Free Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson

that Stalin would in fact back down.
    Henry Stimson nodded. “You’re right about that, Mr. President. Stalin is nothing but an opportunist. He did the separate peace because he got Norway and Greece out of it. I can just see Stalin and Himmler shaking hands, each with fingers crossed behind his back. Himmler bought himself a few extra months, and Rommel decided to give it the old college try one last time. When we stopped his Hail Mary pass, he figured the clock had run out and so he blew the whistle. Interesting man, this Rommel. I think we can probably trust him, because his interests lie with us.”
    “Exactly,” interrupted Donovan again. He leaned forward, his excitement at the complex intrigue obvious. “I know he’ll hate fighting his fellow Germans, but I’d bet my shirt that a lot of Germans will hate fighting him even more. Every division the Nazis throw at him will have about half of them desert to the other side. Basically, he’ll parade across Germany and straight
into Berlin with his army growing bigger every day, especially when it’s clear who’s going to be the winner.”
    “So, do we make Rommel the chancellor?” asked Hull.
    “I imagine so,” said Roosevelt. “But we need to surround him with the right people. Bill, you’ve pulled together a list of German dissidents and exiled politicians for me, right?”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. President,” replied Donovan.
    “So, we pick out a cabinet for him and write his constitution for him. As soon as he declares the new government, they execute an unconditional surrender, and then we implement the plan,” said Roosevelt with satisfaction.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. President,” came a chorus of the senior staff. Pens took rapid notes. This would take some time to implement.
    “Of course, we’ll need a new ambassador to the government,” interjected the president. “And he’ll need a staff.”
    “I’ll have recommendations for you shortly,” replied Cordell Hull.
    “Thank you, gentlemen,” said the President of the United States in dismissal.
    KAMPFGRUPPE PEIPER, NEARING DINANT, 1231 HOURS GMT
    High in the turret of his command tank, Obersturmbannführer Jochen Peiper scanned the area around him with his binoculars. The skies were still gray, which kept enemy aircraft, the hated jabos, away from his forces: nearly one hundred panzers, currently roaring along the snow-shrouded forest roads.
    Once again, Kampfgruppe Peiper had the role of greatest glory to play, and the honor of Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler was preserved. While Sixth Panzer Army began its pullback to the Westwall, he would launch a surprise attack on Armeegruppe B headquarters. With luck, he would kill the traitor Erwin Rommel and rescue some of the units of Fifth Panzer Army from their ignominious surrender to the Allies.
    The hilly and forested terrain limited the kampfgruppe to a narrow front, but if Peiper moved fast enough, he could gain the element of surprise. This area was a backwater of the earlier battle, known to be free of Americans or British. The German targets would sit, unsuspecting in their sublime treachery.
    The air was damp and cold; it cut through his uniform coat and penetrated his bones. His lips were chapped and his face began to burn with the continual wind whipping at it. Still he did not go inside the turret. He needed his eyes and ears, wanted them unencumbered by the metal shell.
    He heard shots, the rapid firing of a .50-caliber machine gun from one of
the armored cars at the head of his column. Peiper strained to see through the binoculars in the gray light, to get a sense of what was going on. The machine gun uttered several short bursts, then silence. Moments later, a motorcycle approached, engine whining high-pitched over the rumbling tank. “Herr Obersturmbannführer!”
    “What is it?”
    “Our forward scout contacted a Wehrmacht picket, dispatched him with such speed it is virtually impossible that he got off a radio message.”
    “Virtually