Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson Read Free Book Online Page A

then took his own chair, setting the bottle on the wooden surface between them. Another sip of the vodka sent tongues of fire through Krigoff’s belly, and he allowed the compliment to warm him further.
    “I have a question for you,” said Stalin, reaching across with the bottle to refill the glass that was, again, nearly empty. “Please, take your time—finish your drink!—and then give me your best reply.”
    Alarms were going off in Krigoff’s subconscious, and he nervously quaffed the clear liquid, which barely even burned his throat anymore. An important question from Stalin would most certainly require a careful answer. The warmth was spreading through his belly, and into the fringes of his mind, and he squinted, focusing on what the great man was saying to him.
    “What do you think the Nazi government will do now, in reaction to Rommel’s treachery?” asked Stalin.
    Krigoff had no idea, but he knew he couldn’t admit this. Frantically he grasped at thoughts, whatever he knew of Nazis, and fascism, and Himmler. Somehow these threads wove themselves together, until there seemed to be only one logical answer.
    “They will keep fighting, Comrade Chairman—at least, those Nazis in the SS and the other fanatical elements. Their strength will be weakened by the defection of Rommel’s troops, but not broken entirely.”
    Stalin looked at him, his eyes twinkling merrily. Mutely he accepted another drink, as the chairman at last topped off his own glass, which was only half empty.
    “I believe you are correct, Comrade Major. You display the kind of quick-thinking courage that I like to see in my officers, and most especially in my commissars. I commend you.”
    “Th-Thank you, Comrade Chairman!” stammered Krigoff, flushing with pleasure.
    “You will hear from me, or perhaps from Comrade Bulganin, regarding an assignment,” said Stalin, who was now walking the major to the door—though Krigoff couldn’t exactly remember standing up. “A man of your talents has clear uses to Mother Russia, and those uses will not be put to waste.” A strong hand came down on his shoulder, and the officer felt a squeezing pressure that seemed genuinely affectionate. “Good night, Alexis Petrovich—and thank you.”
    “Thank you, Comrade Chairman!” declared the major. As he made his
way out of the anteroom, and through the wide halls of the Kremlin, it seemed as though his feet were some distance off the floor, and his head might be in danger of rising to the lofty ceilings.
    ARMEEGRUPPE B HEADQUARTERS, DINANT, 1959 HOURS GMT
    Chuck Porter, Paris Bureau Chief for the Associated Press, ex-prisoner of war, and currently finishing a special role as Rommel’s personal translator, was an Underwood-typewriter man, and the German-made Olympia Schreibmaschine he’d been able to scrounge felt different, awkward. The umlaut key didn’t have a space advance, for instance. And while it was nice to type a real umlaut rather than backspace and put quote marks over the vowel, it wasn’t as if he could teletype an umlaut when sending the story over the wire.
    He was just superstitious enough to want the very best typewriter to help him write what he knew was a sure Pulitzer story, the most important story of the war, the story of Rommel’s surrender—a story in which he’d actually played a part.
    He had just finished reopening the AP Paris bureau, closed upon the German occupation of Paris, when he had driven north into Belgium to cover U.S. forces there. He’d started to staff up the office but didn’t have everyone he needed in place, so he used that as an excuse to get out of the office and do some reporting himself.
    Captured during the opening days of the Fuchs am Rhein offensive, Porter was singled out by Oberst von Reinhardt for his reporter status and knowledge of the German language and transferred to Armeegruppe B headquarters. Upon the collapse of the final bridge at Dinant, he was a witness to Rommel’s portentous