“This is intolerable,” Hitler snapped. His fist pounded the table. “Am I always to be surrounded by incompetents?”
There was a long pause. “There is good news from the Middle East,” Kesselring said finally. “The Russians are taking the brunt of the British counterattacks, particularly with their raids into northern India. That allowed us to move closer to Baghdad and Amman.”
He didn’t mention Rommel’s successful counterattack. “Excellent,” Hitler proclaimed. “When will we take the Suez?”
Kesselring hesitated. “We need to strengthen our logistics first, Mien Fuhrer,” he said. It was a good a way as any of saying ‘not soon.’ “Our attack was glorious, and we destroyed a number of British tanks, but we took a beating ourselves. We need time to repair, time to scout out the enemy positions, and time to prepare.”
“No later than a month,” Hitler said. He had something else on his mind. “Speer?”
Speer coughed nervously. “Production of tanks and V1s is continuing,” he said. “I must caution against any plan to invade Britain that way, particularly after Malta. Not only were the elite paratroopers wiped out, but we took heavy losses in transports, even the older transports. Aircraft production is concentrated on fighters, long-range bombers, and transports.”
Hitler rounded on him. “You promised that we would be able to create craft equal to the British super craft,” he snapped. “Explain!”
There was sweat on Speer’s brow. “Mien Fuhrer, we have had problems in endeavouring to adapt modern technology – British technology – to our productive capabilities. We may have a complete… tech ladder, but it is still the work of years to move onto production.”
“Indeed,” Hitler sneered. His people’s eyes flickered nervously; the Fuhrer was no longer the man he had been. Some of them considered the possibilities for expanding their own power bases, others considered how bad it would be for the Reich if he fell. “So, burning out Britain is not an option?”
Himmler coughed. “At the moment, the British are playing host to a number of American troops,” he said. “Although they don’t know for certain, our sources suggest that they’re aimed at Norway.”
Hitler growled. “They will not take Norway,” he snapped.
“No, Mien Fuhrer,” Kesselring said. The Field Marshal had found it hard to keep track of Hitler’s newest schemes, each one crazier than the last. “However, we will have to… withdraw some of the infantry units from Poland and…”
“Then Stalin will grow stronger,” Hitler protested. His voice rose to a scream. “The Communists must be crushed…!”
“And they will be,” Himmler said, reassuringly. “I think what Field Marshal Kesselring means is that the combat power of Army Group Centre will not be reduced significantly if we send a few infantry divisions and their supports to Norway. Once we crush their invasion, we can turn on Stalin before the Allies can regroup their efforts.” He smiled darkly. “Indeed, they might end falling out with each other.”
There was a long pregnant pause. Kesselring shot Himmler a mixed look of admiration, gratitude, respect and annoyance. Himmler, who could hardly have cared less, ignored it. Hitler seemed to be lost in thought, his mind ticking over the details.
“I approve,” he said finally. “Naturally, I will work with you on the operations plan, but I will leave the general implementation up to you.” He glared around the table. “I want the American attack defeated before July, at which point we will head east,” he said. “I want to snatch the oil wells in the Ukraine before General Winter intervenes on their side, and then we will renew the conflict in spring. By this time next year, I expect to see German bulldozers levelling the Kremlin.” He smiled. “Once we hold the resources of Russia, we will bleed them white… and when we have our own bombs, they will have to make peace on whatever terms we desire.”
“Steig Heil,” they chorused in unison, chanting to hide their disquiet. They knew the verdict of history, and some of them knew that events would not unfold the way that Hitler demanded. In their hidden hearts, some of them began planning for their own survival… or for their own power.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Upside Down
Government House
Canberra, Australia
16th May 1941
The room was deathly quiet, with only four people around the table. Sir Robert Gordon Menzies, Prime Minister of Australia. Sir Thomas Albert Blamey, commander in chief of the Commonwealth Armed Forces (Australia). Admiral Sir Harold Turtledove, commander of the Eastern Fleet. Ambassador David Atwell; Ambassador from the future. Menzies put down the folder finally; it made a thump sound that echoed in the air.
“Are you… quite certain that this will work?” He asked. “Are you confident that we can handle the problems that might result?”
There was a long uncomfortable pause. Menzies knew, better than anyone, that Australia’s morale wasn’t high. After being bounced out of New Guinea and the Dutch East Indies, after losing so much of their fleet to the Japanese, and enduring weekly bombing raids, Australia was worried about the future. Even the new nuclear power plant, a gift from Britain that could be used to finally develop the interior of Australia, hadn’t lifted their sprits too much.
“Yes,” Admiral Turtledove said finally. Menzies nodded; he didn’t understand the controversy spinning around the Admiral in Britain, as far as the Australians were concerned he’d won the battle that had saved them from an immediate invasion. “The opportunity is too good to miss.”
Menzies sighed. “Explain,” he said finally, though a pounding headache. Elections were coming up soon and he had looked like a certain victor. Now… now he wasn’t so sure, not just because of the historical verdict.
“Prime Minister, the Japanese have shot all, but one of their bolts,” Turtledove said. “In Indonesia… ah, the Dutch East Indies, they have nine divisions; five fully worked up divisions and four of their scratch divisions, which are under-equipped and undermanned. They started with eleven full-strength divisions after China; we chewed one up pretty good in Singapore and two more were shattered in the Battles of the Indies.”
“They won that battle,” Menzies observed, without accusation.
“Yes, but it cost them badly,” Turtledove said. “The problem is now different; Japanese troops make very good defensive fighters and they will dig into the islands if we let them. PJHQ is still planning the counter-attack, but for the moment Japan still thinks that it holds the whip hand. If they start digging into the islands, we’ll have to dig them out at great cost.”
He waved a hand at the map, positioned on the wall. “The Japanese think they have one last shot at forcing Britain out of the war,” he said. “The Burma front isn’t going anywhere fast – we chewed up their logistics pretty badly – and here is their only logical target. We tracked them moving troops and supplies into the harbours on the southern side of the Dutch East Indies; we expect them to begin soon. However, they have one problem, the fleet in your waters.”
He marked out a line on the map. “There are nearly forty Royal Navy ships in a position to intercept the invasion fleet,” he said. “Against them, the Japanese have no chance at all, so they’ve devised a diversion; their fleet is going to attack Canada and provide an opportunity to destroy it that we are not expected to resist.”
Menzies looked up at him. “And you don’t want to resist it,” he said. “That’s the gist of your plan; you’re gambling on the army’s ability to defeat the Japanese on the ground.”