Axis of Evil

Chapter Four: In the Heart of Darkness

Fuhrerbunker

Berlin

26^th March 1941

The video was grainy, nothing like the modern videos he’d seen from the future, but Roth was unwillingly impressed anyway. The rocket, a scaled-up version of a V2 built from plans provided by their ally in America, had exploded. It had been on the pad one moment; the next it exploded in a blast of fire. Seconds later, the camera heeled up to catch the fleeting black object travelling across the sky, far faster than any possible pursuit.

“The British caught the dummy spaceplane,” Roth said. It wasn’t his first briefing, not even his first in front of the Fuhrer, but he had never gotten used to it. “The mock-up was destroyed in the ground and blasted to atoms.”

“Then the British have become convinced that we have rockets and the ability to access space,” Himmler said. The schoolmaster-like man still chilled Roth, whatever the fact of their long acquaintance. “This will serve to intimidate them more.”

“And then the rockets will sweep Britain with a brush of fire,” Hitler said. The Fuhrer, a short man with an impressive glare, had become more… unstable lately. The unquestioned ruler of Germany had not been happy to learn of his own fate in the shadowy alternate future, nor of how his current subjects would react to the knowledge.

Roth sighed. The V2, even the ideal design that Von Braun was working on, would lack the capability to haul the warheads the Fuhrer would need for his grand plan. The V1s, small jet-propelled cruise missiles, were far more capable, and they would force the RAF to keep some of its units in Britain, instead of in the Middle East.

“Thank you, Roth,” Himmler said. “You may go.”

Roth saluted the Fuhrer, and left the room. As soon as he had passed Hitler’s formidable secretary, he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He’d had a good war, so far, but Himmler was finding more and more work for him to do. Fortunately, he’d been able to pass responsibility for the atomic program to another of Himmler’s protégées; that, at least, had been taken from him.

I wonder why Goring wanted everything, he thought wryly, as he moved purposefully along the corridors. The former head of the Luffwaffe, Herman Goring, had been active recently, snapping up estates in the remains of Poland for his cronies. Poland, now being settled by proper Nordic stock from Germany and Norway, had been purged of the subhuman primitives who had used to live there, growing fat off the Reich.

Roth shuddered and hoped that the omnipresent cameras hadn’t seen the motion. The exact amount of 2015 technology in the Reich was a state secret, but Roth knew just how much had been pulled off the plane, and then smuggled in from America, courtesy of Jim Oliver. The British… criminal had been more than willing to supply the Reich with equipment; Roth had been sent to encourage him to cooperate himself. It was a shame that he hadn’t been able to obtain any nuclear equipment, but that was apparently kept under strict controls. The British were scared of their own weapons, Stewart, his lover, had told him once.

Roth shook his head. The single nuclear strike of the war hadn’t been targeted on the Fuhrerbunker, or even the German or Soviet invasion forces within the Middle East, but on a single oil-producing complex. It had cost the Reich, hurt it, but it hadn’t crippled it. With the aid of the Soviets and the Turks, the Reich had managed to survive… and there were other options for extracting revenge.

Smiling, Roth entered the suite he shared with Stewart – with Himmler’s permission – and blinked. His lover wasn’t there. After a moment, he remembered that she had been invited to visit the hospital, where children injured by the latest air raid had been taking. Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the laptop and opened the hidden compartment, reading the latest files from Oliver. The Americans, it seemed, were finally getting their act together… and once they had managed that, then they would come for Germany.

“We are running out of time,” Kesselring, master strategist and commander, reported. “If our sources are accurate, then the Americans are preparing their army for a move to Britain, or to the Middle East. Either way, we have to make our gains in the Middle East permanent.”

He spoke urgently, convincingly, hoping that Hitler would listen. The gains in the Middle East were remarkable, particularly given the shoestring logistics, but they were illusionary. As long as the British could fall back to their Republic of Arabia, they would be able to mount a counter-offensive… and spies within Arabia suggested that that was what they were doing. If they managed to get back on their feet, and defeat the German commander in the Middle East, the Turks would switch sides. He was as certain of it as he was of his own name.

“What can such a mongrel nation do against us?” Hitler demanded. Kesselring winced; the Fuhrer had read of the future, of the defeat, of the Soviet occupation – and of the nation called Israel – and discarded it. He refused to accept it as a very real possible outcome.

“They can provide weapons to real fighters,” Himmler said. Himmler believed; that was why SS Einsatzgruppen forces had provided weapons to the Arabs, weapons that had been turned on the German forces in some cases. Germans from Bavaria and Prussia could hardly tell the difference between a good Arab from Palestine and an evil communist Jew from Palestine. Naturally, the Arabs had declared a truce with the Jews, while even working together to fight the Nazis.

“In any case, working from the history files, we can expect them to be weak and untrained for the first few battles,” Kesselring commented. “In the Battle for Kasserine Pass, for example, they were soundly thrashed by a German general.” Himmler twitched; the general in question was the arch-traitor Erwin Rommel. “Unfortunately, they improved rapidly after that… little debacle.”

Himmler smiled wryly; Kesselring shuddered. Those who knew the truth about Rommel found it prudent to believe that Rommel had underestimated the Americans on purpose. It was hard to use the history files if everything had to be filtered through what Professor Horton referred to as Political Correctness. He’d sniggered after explaining it to the Field Marshall.

“Therefore, our priority should be to fight and defeat – utterly destroy – the first American force to take the field against us,” Kesselring continued. “Fortunately, their options are limited; they can only attack us in the Middle East, Norway, or by direct invasion across the channel. From our point of view, the Middle East would be the best option, but unfortunately the Americans get a vote in the matter.”

Hitler chuckled at the weak joke. “From our agents in America,” Kesselring said, nodding at Himmler, “we know that their commanders are working on drawing up plans for all three. As yet, they themselves haven’t made any decision, at least not one that we know about.” He coughed. “Given what they did to us in the other timeline, we will have to prepare for all three options.”

Himmler smiled darkly. “The Americans want to have the war over and done with,” he said. “If we can lure them into a killing zone, they will lose heart and leave the war. Naturally, we will offer them good terms; nothing too onerous.”

“I do not believe that the Americans will be capable of jumping across the channel this year,” Kesselring said. The strategist smiled. “As it happens, we have several more divisions in France, and of course Petain will fight for us. Spain is a possibility – our logistics would be dreadfully complicated – but it would provide a rallying point for the Spanish.”

He nodded to himself. The Spanish had regained their lost fortress of Gibraltar, but at a stiff price; the British had picked off some of their Atlantic territory and had systematically smashed up the Spanish navy. Spain had become dependent upon the Germans, and some of them resented it.

“The other possibilities are Norway and the Middle East,” Kesselring said. “As we have been preparing a major offensive with the Soviets, we can expect, I think, for the British to press for that option. Although it means that they will be unable to dictate a peace settlement that suits them, it will at least save them from inevitable defeat. I suspect that they will be offered the Egypt-Palestine-Jordan region as a base; they would probably be unwilling to provoke an incident with the Soviets.”

“Useless subhumans,” Hitler snapped. Kesselring nodded grimly; neither Stalin nor Tokyo had declared war on America. “We have to work to make the war wider!”

“That would be solved by convincing the Americans to attack the Soviets, in either Norway or the Middle East,” Kesselring said. “If we do it properly, the two sides will bump together and…”

“The war will become much bigger,” Hitler proclaimed. “Already, the Americans are doubtful; will they have the stomach to fight both us and the Slavs?”

“That is unlikely,” Kesselring said. “For the moment, we can pull some of our troops out of Norway and allow the Soviets to take over some occupation duties. That will make President Roosevelt really wrestle with a difficult choice; and, of course, our allies will be quite happy to make his position worse.”

“Excellent,” Hitler said. His moustache twitched. “Now, what about the plans for a joint offensive?”

Kesselring winced. He had advised against Operation Mass when it had first been proposed; it was too reminiscent of the disaster at Stalingrad in the other time line. The war plan, designed by Manstein and Hitler himself, called for simultaneous German and Soviet thrusts west; into Palestine, Iraq and even into Kuwait. The Soviets had built up a ponderous mass of manoeuvre in Iran, after putting most of the population to work building defences.

Kesselring shuddered. Unlike most Germans, he knew the price of their success – and the effects of the knowledge of the future. Millions had been slaughtered already, merely because their descendents would become a threat, one day.

“We have continued building up the forces in Syria,” he said. “Despite some determined efforts by the British to interfere with our supply lines, we have managed to amass a powerful force, including one armed with the new weapons. Thanks to the recent intelligence coup” – he smiled a genuine smile of admiration at Himmler – “we have improved our own doctrine; we will be deploying the new anti-tank weapons and storm trooper tactics against the British, aided by the Luffwaffe. Even though we don’t have any jet fighters in the field, we have dozens of the new modified tactical bombers.

“According to our liaison officers, the Soviets have continued the same build-up, using their camouflage techniques” – it would hardly do to mention that they were better than the German techniques – “to hide the build-up, although the British are clearly better at spotting hidden things on the ground. Despite that, Stalin is confident that a two-prong offensive, one towards Baghdad and one though Basra into Kuwait, is possible.”

He chuckled. “Personally, I believe that the offensive will manage to take Baghdad, and perhaps the other city, but will run out of steam just past there. The Russians have improved a great deal” – something else that Hitler had ignored – “but their logistics still leave something to be desired. The British have gotten better at wrecking their logistics at the most inconvenient moment, as well.”

He tapped the map. “The Soviet offensive will seem more threatening,” he said. “It will be aimed at two vital cities, the ones that the British have promised the subhumans that they will defend, and they will swing their own forces towards the Soviets. A couple of days later, we will launch our own offensive, one intended to punch through Palestine and take the Suez Canal. If we plan it properly, we will manage to trigger off a revolt in Egypt; the British aren’t half as careful as they might be of anti-British agents.”

He scowled. If the SS had listened to him, instead of sending for the Einsatzgruppen forces, the Germans might have had Arab units fighting with them. They did have agents, allies, including Ibn Saud, but few of them were willing to work completely with the Germans. Switching sides at the right moment was a time-honoured tradition in the Middle East, and none of their allies wanted to bind themselves too closely to Germany.

“And then we will punch over the Suez and into Egypt,” Hitler said.

We’ll be lucky if we reach the Suez, Kesselring thought grimly. “In the event that the taking of Palestine is successful, we will secure the Suez and head south, into their new Republic of Arabia, and their major base in the region. Once the base is ruined, it will take them months to put together a counter-attack, time enough to secure our position and even punish the Free Italians, if we want.”

“They will pay for their failure to support the Duce,” Hitler said. Kesselring wanted to giggle; Mussolini’s troops had been fit only for target practice. If Hitler had truly understood that, would he have committed Germany to an alliance with the popinjay? Italy served as Germany’s slave now, her people worked for Germany’s success in the war… and they were much more agreeable. After what they had cost Germany, Kesselring found it hard to care.

Hitler tapped the table. “Now, what about Operation Typhoon?”

“Mien Fuhrer, is that wise?” Himmler asked. Hitler’s favourite, he could get away with anything. “I agree that stamping out the Jewish conspiracy is important, and Stalin must be destroyed before he becomes a threat, but should we not wait until we have forced the Americans back out of the war they entered so imprudently?”

“We are dependent upon that Jewish fool,” Hitler snapped. Kesselring winced; Germany was indeed dependent upon the flow of materials from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. “If Stalin decides that he wants some more of our knowledge, he will turn off the tap until we’ve sent him everything; atomic designs, jets, missiles… everything. And then he will turn on us!”

He glared around the table and none could meet his eye. “Now, what about the plans?”

“We have begun stockpiling the new tanks and guns in Poland,” Kesselring said, reluctantly. “Ideally, we want to launch in May or June; the sooner the better.” He scowled; it would be a very chancy matter indeed. “The more involved the Soviets are in the Middle East, the better. We could also send some aid to the Finnish Resistance; they could tie down a few Soviet brigades.”

Hitler rubbed his hands together. An entire Soviet army group was in Finland, officially running the country. Outside the cities, the countryside belonged to the resistance, Mannainheim’s Men. The Russians would have been losing ground, if they hadn’t had an almost unlimited supply of troops.

“Production, according to Speer, is increasing sharply now we have some of the bugs worked out of the tanks,” Kesselring continued. The Reich Minister for War Production hadn’t been able to attend. “The Panthers and King Tigers cannot be deployed in great numbers to the Middle East, so they can be massed in Poland, under the strictest security. They are capable of matching the best that the Soviets have, and we have covered the bases of our… future mistakes.”

He coughed. “Thanks to Professor Horton, we now know some of the weaknesses in our own weapons and plans, and have moved to correct them. We will have far more tanks, weapons, anti-tank weapons, lorries and other items than we had in the original timeline, many of them produced by the Soviets for us.”

Hitler chuckled at the joke. “When we hang Stalin in the Kremlin, the British will be unable to defeat us, even with the Americans to help. We will develop our own atomic weapon, and then the British islands will be turned into a radioactive slagheap.”

Jasmine Horton was still beautiful, Professor Horton knew; her long blonde hair falling over her swelling chest. She glowed with life; her womb held their third child. It would have been perfect except for one little detail; they were prisoners of the Nazis, who regarded their marriage with the kind of horror that had previously been reserved for Indian-Pakistani marriages.

“It looks like a fine baby,” Irma Grese said. The teenage girl would have been gorgeous, to anyone who didn’t know her legend. She was – or would have been – the most merciless female concentration camp guard in the Third Reich. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Jasmine smiled tiredly. “It’s not due yet, Irma,” she said. She didn’t know; Horton hadn’t dared to tell her. She might have attacked Irma, rather than risk her near her children. Irma was a fine nursemaid, Horton admitted; Himmler had picked her out on the basis of the future knowledge.

“At least another two months,” Doctor Koch said. Horton had worried about Josef Mengele being assigned to them, but Koch didn’t seem to have had a history. “Other than that, a healthy pregnancy so far.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Horton said. Koch bowed, picked up his bag, and left the room. He hadn’t seemed to care about Horton’s colour, but Himmler had issued strict orders; as long as Horton continued to produce the goods, he was to be treated well. The one guard who had tried to feel Jasmine up had been executed by Himmler’s blue-eyed boy, Herman Roth.

“Now, I have to get back to work,” he said, and kissed Jasmine on the cheek.

“Take care,” Jasmine said. It was almost a domestic scene and it tore at Horton’s soul; were they getting used to living in Nazi Germany? He kissed his wife one last time, and then headed into his study, a well-fitted out room deep below the ground. The Germans had given him a supply of books they’d recovered from somewhere, all history texts; nothing technical. Himmler had refused to tell him where they came from, which suggested that the Germans had allies in Britain.

“One of the BNP?” He’d asked, and Himmler had refused to comment. Instead, he’d given him yet another set of exam questions – or so he’d come to think of them – on the invasion of Russia in the original timeline. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed; Himmler and Hitler wouldn’t want knowledge of their future failure to get out to the general public, and if he did all the work, Himmler would receive the credit for it.

How can Stalin’s morale be weakened sufficiently, or his grip on power be weakened sufficiently, to enable the invasion to succeed? The question ran. Horton considered; the only decent thing about his position was that the Germans shared all of their information with him, such as genuine war information. They didn’t share the news about Rommel forming a resistance army with their public, but they shared it with him.

Now, what can I write? He asked himself, and chuckled. It was just like an exam question. It had been hard, hard to provide advice for the Middle East that sounded good, but had been anything, but. The invasion might have succeeded if they’d had more time to prepare, but they didn’t. Now, he had to do the same for Russia; he had to convince Hitler to send Germany down the path to destruction in the icy wastes of Russia.

The invasion needs to be focused on Moscow, he wrote finally. If Stalin had lost Moscow, it would disrupt the centralised planning bureaucracy enough to damage the Soviet Union…