Axis of Evil

Chapter Forty-One: What Price Redemption?

Fuhrerbunker

Berlin, Germany

24^th June 1941

Field Marshal Kesselring nodded politely to Himmler and saluted Hitler as he entered the main conference room. The loss of the main base in Norway, even though new German forces were inching their way towards the American positions through Sweden, had alarmed the Fuhrer, whose paranoia had risen to new heights.

“I have urgent information,” he said, before Hitler could begin an hour-long monologue. Few in the bunker could bear to listen to Hitler’s monologues, except a few die-hard SS men and Ribbentrop, who never had original thoughts of his own. Hitler, unfortunately, had too many.

“The Norwegians have revolted against our remaining positions?” Himmler asked. There were a handful of Germans along the Norwegian-Swedish border, nervously awaiting their reinforcements. “The Americans have left the war?”

Kesselring shook his head. Whatever had happened in America – and even the BBC didn’t seem to know – it hadn’t affected the American position in Norway. They had secured Oslo and were currently cleaning up the mess. Once they had managed to clear the fjords of mines and other unpleasant surprises, they would be able to resupply and make their way into Sweden, ignoring Swedish protests.

He scowled. The Russian attack on New York had only annoyed the Americans still further. They might head across Sweden; the British seemed to have had other ideas. He knew what they were doing, and God only knew how much time they had left. They’d certainly been unable to crack the British encryption methods, even with the information that the SS had obtained.

“Mein Fuhrer, the British are planning a landing in Greece,” he said, and had the pleasure of watching Hitler’s jaw drop. The Fuhrer hadn’t expected trouble from Greece; the Greeks had been fairly quiet recently. “They have been spending the last week or so systematically destroying the defences around Athens, using their new bases on Crete.”

He waved a hand at the map. “Mein Fuhrer, they have been building up their forces on Crete, some of their Marines and army units,” he said, silently blessing the SS officer who’d remained on Crete, using a sea cable to make his reports. “Mein Fuhrer, once they take Greece, they can supply resistance fighters all across the Balkans.”

Hitler’s brow furrowed. His doctrine, the nazi system he’d been largely responsible for inventing, considered the Greeks slightly above the Italians and far below the Germans. Common sense and future history pointed out that resistance activities were threats he could hardly ignore.

“More the reinforcements slated for the Middle East front to Greece,” Hitler ordered finally. “Once there, they are to secure Greece; we can hardly afford to lose another country.”

“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Kesselring said. “I can only hope that the reinforcements get there in time.”

HMS Warspite

Crete, Mediterranean Sea

26^th June 1941

Admiral Somerville studied his new fleet with a mixture of dread and eagerness. Apart from Warspite, there were two other battleships, and almost every Contemporary cruiser or destroyer that had been left behind when their Britain vanished, and seventeen modern ships. It was the most powerful force he’d ever commanded and – not counting Admiral Turtledove’s fleet – the most powerful force on the planet.

He grinned like a schoolchild as he studied the display. Nearly every unit in the Mediterranean and the Middle East would be taking part in Redemption, Rommel’s brainchild. Thirty freighters and Marine transports lurked away from the battle fleet, and dozens of aircraft waited on Crete and Egypt, waiting for the command to transport their paratroopers to the target. He shuddered; it was the first time that they’d tangled with the Germans when the enemy had a good supply capability, even if the RAF was going to mess it up pretty badly.

“Sir, the captains are ready for you,” Tom said. Somerville nodded and stalked into the briefing room, where the captains waited.

“Good morning,” Somerville said, as they saluted. “As you may be aware, the plan was to hit Greece.” They nodded. More than a few of them had privately raised concerns about the plan. “I’m here to tell you that that was a bluff, a lie calculated to distract German attention, seeing that we could hardly count on our build-up here being unnoticed, could we?”

He activated the display and watched their expressions. “This is our target,” he said. “It’s the weakest link in their logistics chain, and we’re going to take it from them.” He scowled. “It’s not going to be easy – and I was here the last time we tried something like this – but with the new weapons we can tear up the German lines of communication.

“Gallipoli,” he said, as the map changed. “The Germans have to tranship through Istanbul, and we’re going to take the city. I have it on good authority that the Turks will switch sides as soon as they see us, but it’s not a pre-requisite for success.” He chucked. “For some reason, the Germans have limited the number of Turkish Battalions near their own capital, so even if the Turks fight against us we will have the advantage. Even so…

“The estimate of German forces includes one division near Istanbul, a second one that is currently moving into Greece, but they may send it back, and two divisions dug into the Gallipoli peninsula. Known Turkish forces include three infantry divisions at Gallipoli, defending the straits, and one more in reserve.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to clobber them as well.”

He adjusted the display again. “The plan is basically simple,” he said. “The fleet will advance towards Gallipoli under cover of darkness, while the RAF will hammer the Germans into the ground. Every remaining cruise missile in the region is going to be used to utterly wreck their communications network; we’ve been told not to waste it. By the time the Germans work out what’s happening, we should have made it through the night, and the Marines will be landing on Gallipoli.”

Another slide. “We have been promised the help of a heavy bomber, which will use SBS men who will be infiltrated into Gallipoli to target JDAM weapons, blasting through the defences and allowing the Marines to land. We have to take them at a run, gentlemen” – he nodded at Brigadier Hampton – “and allow them no time to recover.”

He scowled. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of what happened the last time someone tried this,” he said. “I was there; many of you will have only read about it in history books.” There were a few grim chuckles. “We cannot get stalled; we have to get the Germans out and the Turks out, before they can muster a counterattack.

“The second prong will be landed at the end of the Gallipoli peninsula,” he said. “That’s the main attack force; the Marine division and the modern Army units. They are going to drive to Istanbul, while the fleet clears the passage through the Gallipoli peninsula. Once the fleet sails up to Istanbul, they can surrender and join us, or we’ll reduce their city to rubble.”

HMS Warspite shuddered slightly as her engines came to life, pushing her away from Crete. She hadn’t been docked on the large island, but some of her crew had been allowed shore leave; the Germans hadn’t attempted to toss them back off Crete.

“This is going to be tricky,” he muttered, as the fleet slid through the warm waters of the Aegean Sea. “All this way, on the advice of a damned German.”

“One of their better generals,” Tom pointed out. He passed Somerville a mug of coffee. “We can do this.”

“Never doubted it,” Somerville said. “Given whatever’s going on in America, we have to move quickly, before the Germans take advantage of the confusion.” He scowled. “It’s just the last part of the plan I’m worried about; if we cut off the Germans, they might decide to fight to the end.”

Over Turkey

26^th June 1941

Dusk was falling over Turkey as the Harrier jump jet crossed the coastline, heading towards Konya. The Germans were moving an armoured division north, taking it back to Greece, and at the rate it was moving it might be too close to the attack point for comfort by the time the Marines went in.

Flying Officer Mick Eccleston checked the scope as the Harrier swooped high over mountains and fields, where Turks laboured under German semi-control. There was no sign of airborne opposition; HARM missiles had already been launched against the handful of German radar sets. Eccleston frowned; the daily information briefings warned that the Germans were constantly improving their sets, even if they were nowhere near the capabilities of a British set from 2015.

Bastards must have moved onto transistors by now, he thought grimly, as the dark German vehicles came into view. Puffs of black smoke appeared below him as the German anti-aircraft vehicle began trying to bring him down; he started evasive action, just in case. Losing a Harrier to such a piece of clapped out junk would be embarrassing.

“Control, launching FAE bomb now,” he said. The Germans had no counter to the bomb, even though they were very aware of what it could do; the men abandoned their vehicles and ran, not fast enough.

“Bomb detonation,” he said, as the wave of fire blasted out over the massive German force. The Harrier jumped forward as the weight of its first bomb was removed, he came around to see if the second bomb was required. Some German vehicles had survived. “Launching second bomb now.”

“Good work, Eagle,” the AWACS said. “Permission to return to the tanker.”

“Thank you, control,” Eccleston said. “Returning now.”

Gallipoli Peninsula

27^th June 1941

The water was icy-cold near ANZAC cove, where an Austrian force had come to grief twenty-four years ago. The darkness would blind German and Turkish sentries, but the black suit Corporal Tom Williams wore contained night-vision gear that was literally decades ahead of anything the Germans might have deployed. He pulled himself out of the water, admiring how the suit changed colour to match its surroundings, and tapped his radio, sending a single burst back to the submarine.

Am ashore, it read.

Carefully, he pulled himself up the rocks and peered over onto the main peninsula. An infrared scan revealed no humans nearby; he slipped neatly across the peninsula without seeing anyone, finally reaching high ground and a German lookout point, on top of a small hill.

Idiots, he muttered, as he slipped closer. There were only two Germans present; one asleep, the other playing endless games of cards. He shrugged; Gallipoli probably wasn’t as important as the Middle East, or Norway, but surely the Germans could have spared some better men for the task of guarding it. The awake German spun around as he slipped into the lookout, but never made a sound as Williams shot him with the silent needle gun. The asleep German never woke up as his throat was being cut.

“I’m on the lookout point,” he subvocalised, picking up one of the German hats and placing it on his head. As long as he looked German in the darkness, they wouldn’t notice that his binoculars were hardly German standard-issue, but something far more complicated. With infrared sensors, picking out the positions of the German and Turkish positions was easy.

“Understood,” the commander said. “We’re sending in the rest of the team now.”

Williams watched as more dark-garbed men slipped up onto the peninsula, spreading out. Dawn was threatening to arise, and with it the Germans would become more alert. Quickly, he returned to watching the Germans, plotting out their positions and…

“The Admiral has given the order,” the commander said. “Have you targeted everywhere?”

“Yes, sir,” Williams subvocalised.

“Air strike inbound,” the commander said. “Get down and stay down.”

Captain Bertha Demimonde, RAF Reserve, sniggered to herself as the flight of converted cargo planes headed across the Aegean to Gallipoli. Unlike many others from Britain, she was enjoying the strange new world after the Transition, and her recall was a delight. Her plane, a cargo craft had had been used to deliver goods to Europe, had been converted into a bomber – it now carried twenty JDAMs.

“Bomber group, targets are being designated now,” the AWACS said. Electronic signals flashed between the group, designating targets for the bombers; only two of her JDAMs were assigned to targets.

“Understood,” she said, glancing out of the window. She’d never visited Turkey; Gallipoli didn’t look like much to her, just a muddy-brown strip of mountains and hollows. In the dawn, there was very little to see from her height.

“Bombs away,” the AWACS said. Two of her JDAMs fell on their command, laser-guided weapons heading down to Gallipoli. She watched; explosions flickered among the mountains. The tip of the peninsula had been designated for the single MOAB; that explosion was massive even from her distance.

“I guess that they’ll be complaining that we remodelled it,” she muttered, as she put the transport into a holding orbit. As new targets appeared, her weapons would be deployed automatically. It was a strange way to fight a war.

Admiral Somerville gasped as the MOAB struck the peninsula. The explosion was awesome; he thought that the entire peninsula would be destroyed for a long chilling moment. It was hard to imagine that anyone would have survived; the sudden disappearance of some of the telemetry indicated that some of the SBS hadn’t been lucky.

“Sir, we lost three of the troopers,” Tom reported. “The others are providing coordinates for follow-up strikes.”

“Order the planes to continue the attack,” Somerville said. It was astonishing; Warspite’s main guns couldn’t deliver such a battering. For the first time, he truly grasped that the era of the battleship was over. “What about the Marines?”

“Brigadier Hampton reports that they’re ready to move in,” Tom said. “Orders?”

“England expects every man to do his duty,” Somerville said. “That’s all.”

The fleet of landing craft approached the beach, carrying their Marines and their equipment, following the lights of the inserted teams. Bigger planes roared overhead, dropping paratroops onto Turkish soil, coordinating their efforts with Brigadier Hampton’s force.

“Sir,” Captain Manuel Amos snapped. “We have managed to establish a beachhead. The Germans are further along the peninsula, still reeling from the air attacks.”

“Excellent,” Hampton snapped. “Did we break them?”

“Don’t know,” Amos snapped. “They must have taken a pasting!”

“True,” Hampton agreed. He scowled as the Marines ran past, establishing a first defence line. “Drones?”

Corporal Wallace saluted. “Sir, we have coverage for as far as five miles, as well as access to live feed from the satellites. The Germans seem to be reeling.”

Hampton nodded as the first tanks rolled out of the transports. The 1^st Royal Marine Division was landing, an awesome combination of firepower and mobility. Challenger tanks ambled up onto Turkish soil; he checked the map quickly, the Germans were on very bad terrain for tanks.

“Order the 3^rd Reconnaissance Company to check it out,” he snapped, as the company formed up further along the beach. The Scorpion and Scimitar vehicles should be enough to handle any German resistance. “Attach an infantry group to escort them, just in case.”

“Aye, sir,” Corporal Wallace barked. Hampton headed quickly along the beach, watching as the sergeants and NCOs formed the men up, heading away from the beach. He smiled; the Germans would have been very capable of pushing them back into the sea, whatever their technological inferiorities, if they’d caught them unloading, but it looked as if they’d escaped that fate.

“Bring the main tank groups forward,” he ordered, as his command vehicle drove up to meet him. He wasn’t sure that he liked having a command vehicle, but it was the only way to coordinate his force; the Marines had learnt many lessons from their involvement in Iraq and later battles.

“Aye, sir,” Corporal Wallace said. “Sir, I think the Germans are aware that something’s up; we have reports of German aircraft rising from Greece.”

“I think they would have noticed the loss of an entire set of divisions,” Hampton muttered. “What about the holdouts?”

A buzz of firing echoed over the rocks for a long moment. “Sir, the 3^rd Reconnaissance Company is reporting that the Germans want to surrender. They seem to be rather stunned, sir.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hampton said, as Harrier jets roared overhead. “Inform the air defence component that they are cleared to engage German aircraft if they pose a threat.”

“Aye, sir,” Corporal Wallace said. “Sir, the Harriers are kicking the shit out of them, if you’ll pardon my French, sir!”

The Royal Marine Armoured Brigade, led by the 1^st Armoured Infantry Battalion, carefully advanced eastwards, hiding under the coverage of the drones. The blitzkrieg was proceeding slower than they’d expected; a handful of Germans had set up positions and fought desperately against the British. Turkish forces were not in evidence; they seemed to have vanished.

“I wonder if we killed them all,” Captain Yates muttered, as the Challenger II advanced, poking its way towards Istanbul. After losing a Scimitar to a German anti-tank weapon, years ahead of its time, they’d started to use the Challenger’s as scouts; they were still utterly invulnerable.

“Or perhaps they’re under arrest by the Germans,” Corporal Benton suggested. The driver of the Challenger adjusted their course slightly as the mine detector reported mines ahead. “They don’t seem to have invested in their defences.”

“They were counting on us not being capable of such an operation, according to the General,” Yates said. The tank rocked as the mine-clearing vehicle went into action; mines exploded all around them. “Blast it!”

“The drones report another German force ahead of us,” Benton snapped. “HQ is ordering us to advance faster.”

“Can they not see the mines?” Yates snapped. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

The minefield completed its detonation and the tanks rumbled forwards. Yates gunned the engine as much as he dared, pushing the tank forward towards the German lines. Explosions billowed up ahead of them as the Germans opened fire with field guns, clanging off the Challenger’s armour.

“Return fire,” Benton insisted.

“One moment,” Yates said, carefully targeting the main gun. “Firing!”

The Challenger jumped as a shell blasted out of its main gun and slammed into the German ammunition supply. The other tanks opened fire, destroying the German lines in a shattering crescendo of explosions.

“The golden turrets and minuets of Istanbul lie open to us,” Benton proclaimed. “Onwards, Christian soldiers…”

“We’re not allowed to say that, these days,” Yates said, and then rather spoiled the effect by singing along with him. It wouldn’t be long now, one way or the other.