Shaking his head softly, he picked up the printouts – he’d never learned to read off the screens – and skimmed though Somerville’s reports on the recent battle. He scowled; contemplating fighting other Germans was… unpleasant, even though he knew that it had to be done. Ever since the SAS had rescued him from the SS, after he’d been arrested for a crime he hadn’t yet committed, he’d seen too much of the true face of the Third Reich. Hiding wasn’t possible; the only option was to fight.
He glared down at the reports. Grand strategy wasn’t his best subject – he’d always been more of a tactical commander – but he was certain that there wasn’t much worth the effort of defending on Crete. What was there? Some sheep and the inhabitants, most of whom were now in secured villages. Why would the Nazis put some of their main guns – and at least one of their bits of modern technology – into Crete? If Somerville had decided to try to take the island, it would have been lost forever.
Oh Lu, he thought sadly. His wife and son, and his illegitimate daughter, had vanished beyond the ken of British Intelligence. The British Intelligence was a puzzle; in some ways, such as decryption and reconnaissance, it was a soldiers dream. In other ways, such as human intelligence, it was very weak. He had supposed that they could have picked up their former web of spies that the Gestapo had hunted, but apparently most of them had been wiped out by the SS, following the Transition.
He scowled and stared down at the reports again. Whoever was commanding the forces in the Middle East had done a good job; not only was Turkey properly subservient, but their supply lines were reasonably capable. He’d expected that the Turks would have fought, after the nuclear warhead had gone off, and instead they’d submitted to the dread of a joint German-Soviet invasion.
And if Hitler isn’t beaten soon, Germany might end up being destroyed, he thought, and sighed. The use of one nuclear warhead had prompted calls for using more; on Germany, on Russia, on the troops massing in the Middle East… and to use them to win. Ambassador Ernst Schulze, the former Ambassador to the United Kingdom from the 2015 Germany and now the effective political head of the Government-In-Exile, worried constantly about that; the Free German Army was perhaps the only reason why Germany hadn’t been already destroyed.
Or at least Ernst thinks so, Rommel thought, and smiled bleakly. The British seemed to be scared of their weapons, a fear he couldn’t imagine Hitler or Mussolini or Stalin showing. If Hitler ever developed a nuclear warhead, it would be used on Britain… and the world would be set ablaze.
“Good afternoon, Herr General,” a strange voice said. Six months after meeting the German colonel who’d served as the military attaché to Britain, Rommel wasn’t certain that he liked his accent. It wasn’t… German; it was strange, softer, and yet harsh. Colonel Muhlenkampf was a former officer in the 7th Panzer; it had given them something in common once they’d gotten over the hero-worshiping phase.
“Guten tag,” Rommel said. Colonel Muhlenkampf clicked his heels. “How goes the training?”
Colonel Muhlenkampf bowed slightly. “The 1st Panzer should be ready to see action in a month,” he said. “The Fireflies are junk compared to the Leopards, but they’re good and simple vehicles. We’re currently practising moving both tanks and infantry together; that’s an important part of military skill.”
“As the Soviets have proved for us,” Rommel said. The Soviet invasion of Iran had outrun its logistical lines – and its infantry units – more than once; the tanks had taken an object, and then milled about waiting for the infantry. “What about the other two divisions?”
“The 2nd and 3rd should be ready in two more months,” Colonel Muhlenkampf said. “We streamlined the recruits who did have military experience into the 1st; everyone else is starting from the same point. As for the armoured infantry, they’re making good progress – and should be ready in a month or so.”
“Good,” Rommel said, wishing once again that he had a proper secretary. “Any major weaknesses?”
“Logistics,” Colonel Muhlenkampf said, who’d been brought up on lessons on logistics. “We don’t have a proper logistics train and…”
“I know,” Rommel said. “Under the circumstances, its quite understandable.”
He sensed Colonel Muhlenkampf’s quiet indignation on his behalf. After finding a couple of SS spies among the ‘deserters’ from Germany, the British had been reluctant to turn the Free German Army into a fully-mobile combat group; it was one of the reasons why they were training up in Algeria instead of in Britain itself.
He tapped the table sharply, passing over a PDA. Colonel Muhlenkampf, at least, could use the advanced computers. “Those are the intelligence reports,” Rommel said. “Read them… and tell me what you think.”
Muhlenkampf read quickly and efficiently. It didn’t take him long to notice the same discrepancy that had interested Rommel; there weren’t enough tanks being moved though Turkey.
“They should be capable of deploying more tanks,” Muhlenkampf said finally. “They have the logistics, even as bad as they are, to deploy more of the newer tanks… and more of the older ones.”
“Exactly,” Rommel said. “So… where are the tanks that should be in Turkey, or Iraq or Syria?”
Muhlenkampf considered. “I suppose that they could have been missed,” he said, and sounded as if he didn’t believe himself. “It’s quite easy to hide tanks if you know what you’re doing.”
“I suppose,” Rommel said. He didn’t believe it. “No German general ever born – and who served in Poland and France – would have less Panzers than he could have, and unless the bombing campaign has done more damage than we thought, then they should have more of them.”
“Perhaps they just want more supplies,” Muhlenkampf said doubtfully. “The RAF has done well at shooting up some of their supply dumps.”
Rommel nodded, even though he felt it in his bones that the Nazis still had enough supplies for what they wanted to do.
“Or perhaps they want the tanks for something else,” Muhlenkampf said thoughtfully. “Do you think that they might be planning an invasion of England?”
Rommel shook his head. Not only were the best units in the British Army tied down near Dover, but if their homeland was invaded, and perhaps falling, the British would cut loose with their nuclear weapons. Still… where else could they go? America? The concept was even more laughable than England. Iceland? Perhaps… but they would hardly need more than a Mountain Division to take the Ireland, if the British let them land. Oh no, he thought suddenly. The thought refused to go away; it had the ring of truth.
“Russia,” he breathed. “They’re going to try for Russia.”
Muhlenkampf gaped at him. “They’re out of their heads,” he said. “Look, how could they maintain their logistics…?”
“No one thought that they could maintain an offensive down here as well,” Rommel pointed out. “I know Hitler, I know how he thinks; this is his one chance to jump on Stalin… before the Americans can join the war properly.”
“It’s madness,” Muhlenkampf objected.
“Hitler is mad,” Rommel said grimly. He paused, considering. “The other option, of course, is that he thinks that Stalin is going to try something… and is getting ready for it.”
“Perhaps,” Muhlenkampf said. “He must be mad to even consider the possibility, with the Americans in the war… and us preparing to take back our government.”