Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) Read Online Free
Author: Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson
stand, watching, listening.
Roosevelt’s next words came as a whisper. Stone strained to catch them.
“Terrible weapons. And shortly we will have the most terrible of all.” Another pause, lasting more than a minute. Stone grew more and more uncomfortable in the silent room, illuminated only by the single lamp.
“Communists believe in historical inevitability, you know,” Roosevelt said, his voice returning to a slightly more normal volume again. “I had hoped that would be enough to gain Stalin as a partner in peace. After all, he believes time is on the side of the Communists. Give them the shattered nations of eastern Europe to digest, and that would keep them busy for decades. It would let them draw comfort from ‘historical inevitability’ while we rebuild the West. We could let our two systems compete in how well they serve their people, and the conflict would resolve itself without a need for another war.”
“Will we win?” Stone asked.
Roosevelt’s eyes focused on him, and his famous jaunty grin briefly illuminated his face. “Who cares, my dear boy? Who cares? If it becomes clear that one system benefits humanity better than the other, whichever it may be, then let that one triumph. We Americans are pragmatists, you know. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” His chuckle was dry, and drifted away. His expression became distant again. “A peaceful conflict is infinitely preferable to war, to more death and destruction. But Stalin couldn’t see it that way. He thinks I will reward him after he deserted us, or be willing to simply turn back the clock and behave as if nothing has happened. But I cannot. As much as I despise war, I do know how to wage it … .” His voice trailed off again. “So much death. So much death. And now I must order more.
“What I would have given Stalin freely as a partner I cannot give him as a reward for his betrayal,” Roosevelt kept on. “I thought we might have to go directly from this war into the next war, but if this surrender is real, there is hope. We can reach Berlin before Stalin’s armies, and we order him back to his own lands without a new war.” His voice was a whisper again.
“And if he won’t go?” asked Stone, his own voice now a whisper. He had a good idea how strong the Soviets were, and a detailed understanding of how strong the Western Allies were. The Western Allies would not have the necessary might to enforce Roosevelt’s order, not without the horrible new war Roosevelt hoped to avoid.
The President of the United States looked grim as he turned to look directly at Stone. “He will go. Believe me, he will go.”
ARMEEGRUPPE B FIELD HOSPITAL, NEAR DINANT, 1442 HOURS GMT
The short, pudgy man had been pacing back and forth in the waiting area for the past hour, periodically removing his round, wire-rimmed glasses to polish them, then slipping them back on over his watery blue eyes. He could overhear
the occasional whispers. “ That’s the man who saved the field marshal’s life?” He knew he didn’t look the part of the hero, and he didn’t feel the part either. But he had indeed managed to chase a trained SS assassin through dark, battle-strewn streets, then kill the killer before he could end the career of the Desert Fox.
Colonel Wolfgang Müller was in charge of supply operations for Armeegruppe B, and until the previous night had never fired a gun in anger or at a living target. Nervous around superior officers, not particularly assertive, Müller survived because he was good and careful with his work.
“Herr Oberst?” asked a doctor just coming out of the operating room, pulling off spattered gloves as he walked.
“Is there news?” Müller responded, a combination of desperation and concern in his voice.
The doctor’s face was stern, his words carefully chosen. “I’m Dr. Schlüter. Yes, Herr Oberst. Your friend is in very serious condition, but he’s past the worst of it. The prognosis is only
Roosevelt’s next words came as a whisper. Stone strained to catch them.
“Terrible weapons. And shortly we will have the most terrible of all.” Another pause, lasting more than a minute. Stone grew more and more uncomfortable in the silent room, illuminated only by the single lamp.
“Communists believe in historical inevitability, you know,” Roosevelt said, his voice returning to a slightly more normal volume again. “I had hoped that would be enough to gain Stalin as a partner in peace. After all, he believes time is on the side of the Communists. Give them the shattered nations of eastern Europe to digest, and that would keep them busy for decades. It would let them draw comfort from ‘historical inevitability’ while we rebuild the West. We could let our two systems compete in how well they serve their people, and the conflict would resolve itself without a need for another war.”
“Will we win?” Stone asked.
Roosevelt’s eyes focused on him, and his famous jaunty grin briefly illuminated his face. “Who cares, my dear boy? Who cares? If it becomes clear that one system benefits humanity better than the other, whichever it may be, then let that one triumph. We Americans are pragmatists, you know. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” His chuckle was dry, and drifted away. His expression became distant again. “A peaceful conflict is infinitely preferable to war, to more death and destruction. But Stalin couldn’t see it that way. He thinks I will reward him after he deserted us, or be willing to simply turn back the clock and behave as if nothing has happened. But I cannot. As much as I despise war, I do know how to wage it … .” His voice trailed off again. “So much death. So much death. And now I must order more.
“What I would have given Stalin freely as a partner I cannot give him as a reward for his betrayal,” Roosevelt kept on. “I thought we might have to go directly from this war into the next war, but if this surrender is real, there is hope. We can reach Berlin before Stalin’s armies, and we order him back to his own lands without a new war.” His voice was a whisper again.
“And if he won’t go?” asked Stone, his own voice now a whisper. He had a good idea how strong the Soviets were, and a detailed understanding of how strong the Western Allies were. The Western Allies would not have the necessary might to enforce Roosevelt’s order, not without the horrible new war Roosevelt hoped to avoid.
The President of the United States looked grim as he turned to look directly at Stone. “He will go. Believe me, he will go.”
ARMEEGRUPPE B FIELD HOSPITAL, NEAR DINANT, 1442 HOURS GMT
The short, pudgy man had been pacing back and forth in the waiting area for the past hour, periodically removing his round, wire-rimmed glasses to polish them, then slipping them back on over his watery blue eyes. He could overhear
the occasional whispers. “ That’s the man who saved the field marshal’s life?” He knew he didn’t look the part of the hero, and he didn’t feel the part either. But he had indeed managed to chase a trained SS assassin through dark, battle-strewn streets, then kill the killer before he could end the career of the Desert Fox.
Colonel Wolfgang Müller was in charge of supply operations for Armeegruppe B, and until the previous night had never fired a gun in anger or at a living target. Nervous around superior officers, not particularly assertive, Müller survived because he was good and careful with his work.
“Herr Oberst?” asked a doctor just coming out of the operating room, pulling off spattered gloves as he walked.
“Is there news?” Müller responded, a combination of desperation and concern in his voice.
The doctor’s face was stern, his words carefully chosen. “I’m Dr. Schlüter. Yes, Herr Oberst. Your friend is in very serious condition, but he’s past the worst of it. The prognosis is only
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