Second Chance

Chapter Thirty-One: Alliances

RAF Lyneham

Wiltshire, United Kingdom

13^th September 1940

Erwin Rommel opened his eyes and gazed up at a clean white ceiling, lit by a glowing strip of light. Wonderingly, he sat up and reeled; his body felt as if he’d been drinking the night before, except for the missing hangover. Carefully, he glanced around, examining the room that he found himself suddenly inhabiting. It was small and neat, a small typewriter-like device sat on one table. Swinging his legs over and out of the bed, he noticed that he’d been undressed and then dressed in striped pyjamas.

“Where the hell am I?” He asked, as he stood up. The room spun around him – he wondered suddenly if he’d been drugged – and he grabbed onto the table to steady himself. Staggering over to the sink, he turned on the tap and drank a sip of lukewarm water. It reminded him that he was thirsty and he sipped more, discovering that the other tap poured cold water.

As soon as he had quenched his thirst, he tried the door. Not entirely to his surprise, it was locked; banging produced no results. Quickly searching the rest of the room, he found a full set of clothes – although civilian rather than army – and a small bookshelf. Studying the selection of books, he was astonished to note that one of them was called Rommel, with a publication date of 2001.

They are from the future, he thought, as he skimmed through it. Up to a point, it was accurate; his service in the Great War – referred to as World War One – and his married life were covered in detail. He blushed to realise that the men of the future knew about his affair; he smiled with pride to realise that his son had made him proud. Then it changed, and he read on, growing more and more puzzled.

His career in France was as he remembered, but then it changed. Instead of the war with the suddenly super-powerful Britain, he went to Africa, aiding the Italians and coming to the gates of Egypt. He waged war until two German armies were lost, one in Russia, one in North Africa. He commanded the defence of France, hampered by the Fuhrer, and then he gave support to a plan to remove the Fuhrer. His role in the plan was discovered, he was offered a fatal choice… and then he was dead.

For a long moment, Rommel howled in pain. The book continued, praising him and warning of Germany’s future, a long period spent under Soviet dominance. It spoke about the holocaust, and about the deaths of thousands of millions of people, all at the command of one man; Fuhrer Adolf Hitler.

“But it didn’t happen that way,” he protested.

“It did the first time around,” a voice said from behind him. Rommel spun around, cursing his lack of awareness; the door had opened and he hadn’t noticed. The man wore a British uniform, but different from the one that the Tommies normally wore. “Field Marshall Erwin Rommel, that was your life.”

Rommel stared at him. “Sorry, bad joke, I know,” the man said. His English was oddly accented; there were hints of American phases and strange concepts. “If you read, you must understand that we are from the future.”

“The rumours said you were,” Rommel said finally, feeling the room spinning again. “I’m not a Field Marshall.”

“You were, in the other universe,” the man said. “Of course, that was before you were offered the choice between suicide and disgrace.”

Rommel sat down hard on the bed; the man took the chair opposite him. “I’m Major Stirling,” the man said, extending a hand. Rommel took it and shook hands. “I’m sorry for the somewhat… abrupt manner of making your acquaintance, sir, but we were running out of time. There is no doubt that Hitler would have ordered you killed, or Himmler would have taken the matter into his own hands. You see, some future information reached the SS, and everyone who would have plotted against Hitler has been removed, removed before they ever had a chance to even begin to plot”

“Why?” Rommel asked. “What happens?”

Stirling shrugged; Rommel had the impression that he was being watched very carefully. “Different reasons for different people,” he said. “Some knew that the war was lost after an entire army group was smashed in Russia, others knew that Germany would be buried under a tidal wave of American production. Some just disliked Hitler, some believed that a peace could be worked out without Hitler – and some knew of the holocaust and how the allies would react. They said ‘enjoy the war, because the peace will be terrible,’ and it was.”

He picked up a book and passed it over. Rommel looked down at the picture and was nearly sick. “Germany is a civilised nation,” he said finally. “We won’t, we don’t…”

Stirling looked sympathetic. “It’s already begun,” he said. “In many ways, its worse than in our time; Poles and Greeks are being enslaved, it’s like the Draka out there. All of them are being pressed into building German production, while your new ally Stalin is exterminating the Poles. General, of all the resistance that won’t be here, you’re the only one we were able to find in time.”

“What happens to us?” Rommel asked finally. He felt a deep despair. “Why did this happen?”

“We don’t know,” Stirling said. “One option, one that is discussed more and more now, is destroying Germany outright.” He shook his head. “Ambassador Ernst Schulze has a few ideas to prevent that; I’ll send him in.”

He left through the door. Rommel watched him go, his mind reeling, staring down at the pictures. The list of names that would become infamous in the future; concentration camps, SS guards and finally the fate of Germany itself.

Ambassador Ernst Schulze hesitated before entering the room. He’d been on the strange airbase before, to visit Hans Meyer, but this was different. Rommel was one of the few Germans from the World War Two era to be well spoken of; one of the few who it was permitted to speak openly about. Everyone knew about the others, but no one discussed them in public.

Rommel looked up as Schulze entered. He seemed younger than his pictures suggested, the ones that had not been taken yet. He was still older than many Wehrmacht officers, still dignified, but his eyes were dim. The Pictures of Hell was open in front of him; the record of what the allied troops had found in 1945.

“Guten Tag,” Schulze said. What did one say to a legend? “How are you this morning?”

Rommel laughed bitterly. “My nation, the great shining women, has committed terrible crimes and I have been a part of those crimes,” he said. “How do you expect me to feel?”

Schulze nodded. “I am the German ambassador to the United Kingdom,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly expecting a trip back in time.”

Rommel snorted. “I wasn’t expecting to be condemned for something I hadn’t done yet,” he said. “Ambassador, what is the point?”

Schulze nodded sadly. “General, there is a chance that everything can be altered,” he said. “Will you help me?”

Rommel shrugged. “To do what?”

Schulze smiled, understanding Rommel’s feelings. “The problem isn’t just defeating Germany, as Major Stirling said the nation can be destroyed, but in building a new and better world. You see, we have an opportunity to ensure that democracy flourishes within Germany earlier, if you will help me.”

Schulze took a breath. “You are the only German of any statue to be still considered a hero,” he said. “If you broadcast to Germany, to convince them to give up the Nazis, they will…”

“Do nothing,” Rommel said. Schulze blinked. “They don’t know about all of this, they don’t know about the horror; they will only know that Hitler has made them powerful again. We can’t talk them into overthrowing the Nazis, we can only defeat them on the field.”

“An army is being prepared,” Schulze said. “The problem is that it’s a British army…”

“And you want me to lead a German army,” Rommel said. He seemed to find the concept amusing. “Ambassador, I have no troops or weapons.”

“They can be provided,” Schulze said. “If we can build a Free German Army, will you command it?”

Rommel tapped the picture book. “I don’t see that I have a choice,” he said. “I want to do more research on the new military capabilities and I want to talk to the British first. I have no interest in building a puppet state.”

Schulze smiled. “Me neither,” he said. “Don’t worry; we’ll build a strong, democratic and independent Germany.”

The RAF base commandant had been more than happy to give up his office for the meeting, but Hanover felt uncomfortable within the room. He knew that it was foolish, but he was uncomfortable. There were such high stakes, and he was balancing too many different items in the air.

He glared down at the text of a Parliamentary Question. Later that day, he was supposed to go in front of the House of Commons and answer the question. He read it again and swore; it was simple and clear. ‘To ask the honourable member if the rumours of the Polish genocide are true and what he intends to do about them?’

Hanover scowled. On his insistence, the RAF had struck at train locomotives and some SS camps in Poland, pushing the RAF to its limits. Unfortunately, short of using nuclear missiles, the Soviet Union was outside his range; the RAF no longer had units based in Germany. Until the new army regiments were ready, and the growing threat from Japan dealt with, there was nothing he could do.

He shook his head and checked his watch. London hadn’t seen a pro-nuclear demonstration – ever – before yesterday and the anti-nuclear protesters were as violent and irrational as ever. The Poles, demanding that Germany and Russia be nuked before all the Poles were exterminated, had clashed badly with the usual crowd of people who were opposed to the use of nukes under any circumstances. Japanese, some of the German residents and even some Russians had joined in the fun, and the riot had taken hours to suppress. The Police had thousands of people in jail under the DORA powers, trying to sort out who’d done what.

There’s always Ploesti, he thought, and scowled. Wrecking the place with a nuclear warhead would short-circuit the German war machine, at least for a while, but it would unbalance the balance of power, tipping it firmly in Stalin’s direction. Hanover shook his head; for the moment the war had to go on.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Hanover snapped, and stood up. Major Stirling came in, leading a man who was taller than Hanover had expected. Rommel was impressive, Hanover supposed; he walked with a genuine aristocratic bearing that so many of the House of Lords had forgotten in the years since the war. Too busy scrogng off the NHS, Hanover thought. Damn Blair for hacking away without leaving anything to take the weight.

“Erwin Rommel, Prime Minister,” Major Stirling said, and left the room. Hanover considered Rommel; Rommel considered him back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hanover said, aware that conversational inanities would be useless with this man. “I assume that you have been briefed on the situation?”

“As unbelievable as it is,” Rommel said. “How did you come back in time?”

Hanover shook his head, waving Rommel to a chair. “I wish I knew,” he said. “We’ve been hunting for a solution, and there are people who think it happened deliberately, but… hell, we might as well blame God! We don’t know and we can’t go back!”

“I think a lot of people will be grateful,” Rommel said. “Your major and the ambassador told me about what would have happened.”

Hanover snorted, recognising Rommel’s expression. “My dear fellow, it’s already happening.”

“I know,” Rommel said. “What do you intend to do about it?”

Hanover waved a hand at the map on the wall. “I have problems,” he said. “Yes, as you may have heard, as a final resort we can burn Germany off the face of the Earth, slaughtering the entire population.” He met Rommel’s eyes. “As God is my witness, if Hitler develops nuclear weapons, I will do that.”

Rommel paled. “At the same time, devastating Germany would invite Stalin to invade, and force us to force him out,” Hanover continued. He scowled. “I have to hold a balance; build up our own forces to invade Germany – and incidentally to destroy the Vichy Government – and at the same time permitting Hitler to continue to rule Germany.”

“You can’t,” Rommel said. “You have to stop him.”

Hanover smiled. “Until now, I didn’t have an alternative,” he said. “Tell me, would you be interested in leading a new Germany?”

Rommel narrowed his eyes. “You want me to be Chancellor?”

Hanover nodded. “You see, we want a strong Germany, one that will resist the economic policies that nearly destroyed the European Union, but we want – must have – a democratic state. We need an ally, General Rommel, one that will be strong and democratic, one that will assist us in rolling back communism. Stalin is just as great a threat to us as Hitler, perhaps greater in the long term.”

Rommel hesitated. “I have conditions,” he said finally. “I have no intention of running a puppet state. If I agree to do this, I want freedom of action.”

Hanover considered. “As long as you stick with the democracy, then fine; I agree. There is one cavort; no nuclear weapons, not now, not for a long time. The fewer there are of them, the better.”

“And if you have them, you make certain that no one else has them,” Rommel said wryly. “Secondly, you recruit a German army, one to take the field against Hitler’s legions. This has to be done by Germans; we have to burn the monsters out of our nation.”

Hanover nodded slowly. “I agree in principle,” he said. “However, we don’t have many German prisoners, and we don’t have a large German population. We could try to recruit from the states, but…”

“There’ll be enough in German for a battalion or two,” Rommel said. “So, what now?”

“At the moment, we’re preparing to fend off an attack on Gibraltar,” Hanover said. “Unfortunately, we will fail; I don’t suppose that you have a miracle tactic up your sleeve?”

Rommel shook his head. “The problems of attacking a fortress are well understood now,” he said.

Hanover smiled wryly. This Rommel, of course, had never heard of Tobruk. “Thanks anyway,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, Ambassador Schulze will help you become accustomed to the new Britain, and then we can give you a medical check.”

“One final matter,” Rommel said. “My family.”

Hanover hesitated. “We’ll do what we can,” he said. “I won’t lie to you; Hitler will lose no sleep over turning them into dogmeat. We’ll see what the SAS can do, if we can find them, but most of our ways of gathering information are useless in the new situation.”

Undisclosed Location

Berlin, Germany

13^th September 1940

Himmler studied the report from the SS team with mounting dissatisfaction. The loss of Skorzany – his dead body having been discovered by the investigators – was annoying; the files had talked about him as some kind of superman, the sort of person whom Himmler needed for his long-term plans. More annoying was the attack itself; the British had attacked a SS-held location and had wiped out a fifty-man team, without suffering any losses at all. Himmler clicked his teeth; or, of course, they’d taken away any bodies. If it hadn’t been for the bullets in the dead bodies, now being moved to the SS burial ground, they would never have known that there’d been a ground attack at all.

What were you doing? Himmler asked himself, turning a recovered bullet over and over in his hands. Why did you attack the building holding the Fuhrer’s former favourite? Why? What did you think you were doing?

Himmler’s lips opened wide in a smile that would have sickened any onlooker. It was obvious; they had to have thought that they were recovering one of the handful of people from the crashed jet, back at the beginning. It made sense, with only one exception; why destroy the building? Had they taken Rommel? If not, had he escaped or had he been killed when the building itself had been destroyed? Himmler shook his head; there was no way to be certain, the handful of SS agents who’d been sent into the future Britain had just disappeared, and the Irish were much less obliging these days.

He pounded on the table, careful not to dialogue the laptop, and his secretary ran in. A tall thin man with a face like a pinched grape, his servility would have been sickening to anyone with any sense of fairness. Himmler, who knew he was loyal, kept him around because of that loyalty; the man would be completely alone if anything happened to Himmler.

“Pieter,” he snapped, and the secretary saluted. “You are to go at once to the troop headquarters and arrange extra protection around all of the prisoners,” he said. “I want them surrounded by another ring of armed guards, living in the same buildings as them.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Pieter snapped, saluting again. His weak eyes blinked at Himmler. “I will do as you command.”

“Oh, and you had better see to it that Herr Rommel’s family get tossed into one of the worker camps,” Himmler said. “One way or the other, now that he’s dead, they won’t be needed any longer, will they?”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Pieter snapped. “Should we give him a state funeral?”

Himmler considered. Rommel had been given one in the first history, the Jewish one. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll give him a proper funeral and make him into a martyr.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Pieter snapped.