Second Chance

Chapter Eight: Felsennest

Felsennest

Germany

9^th July 1940

Roth took a breath as the car pulled up inside the compound, the SS troops surrounding Felsennest – the headquarters of Adolf Hitler – carrying out a careful check on his documents. The beautiful house, set within the woods of West Germany, had been Hitler’s headquarters during the battles for France, and had been intended to serve as his base for the coming invasion of Britain.

Himmler himself had stepped out to meet him, saluting him with a brisk precision that seemed somewhat exaggerated. Roth saluted back smartly, then was surprised as Himmler extended a hand and shook it firmly.

“Reporting as ordered, Herr Reichsführer,” Roth said. “I have the document prepared for us by the black professor.”

“Excellent,” Himmler said. “Come with me, and we’ll discuss it inside.”

Roth saluted again and followed Himmler into a small chalet set near the main house. The SS guards were everywhere; he understood that Felsennest would make a very clear target for the super-planes that the future British could deploy. The attack on the remains of the British aircraft had been a very clear demonstration of their power, and their ability to find objects on the ground.

“It did not please the Fuhrer to lose the aircraft,” Himmler remarked conversationally as he led the way into his office. An SS guard checked Roth’s papers and took his sidearm, before leaving them alone together. “Indeed, he was quick to place blame on the Luffwaffe. Combined with the reports from the Encyclopaedia Britannica, our fat friend has been elevated to great heights while his subordinates do the real work. For the moment, control of all the future technology is firmly in our hands.”

He smiled; Roth suddenly understood why Himmler looked so pleased. Only a handful of Germans had been mentioned in the electronic resource, at least they’d only found a handful, but all of them had been printed out and distributed around the Reich. Himmler had been shocked to learn that he would commit suicide, five years from today.

“Has the Fuhrer seen the reports?” Roth asked. “If Galland is correct, we have to adapt ourselves as quickly as possible; we need to mobilise and prepare for a very different war.”

“The Fuhrer has seen many of the reports,” Himmler said. The unspoken message was clear; there were some that the Fuhrer had not seen. “We seem to have to use Jews to have any chance at all at making an atomic bomb. We will not discuss that matter – with anyone! It would only upset them.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Roth said, refusing to smile at the joke. It could be so easily construed as disloyalty.

“You will take over the project to build an atomic bomb,” Himmler said. “The Fuhrer himself has ordered it. You will have complete authority to conscript all atomic scientists, including Jews and… Slavs, should there be any. Fortunately, the basic principles are outlined in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, along with those of rocketry. Your second task, just as important, is to ensure that any useful information is distributed to the correct people, from medical information to rocket scientists.”

His eyes focused in on Roth with uncanny and unnerving speed. “Inform me; what have you done so far?”

“A handful of the prisoners, including the pilots of the aircraft, are being removed even as we speak to the aircraft development companies, both Professor Messerschmitt and Professor Heinkel were astounded to hear of the discovery, as was Udet. We can expect some breakthroughs. A handful of other prisoners, with the exception of Professor Horton and his family, have also been distributed to places where their knowledge can be used; a doctor, two nurses, a farmer and a political scientist, whatever that is.

“We recovered a printer and several of what Oliver calls ‘ink cartridges’ from the wreck, and we’ve been printing out as much as we can,” he said. “Fortunately, duplicating the ink – at least the black ink – was a simple matter; a French factory was able to produce as much as we might desire, although the quality has fallen sharply. Eventually, Oliver warns us that something will break and the laptops will become useless, but we’ve copied some of the files to the other laptops and we’ll start sending them around the Reich.”

Himmler smiled. “You seem to have become very used to using the technology,” he said. The gentle bonhomie was back. “Do you feel that you will master it?”

Roth grinned, allowing his enthusiasm to show. “Herr Reichsführer, a child could use the laptops; they are so simple. Once we duplicate some of the technology, we will be unbeatable…”

Himmler cut him off. “As you know, we intercepted a broadcast from Britain – and a new one from Ambassador Hempel, in Ireland,” he said. “Herr Hempel reports that a delegation from the new Britain visited Ireland, and they are apparently planning to continue the war. Some of their radio broadcasts are quite alarming; they seem to lump us, Hideki Tojo and Stalin together, despite the Japanese Prime Minister being Fumimaro Konoe.”

“They do seem to go through Prime Ministers at an astounding rate,” Roth observed. “Herr Reichsführer, have you informed the Japanese ambassador?”

“It is a shame that they recalled Hiroshi Oshima,” Himmler said. “I have had a brief discussion with the current ambassador, but he was sceptical.” He made a disgusted face. “We may have to pass him one of the laptops, and copies of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Roth said, knowing that objections would be futile. “Might I enquire as to when I will be meeting with the Fuhrer?”

“Later today,” Himmler said. “Now, what did the esteemed Field Marshall have to say?”

Roth nodded to himself. General Kesselring had been ordered, directly from Berlin – which meant Hitler himself – to prepare a plan for countering the future Britain. Roth had, with some reluctance, given up most of the books on the future war in Iraq – and had even let him ask Oliver some questions.

“He said that the situation appeared more promising than it seemed at first glance,” he said. Himmler looked relived. “While we are far weaker than we were, we might have some advantages, not least weight of numbers. Still, we really need more information – more precise data.”

Himmler nodded. “Do you have a plan to get the information, Standartenfuhrer?”

Roth winced internally at the far from subtle reminder of his low rank. “We need to make contact with Oliver’s associates,” he said. “They have to get us information – genuinely useful information – that will help us to adapt as quickly as we can. Oliver believes that they – the future British – will have problems of their own, but they can adapt to it. We have a window of opportunity to take what they have for the Reich, but a very short one.”

“We have been shown our destiny, have we?” Adolf Hitler, Fuhrer of the Greater German Reich, pronounced. “We have been shown, not our destiny, but a possible future – if we lose our strength and will! We have been shown a glimpse of a possible future, where Europe groans under the slavery of the French and the Russians, of a future where all the virtues of the German Volk are crushed!

“Providence has shown us the way forward,” he thundered, his voice rising. “With our inflexible will, we will adapt to the future; the menace of godless soviet communism and the insidious menace of the Jews will be crushed instead!”

Jim Oliver didn’t dare look at his watch. The Fuhrer was speaking and had been speaking for nearly an hour, thundering about Jewish plots that had brought down the Reich – and completely ignoring the fact that it had been him who’d given the fatal orders; not to invade Britain, not to press the advantage in the North African campaign, to launch an ill-prepared invasion of Russia, to stand at Stalingrad…

“With the application of German will and power, we will crush this Jewish future,” he bellowed. “With our window into the future, we will prevail!”

His face shifted rapidly as he sat down. Beside him, a fat man clapped noisily, his medals rattling on his ample chest; Herman Goring, head of the Luffwaffe, and now one of the senior Party officials. Around the table, Kesselring, Raeder, Jodl, Manstein and a handful of people he didn’t recognise, listened carefully and raptly. He felt almost as if he had fallen into a snake pit; the Wehrmacht officers eyed the Luffwaffe officers as if they were at war with them, rather than the British and associated minor governments-in-exile. Absently, he wondered what had happened to DeGaulle; had he been on the 1940 Britain when it vanished?

Hitler poked with a single finger at the laptop. “Is there any Jewish science in this?” He demanded, fixing Oliver with his gaze. He shivered; Hitler’s stare wasn’t hostile, it was darkly compelling, inviting him to share in a glorious crusade into darkness. Himmler, however, had carefully briefed him first; there were certain subjects that were never to be mentioned in front of Hitler.

“No, Mein Fuhrer,” Oliver said, hoping his voice was steady. “The basic systems were developed in America and…”

“And why were German technicians not involved?” Hitler interrupted.

Oliver coughed; Hitler seemed to have a gift for focusing on the… uncomfortable subjects. Still, he knew the slant on history that would most focus Hitler’s mind. “Germany lost the war, Mein Fuhrer,” he said, and the room seemed to fall even quieter. “By the time that German industry had recovered, the French had ensnared it in a web of bureaucracy that strangled German industry; it had become impossible to progress to match the Japanese, let alone the Americans.”

“See the fate that we can avert,” Hitler bellowed, returning to the room. Oliver felt as if the angel of death had passed over him. His voice hardened. “We will avert it, whatever the cost, whatever the burden.”

The room seemed hopeful; their Fuhrer had spoken. Oliver watched them carefully; some believed in Hitler, as if he was a Prophet of some dark god, others were only interested in their own power and positions. “Field Marshall?”

At Hitler’s command, Field Marshall General Kesselring stood up, moving to one side of a podium. An SS guard glared without seeming to glare at the Wehrmacht officer, before moving aside and unfurling the maps and plans. The coast of Britain was marked clearly; the range of British aircraft, old and new, were marked. The Germans knew so little; an interrogation of Captain Sidney Jackson had produced some details on the British defences, but hardly enough to plan a war on. Oliver scowled; the first German assault would get a bloody nose, and then they’d need him and his people more than ever.

“Mein Fuhrer,” Kesselring said. Goring looked insanely delighted to see the General; Oliver wished, not for the first time, that he'd studied the Nazis more than he had. Professor Horton might have been able to tell him, but he’d been left behind in France.

“The enemy is extremely powerful,” Kesselring said flatly. “He is armed with sophisticated missiles and precision weapons that are capable of targeting targets anywhere within the Third Reich. However, they are weak at sea and on the ground; their tanks may well be better than ours – it is logical to assume that they would be so – but they almost certainly don’t have as many of them as we do. In pure numbers, they are only a little stronger than us at sea, with few deployable ships. In effect, we cannot do more than launch air raids at them – although the threat of an invasion will concentrate their minds – and they cannot get at us, although they can bomb us quite severely.”

With the exception of nuclear weapons, Oliver thought, and shuddered. He didn’t expect that the weak Prime Minister the British had would drop the Bomb, but he was mortally certain that there would be some within the British establishment who would be more than happy to do just that. Atomics was another uncomfortable subject.

Kesselring smiled at his audience. “For all their power, they have vulnerabilities,” he said. “One of their aircraft and pilots – and their weapons – takes far longer to build than one of ours. They will require massive imports of food and drink – and they don’t have the navy to escort it. They have suddenly acquired an empire; will they act to defend it?”

He lifted up one sheet on the board and removed it. “We will launch bombing raids against them, trying to draw out the future RAF so it will be forced to fight on our terms,” he said. “We will cancel the plans for the massive battleships and deploy as many submarines as we can against their shipping. Most of all, we will force them to fight on as many fronts as we can, draining their stockpile of modern weapons.

“The combined command therefore urges that we support as best as we can Mussolini’s adventure in Egypt, with special attention being given to taking Malta and Gibraltar, therefore preventing any linkage between the old and new British. Advancing on the Middle East would also deprive them of their supplies of oil; they have to be thinking now about how to secure them for the future.

“We should also warn the Japanese that they have a window of opportunity to start snapping up British possessions in the Far East, threatening Australia.”

He spoke on. “Invasion is probably not a realistic option,” he said, “although, as I said, we should attempt to convince them that we have that in mind. At best, assuming that nothing goes wrong, we can put a maximum of 10’000 men on the shore – and that assumes that they let us do so. However, if they feel forced to watch us, they will not be able to aid the rest of the world.”

Oliver sat back and listened. It was rare to meet a genuinely first-class mind. Of course, it missed out on some of the most important points, but it would buy Germany time. Time was what they needed most of all.

“Do you have an opinion,” Roth asked, after the meeting was finished. Hitler had praised Kesselring, Himmler and even Roth himself after Kesselring’s presentation.

Oliver smiled. “It shows a grasp of strategic thinking that dwarfs mine,” he said. “Only one thought; have people take pictures of dead children after the bombing raid and have them sent to the British reporters, many of whom will demand to come visit.”

“Really,” Roth said, a little doubtfully. He switched to English. “If you say so,” he said. His English was improving. “Why would they want to?”

“Reporters have become a plague on the military since the Vietnam War,” Oliver said. “Never mind where Vietnam is,” he said, noticing Roth’s puzzlement, “the fact is that they’ll be looking for stories and if you treat them well, they will affect public opinion in your favour.”

Not bloody likely, he thought. “Did Professor Horton help with drafting Kesselring’s plan?”

Roth didn’t answer directly. “We need information,” he said. “Books; technical journals, even more of the silver discs.”

“CDs,” Oliver said. “Information on history, and technical developments, I assume?”

“Indeed,” Roth said. “Tell me, is there any way we could slip you back into England?”

“You want me to collect the books?” Oliver asked. He scowled. “The only reasonable way is to offer to repatriate some of the passengers, such as the children, and return me with them.”

Roth lifted an eyebrow. “You think fast,” he said, approvingly. “And say that you all drew straws to see which of the adults would be returned?”

“Yep,” Oliver said. “We can’t return any other adults; they might well know that I agreed to work for you.” He grinned. “You’d be astonished at how many places I’ve smuggled stuff out of, mainly things people don’t want other people to have.”

“A smuggler as well, then,” Roth said. He sounded faintly disapproving. “How much do you think you could smuggle to us?”

“I’m still thinking about that,” Oliver said. “A submarine might be the best bet; they’re still using fishing boats, aren’t they?” Roth shrugged. “It makes sense,” Oliver said. “The fishing will be better than it has been for years. If a u-boat goes to a pre-arranged spot, say two weeks from my return, we can meet up and transfer stuff over.”

Roth nodded. “It seems a workable idea,” he said. “Tell me; what do you think they’ll do with Ireland?”

Oliver chuckled. “If I was them, I’d swear blind that they had nothing to do with it,” he said. “Ireland was something of a mixed blessing to Britain after the war.” He scowled. “You could raid the Orkneys, I suppose.”

Roth stared at him. “Britain’s largest naval base is in the Orkneys,” he snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s not there any longer,” Oliver said. He paused. “Unless the… time slip, whatever it was, missed the Orkneys.”

“We’ll see if we can get a recon flight up,” Roth said. “We’ve bombed the place several times, and slipped a submarine in once.”

“Tell the pilot to stay as low as he can to evade radar detection,” Oliver said, who’d used that technique to smuggle certain substances into America. “A high-flying plane will be an easy target.”

Roth smiled weakly. “I’ll have to talk it over with the Reichsführer,” he said, “but it seems as if the main air battle will begin in two weeks. We’ll offer to return you and the children a day before the battle begins; the diversion should be helpful to you.”

Oliver nodded. Roth left, leaving Oliver to study the map. He smiled to himself; he’d left a great deal out of the explanation. He hadn’t mentioned that trying to bring down an AWACS aircraft, like the American ones that had hunted him in Central America, would be a sure way to degrade the British air defences. After all, a world where the Nazis won would be a grim place indeed.

I just have to get my money out of it and then I can go, he thought, and smiled. The prostitute, Jeanette, whom he’d been introduced to in France had been brought with him, but he wasn’t allowed to have her in his rooms at Hitler’s base. Wondering if the Germans would be smart enough to pick new bases, places that the future British knew nothing about, he lay down on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.