“That’s what Hitler and his allies are doing,” a voice said. It didn’t take any effort to recognise the voice as Rommel’s. Guderian studied the former Wehrmacht officer with interest. “That’s what’s happening in our name.”
Guderian stared at a picture involving a young girl and two SS guards. “Nein,” he said. “The Fuhrer wouldn’t allow anyone to do that.”
Rommel met his eyes. “On our march to face the SS Panzergrenadier Division Wiking,” he said, “we came across countless villages that had been wiped clean by the SS. The extermination groups have been slaughtering their way across Poland and the Balkans, wiping out entire peoples… just because they will be troublesome, later. That’s what’s happening in Germany, Guderian; they’re killing everyone who does not meet their standards of racial purity.”
“And you want me to join you,” Guderian said. It was not a question. “Why?”
“More people in the Wehrmacht respect you,” Rommel said wryly. Guderian lifted an eyebrow; Rommel was a skilled self-publicist. His weekly broadcasts to Germany were masterpieces of skill and convincing information. “I won’t lie to you; we need all the help we can get.”
Guderian considered. “You’re asking me to kill Germans, just because of their – our – leaders,” he said. “My fellow Germans, people who I have served with and…”
“Serve an evil master,” Rommel said. “God help me; I loved the Fuhrer!” He picked up a picture and waved it under Guderian’s nose; an old man, beaten to death. “This, Guderian, is what we served!”
Guderian shook his head from side to side. “I won’t kill more Germans,” he said. “Rommel – Erwin – this sort of civil war, and that is what the outcome is going to be, will allow Stalin to take over. You know what sort of bastard he is.”
“Better or worse than Hitler?” Rommel asked. He scowled. “Guderian – Heinz – I wish I could change your views on loyalty, but that’s up to you. Heinz, there’s nothing more I can tell you. I can show you the videos long-range recon teams have taken in Poland, or of camps in Germany itself, if you want.”
Guderian shook his head again. “Erwin, I won’t make that choice, I can’t,” he said. He felt a tear fall from his eyes. “God help me – I can’t fight against Germany.”
Chapter Forty-Four: Interludes and Examinations
The White House
Washington DC, USA
12th July 1941
It wasn’t his house yet. In the attendant confusion following the defeat of the coup attempt and making as clean a sweep as possible of the criminal elements in the south that had nearly plunged the United States into a second civil war, Harry S. Truman hadn’t managed to move his possessions into the White House, let alone place his stamp on the building. To almost everyone in America, the White House was still FDR’s home – and everything that had happened in the coup a nightmare.
Truman shook his head. It had taken a great deal of luck – and Bankhead’s decision to make certain that he had records of everyone involved – to be able to make as clean a sweep as they had of those involved. For the moment, political opposition in the south was quiet; ironically, it was the north that was making the most fuss. The war against Germany and Russia was their priority; what did they care about social justice, even punishing those whose only crime was the company they kept?
Truman chuckled bitterly. Several thousand members of the southern governing class had been taken into custody to avoid them being lynched by both whites and blacks. Others – including Hoover and his so-called lover – remained underground, hiding from the revenge of his political enemies and those he had blackmailed. In the two weeks since the coup plot – the Wet Firecracker Rebellion – Hoover had managed to avoid all searches, no matter who was doing the searching.
“Mr President?” Truman looked up as his new aide entered. Captain Bosco, the former Marine, had been offered to him as a bodyguard during the first terrifying week, when the country had teetered on the brink of destruction. “It’s time for the ceremony.”
Truman nodded. The ceremony, the awarding of various medals to those who foiled the coup, would be unusual; for the first time black and white men would stand together as equals. Also – an Englishman would receive the Medal of Honour; the British Prime Minister had flown in for the ceremony.
“We will prevail,” he muttered to himself. Roosevelt – God bless his memory – hadn’t been able to take swift action to end the entire race crisis before it had almost destroyed the nation. Truman, in the middle of a war, knew what needed to be done… and was prepared to do it.
“Yes, Mr President,” Bosco said, passing him his speech. Truman smiled; it would be a while, he was certain, before a political opposition arose again in the south, resistant to change… and by then most of the hard work would have been completed.
“Let’s go hand out the awards,” Truman said. Bosco himself had declined an award, even with Truman had insisted. “We all have to remember our heroes.”
The Americans still think highly of Lee, Hanover thought, from his seat at the front of the room. The British view of those who had fought on the wrong side during their civil wars wasn’t anything like as accepting; with the exception of Monck, most of the senior officers in the Republic and Protectorate had been executed.
The thought made him smile, keeping him amused enough to keep smiling as Jim Oliver accepted his reward. The Bracken Consortium had it made; with the favour of the President, what could it not do? Already, there were new contracts for expanding into the south, developing new industries that would be turned against Russia, and contracts for redeveloping New York.
Bastard, Hanover thought, and altered his strategy slightly. He grinned; this was what chess playing was really like, moving pieces around until they fit the plans of the player. The thought amused him again, keeping him awake as Truman – and the much-reduced Senate – passed a new version of the Civil Rights Act, attempting to end the racial tensions in a stroke. Hanover doubted that it would be anything like as easy as Truman made it sound, but… well, he was allowed to be optimistic.
Tell me, how many masters have you served, Jim Oliver? Hanover wondered, as the other awards were passed out. Idly, he wondered if Ambassador King would be offered the post of Vice-President, but he doubted it; would the post-rebellion United States accept a black Vice-President?
Afterwards, the President and the Prime Minister sat together in Roosevelt’s old study. There would be time for formal war conferences later, for now the two leaders could renew their alliance and take one another’s measure. Hanover smiled; he’d met Truman before, but this was their first private meeting.
“Apart from Hoover himself, I think we made a pretty clean sweep,” Truman said. “It won’t be painless, but in a year the United States will be free of their evil.”
“Perhaps,” Hanover said, who knew that several thousand had applied to go to South Africa. Fortunately, the Smuts Government hadn’t sought the approval of His Majesty’s Government. “I’m glad to know that everything will be fine.”