“What did you think of Turtledove’s plan?” Hanover asked. “Do we go ahead with it, with or without Australian cooperation?”
“Only if they agree,” McLachlan said thoughtfully. “Unlike the other thing we’ve done, it would be impossible to pull it off without them knowing about it. The last thing we need is Curtis in office instead.”
“I’ll talk to Menzies privately later, then,” Hanover said. “If it works, we destroy… what? Six Japanese divisions at a fraction of the cost of digging them out of the East Indies?”
McLachlan nodded. “If it works,” he said.
Hanover shrugged. “The Japanese don’t have the logistics to take Australia,” he said. “We’ll destroy them. If they last more than a week, I’ll be astonished.”
“We still have another problem,” McLachlan said. “Security leaks in America.”
Hanover nodded grimly. “They have Hoover on the case, but he’s more worried about the sudden rise in black militancy,” he said. “You’d think that they’d just agree to equality and let it go.”
“South Africa isn’t,” McLachlan said. “You know what they’re doing.”
Hanover nodded. The Smuts Government had not only started to recruit new white settlers from Italy, or the German prisoners who had refused to join Rommel, they’d begun a policy of using the new contraceptives on black tribes. Without the antidote, which the Smuts Government was keeping to itself, a lot of tribes would simply… die out. Those who refused to learn submission and white ways, as civilised humans and second-class citizens, would die.
He shook his head. Had they figured out what was happening? Did they have any idea of the doom that was befalling them? Hanover’s intelligence sources were far better than any Contemporary force – the outside world had no idea what was happening. Once the contraceptives were used in India, as Ambassador Homchoudhury was urging, they would know.
And how would they react?
“I know,” he said finally. How long before their technology was used by a repressive government? It had been the nightmare; that which brought freedom could also bring new unbreakable chains. “I know.”
Bundeswehr Forward Base
Palestine
11th May 1941
General Erwin Rommel knew that he had assembled a good command team. Each of the Bundeswehr – a name that Ambassador Schulze had insisted upon – divisions had a good and competent commander. After six months of hard training, he would have placed them against the best German division in the Wehrmacht – or even a division from 2015, given equal equipment. Colonel Muhlenkampf claimed that it meant that the British feared the Bundeswehr, but Rommel knew better. Some of the Germans who had been recruited might have been spies, or might have a change of heart… and the British had to be careful.
He wished he knew why he had a lump in his heart. Ever since learning of the crimes of Hitler, a man he had once admired, he had devoted his life to ending the Nazis before Germany was left a radioactive wasteland. Ambassador Schulze might prattle on and on about limiting commercial restrictions and avoiding French, American and Russian dominance, but that wasn’t the point. Germany had sinned; she had to pay.
He looked down at the refugee camp and shook his head. The largely Jewish population of the refugee camp, those who had been unable or unwilling to fight in the Jewish Defence League, had fled Palestine. Many of them would head to South Africa, when shipping was available, but for the moment they were stuck in Muslim lands.
They hate us, he thought, and he understood. The American and British-born Germans didn’t understand; to them the Holocaust was an abstract or something in the past. The Jews hated and feared the German force, and he’d barred his people from visiting the towns.
“Herr General?” Colonel Muhlenkampf asked. “Are you all right?”
Rommel scowled. Few Wehrmacht officers would dare to ask a general if he was all right. “Just contemplating the plans for Redemption,” he said. “Are we ready to attack?”
“No, Herr General,” Colonel Muhlenkampf said. “The Nazis are advancing along the coast. 1st Panzer is moving into position to engage.”
Rommel smiled to himself. “Waffen-SS units,” he said. Apparently Himmler didn’t trust the regulars against the Bundeswehr. “Has General Flynn said anything?”
“No, Herr General,” Colonel Muhlenkampf said. “I need to get back to 1st Panzer before they engage.”
“I think I’ll take personal command,” Rommel said. “In the absence of orders, find something and kill it.”
Colonel Muhlenkampf chuckled. “Jawohl, Herr General,” he said.
Gunter Jagar, now a brevet Captain to give him some authority, was finding working for Rommel a fascinating experience. As soon as Rommel burst out of his office, he was shouting for Jagar to get into the little plane, a VTOL craft that served as Rommel’s personal transport and spotting craft.
“Get us up to 1st Panzer,” Rommel barked at the pilot, who was already closing the hatch. The large tilt-rotor wasn’t cleared for engaging the Luffwaffe, but it carried missiles and cannons anyway. “Gunter, the laptop, now.”
Jagar was already logging into the divisional command network. A reconnaissance flight and then an SAS patrol had revealed that the SS Panzergrenadier Division Wiking, one of the multinational formations recruited by the SS after the conquest of Europe, was moving. Wiking, according to the Internet, wouldn’t have that many war crimes attached to its personnel, but it was clearly a different organisation than had existed in the first history. For one thing, it was at least four months ahead of its time.
“They’re moving,” he said, and displayed the map. “They’re heading into Amman.”
Rommel peered over his shoulder. “Desert, desert, more desert,” he said. “Show me our positions.”
Jagar displayed the location chart. 1st Panzer stood near Amman itself, moving into defensive formation. “That road would make a nice ambush site,” Rommel said thoughtfully. “I assume that the current commander is moving his anti-tank weapons forward?”
“I believe so,” Jagar said. One advantage of the command network was that every troop movement was reported on the computer network – and the Germans had no hope of tracking them down. “Yes, Herr General, they’re moving into position.”
“Excellent,” Rommel said. “Pilot, put us down near the tanks,” he commanded. “Well, Gunter, are you ready for your first major tank battle?”
“Yes, Herr General,” Jagar said. “I’m ready.”
SS-Obergruppenführer Felix Steiner lifted his binoculars to his eyes and stared ahead into the distance. The strange terrain of Jordan was… uncomfortable, only suited for camels and mounted horsemen; the sand was getting into the tanks and making life miserable for the Germans. The Spanish and French units didn’t seem to be that bothered, but then, the men of the Foreign Legion had been in the desert before.
“Only an hour before we reach Amman, Mon General,” Colonel Picard informed him. The gaunt Frenchman hated the British and hadn’t hesitated when the Vichy Government had appealed for volunteers to go to the desert. “Then we can rest.”