front war before Japan collapses and we will win.” Was it finally time to act on Japan’s behalf and in such a manner that it would benefit Germany, Hitler mused. As a result of Germany's not declaring war on the United States, American assistance to England and Russia had dried up. Russia had been defeated and Great Britain, confronted with mass starvation, was forced to ask for a truce that resulted in a strong German presence in Canada. Despite half-hearted protests from the United States about violations of the Monroe Doctrine, Germany had quickly occupied key places in Ontario and Nova Scotia. What perplexed and stymied the U.S. was that Great Britain had agreed to the German occupation in order to let food convoys continue to the British Isles. Since it was Britain’s will, it was difficult to argue or take action against.

  Winston Churchill had resigned in disgrace and fled to the U.S. where he'd been granted asylum. Unfortunately for Hitler's plans, many of the Royal Navy's remaining ships had also fled to the United States where they and their crews were interned. Hitler wanted control over that fleet, but would accept its neutrality.

  Nazi Germany also maintained an extremely strong force in a shattered and fragmented Russia which had been pushed almost to the Urals. In Hitler’s opinion, Stalin’s Soviet Union was a pathetic rump state that a spring offensive commanded by Field Marshal von Paulus would utterly destroy. Hitler was well aware that other of his generals, primarily Heinz Guderian, disagreed with him. Guderian felt that the Red Army was capable of resurrecting itself. Nonsense, Hitler thought.

  In another year at the most, Hitler thought that Japan would collapse and sue for peace, leaving the U.S. free to focus on Germany’s unwelcome presence in Canada. A state of near war already existed between Germany and the U.S., as it had since 1940. Both countries had withdrawn their ambassadors, a sure sign of pending belligerency. Shots had been fired between American and German warships, and an American destroyer had been sunk by a U-boat. There was fighting, but no war.

  Hitler pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand. “At some point, the United States and Germany must fight each other. Would now be the time, with America so focused on the Pacific? Coming to Japan's aid would make Tokyo eternally grateful — or as eternally grateful as the treacherous yellow bastards could be. And yes, it would also make the U.S. fight a two-front war which would put them at a great disadvantage. Catching the U.S. with its focus on Japan would give us the opportunity to defeat her by quickly destroying her ability to make war.”

  The plan to cripple the Americans had been drawn up in great detail and worked on for a year. Hitler had ignored those, like Guderian, who said it would never work.

  Hitler laughed. “Even before getting this whiny letter from Prime Minister Tojo, steps to implement war with the United States have been taken and military assets put into place. It will be a simple matter to further strengthen those forces and fine tune the plans.”

  Keitel nodded docile agreement. Hitler knew that many considered the general a spineless toady. Hitler thought he was invaluable.

  “With the combined U.S. and British fleets potentially at her disposal, America rules the seas,” Keitel said. “But she does not rule the waters beneath them — the U-boat fleet does, and the U-boat is the weapon of the future, not the aircraft carrier, and certainly not the battleship.”

  “Nor does the U.S. even remotely control the enormously long border between herself and Canada,” Himmler added as a spray of windblown snow hit his cheek, causing him to wince. “There is continuous cross-border traffic that the Americans seem unwilling or unable to halt. When the time comes, we will take advantage of that lapse.”

  Von Ribbentrop had said that other countries in the western hemisphere no longer thought that the United States was invincible, no matter how much Roosevelt prattled on about the Monroe Doctrine and defending democracies. Instead, some of those western hemisphere nations were making extremely friendly overtures to the Reich.

  In the next room, the rest of Germany's brain trust stared though t
he glass and awaited Adolf Hitler's decision. He stared back at their eager faces. He had made it. Now it was time to inform them of their duties to expand and strengthen the German-occupied land in Canada now referred to as the North Reich and by implementing the operation called North Storm.

  Some of his generals, Heinz Guderian in particular, would not like it and would protest both noisily and vehemently. They would say that Russia was only defeated, not destroyed, and that the mongrel state was doubtless rebuilding a massive army east of the Urals. No matter, the Red Army would be destroyed this summer and that war with the Soviet Union finished for good.

  They would also say that England was milking the time needed to make a true peace with Germany with the hope that the U.S. would jump in on Britain’s side. So what if they did, Hitler thought. The American army was nothing, and would be defeated by German forces. Both America’s and Great Britain’s navies would be sent to the bottom by the scores of U-boats currently patrolling in international waters off North America.

  With America defeated, Great Britain would finally cave in and sign a treaty favorable to Germany. The swastika would fly from Buckingham Palace. Perhaps Oswald Mosely, founder of the British Union of Fascists, would become Prime Minister.

  Hitler stared in rare appreciation of the remarkable view. In their dramatic grandeur, the mountains reminded him of the works of Wagner, his favorite composer. Germany should not be afraid of its destiny, he thought. No, Germany should seize it.

  Chapter One

  Tom Grant abandoned the now useless Chevrolet after driving it into the bushes. Steam was pouring from under the hood and one of the tires was shredded flat. He hoped the car was out of sight, at least long enough for him to escape his pursuers. He ran the several hundred yards through the woods and tall grasses to the quickly flowing water that separated the United States and Canada. By the time he reached the narrow sandy beach, he was exhausted. He promised to exercise and take better care of himself, assuming, of course, that he survived this unholy night.

  Behind him, he heard car doors slam and the sound of angry, anxious voices. He'd hoped that he'd lost them while driving the twisting and turning dirt roads, but obviously he hadn't. The water looked cold, dark, and deep, and the safety of the far shore looked like it was miles away. It wasn't, but he had never been that good a swimmer and the thought of making it that far was terrifying. At least the ice hadn’t formed on the river.

  The voices were closer and he made up his mind. He had three choices: surrender and likely disappear forever, try to swim the river and either drown or freeze to death, or swim to possible safety. A desperate and almost impossible swim was better than getting shot or, at best, imprisoned and interrogated by the merciless Gestapo and their local thugs, the Canadian Legion’s Black Shirts. He stripped down to his boxer shorts and stepped into the water, gasping at the cold. It was late fall and the river, never really warm, had cooled down considerably for winter. At least it wasn’t frozen, he thought again. He gritted his teeth and dived in, nearly screaming when the frigid water grabbed his testicles. He could hear the sound of the roaring Niagara waterfall and was glad he was downstream from it and wouldn't have to fight the possibility of being swept over it to certain death. On the other hand, the current was very strong and he might be swept out into Lake Ontario where he would surely drown if he didn’t first die of exposure. He looked across and realized that it didn't matter. The current would place him where it wished.

  He began to swim, using an economical pace that he hoped would conserve the strength and body heat he would need to fight the current, the distance, and the cold that was sucking the life out of him. Maybe, just maybe, his pursuers wouldn't see him until he was far enough out.

  Again, no such luck. Shouts pointed him out and he heard the sound of guns being fired. He wasn't hit and nothing splashed near him, so the bastards weren't the great shots they always bragged they were. Of course, hitting a bobbing head in the night at a good distance with pistols would be a good trick under any circumstances.

  As he plowed through the water, he wondered if his bad left arm would hold up. It'd been a while since the injury, but the wound sometimes kicked in and his arm cramped up. Not today, please.

  He heard a faint creaking sound and realized to his dismay that the men chasing him had gotten their hands on a rowboat. At least it didn't have an outboard motor, which was a blessing, but they would still be able to row their boat much faster than he could swim, and they wouldn’t be weakened by nearly freezing to death.

  More gunshots and this time something did splash near him. He threw caution to the wind and tried to pick up his pace as his breath came quicker and quicker. It was make it or die. He swallowed water and gagged. He couldn't keep this up much longer. His lungs felt like they were on fire and he knew he was slowing. He was losing feeling in his limbs. He couldn’t last much longer. Something touched him and he realized to his horror that it was a chunk of ice. He heard them yelling. They were closer and gaining rapidly. The shouting stopped and he sensed that they were dropping back. He risked looking behind and saw that the rowboat, with four men in it, was pulling away and leaving him. He turned to his front. He was only a few yards off shore and two policemen were standing there with their guns drawn.

  Tom staggered and fell to his knees as his bare feet found the muddy ground. One of the cops snickered as he took unsteady steps towards them. "Kinda gives new meaning to calling someone a wetback, now don't it?"

  His partner chuckled but kept the gun leveled at Tom. "He's so cold even his pecker's shrunk and blue. Poor little thing."

  Tom tried to adjust himself so he wasn't exposed and promptly vomited some of the water he'd unwillingly swallowed. He took great care not to puke on the cops' shoes.

  The first cop took the lead. "Who are you and what are you doing here, and why you didn't cross in from Canada on a bridge like most people do? And don't tell me you went for a moonlight swim and got lost. In your spare time you can tell us why those guys in the boat were trying to kill you."

  It was difficult for him to talk and he began to shiver violently. "My name is Thomas Grant and I'm a colonel in the United States Army," he managed to gasp and wandered if his words were intelligible. He was actually a major but decided he'd sound more important with the higher rank.

  "Yeah, and I'm the king of England," the first cop chortled. "Hold out your hands."

  Tom did as he was told and was quickly handcuffed. "You really claiming to be an American?" the first cop asked. They both seemed blithely unconcerned that Tom might be dying. Tom nodded and again tried to speak. He felt consciousness slipping away. "I'm an American citizen and an officer in the United States Army."

  His stomach heaved again, but there was nothing left. He was shivering from the shock of nearly being killed and the cold that was invading his exhausted body. He staggered and nearly collapsed.

  The cops' attitude softened slightly as they realized that their catch might just die on them. "We'll see," said the first cop. They half carried and half dragged him to their squad car that was parked on a dirt road behind them. They dumped him in the back seat and covered him with a couple of blankets while they turned the car’s heater on high.

  "Let's get your ass warmed up and we'll get this all sorted out. Who knows, maybe you’re even telling the truth."

  The police station was a small cement block building located at an intersection a few miles inland from Lake Ontario, and near the village of Youngstown. If the place had a name, Tom never did find out and he really didn't care. He was just too cold and miserable. He thought he was in Niagara County in upper New York, but even that was irrelevant. Nor was he particularly concerned by the stares he received by the two other cops and one middle-aged woman dispatcher as he walked across their office to a holding cell that was blessedly warm and dry. They gave him more blankets and a couple of towels. He was beginning to think he would live.

  The dispatcher's name was Sadie and she
made him a cup of broth while the chief, a burly middle-aged man named Charley Canfield, made some phone calls. There were no army installations nearby, so Canfield satisfied himself with calls to U.S. Customs and the State Police. He quickly determined that nobody was looking for a six-foot white male in his early thirties, in excellent condition, with short brown hair and brown eyes, along with significant scarring on his left shoulder.

  Canfield declined to call the Pentagon with a number that Tom provided on the grounds that his budget was for shit and he couldn't call long distance because he didn't have the money. When Tom said he could call collect, Canfield said he would try, but not until morning when it was more likely that people were awake. Tom reluctantly agreed.

  Sadie brought him some baggy sweat pants and a sweat shirt both of which clearly belonged to somebody very large. Despite his exhaustion, it began to occur to Tom that the local cops weren't anywhere near as hostile as they had first been.

  When Tom was dry and reasonably warm, Canfield entered the cell and sat on the bunk across from his. "Who were the clowns who were shooting at you?"

  "They were Black Shirt thugs from the Canadian Legion. For some reason they thought I didn't belong in Occupied Canada."

  Canfield was at least five years older than Tom, probably in his early forties, and Tom's first impression was that Canfield appeared very competent for a small town cop. He was a couple of inches taller than Tom and looked like he could easily handle himself in a fight with a couple of town drunks.

  "Next question, Mr. Grant, and don't be pissed if I hold off calling you colonel for the time being, what were you doing in Canada that so thoroughly annoyed the junior Nazis?"

  "I'd just as soon not discuss that."

  Canfield smiled knowingly. "Okay, so you were doing some spying. Did you find anything interesting?"