Perhaps, he thought. They might have been able to produce enough nuclear bombs to make a difference.
“I know,” the Ambassador said. “But try telling that to someone back home.”
Andrew nodded. America was the most powerful nation on Earth, even if it hadn’t truly believed it until recently. The Reich wasn’t a paper tiger, but it wasn’t the formidable force everyone had taken it for either. There was no way, he knew now, that the Reich could win a conventional war against America, with or without the NAA. But it had nukes and a proven willingness to use them. There were limits to how far America could push the Reich into making reforms.
“I’m pushing for us to keep supporting the Provisional Government,” Ambassador Turtledove said. “But limited military action… it doesn’t seem so urgent.”
“Washington is likely to regret it,” Andrew warned. “We have a unique opportunity to forge ties with the most powerful successor state. Missing it will cost us dearly.”
Chapter Thirty
Germanica, Germany East
10 November 1985
“So,” Gauleiter Emil Forster said. “Do they meet with your approval?”
Oberstgruppenführer Alfred Ruengeler bit down the response that came to mind as he watched the young men exercising on the drill field. They were painfully young, ranging from fourteen to sixteen… even in Germany East, they would normally have been considered too young to join the military. They should have been working the fields, playing games with the Hitler Youth, making the first tentative steps towards relationships with the opposite sex… not joining the military.
But we are desperate for manpower, he told himself, sharply. And recruiting these young men early may be our only hope.
“They look healthy,” he said, finally. “And the Hitler Youth has prepared them well.”
He kept his expression blank with an effort as the young men — boys, really — were put through their paces by training officers. He hadn’t wanted to visit a training base near Germanica, let alone play nice with the Gauleiters. He’d wanted to go west to inspect the new defence lines — and visit the wounded — but Holliston had said no. The entire front had been declared off-limits to just about everyone, something that hadn’t kept nasty rumours from spreading through Germany East. Even Alfred, the commander of the Waffen-SS, wasn’t allowed to go.
“One would hope so,” Forster said. “They may be young, but some of them have seen the elephant.”
“Not a real elephant,” Alfred said, tartly. “Being in the military isn’t quite like being in the Hitler Youth.”
He fought down a surge of despair that threatened to overwhelm him. Didn’t the Gauleiter understand? These young men were the hope of the future, yet they were going to be squandered in a hopeless war, their lives tossed away like paper. And yet, the bastard was proud. He wouldn’t be laughing after the young men died in the fighting, never to return home. Or maybe they would, their bodies torn and broken…
No, he thought. They would never be allowed to return home in such a state.
“I need a drink,” the Gauleiter said, suddenly. “Please, join me in a toast.”
He turned and led the way towards a nearby building without bothering to wait for Alfred’s response. Alfred tried to think of an excuse — the last thing he wanted was to spend time with a particularly smug Gauleiter — but nothing came to mind. There was no way he could just refuse, not when a Gauleiter controlled enough land and resources to make even Karl Holliston nervous. He had to be polite…
Damn him, he thought. He took one last look at the young men, then turned and followed the Gauleiter. Damn all of them to hell.
The building — or at least the room they entered — was clearly designed for senior officers and politicians. Luxury dripped from every wall, suggesting that more Reichmarks had been spent on the decorations alone than on training up the next generation of officers. Alfred hated it on sight, even though he had no idea who’d actually ordered it. He had no particular dislike of luxury, but it should very definitely be excluded from a military base. It ruined young officers for life.
“I’m particularly fond of Scotch,” Forster said, as he removed a bottle from a fridge and poured them both a glass. “I had this sent to me before the war began.”
“Quite,” Alfred agreed, stiffly. Scotch wasn’t exactly banned — along with anything else from outside the Reich — but it was taxed so heavily that only the very wealthy or well-connected could hope to obtain it. “The Scots do make good whiskey, I suppose.”
The Gauleiter smiled. “Would you have preferred something produced in an illicit still?”
Alfred didn’t bother to rise to the bait. Soldiers producing their own alcohol was technically against regulations, but smart officers turned a blind eye as long as the men didn’t drink while on duty. Besides, battle-alcohol could be used as an antiseptic if there was nothing else available. But it was rare to taste something made in an illicit still that didn’t threaten to ruin his teeth.
“I have a question for you,” Forster said, as he waved Alfred into a comfortable armchair and sat down facing him. His eyes were suddenly very hard. “Do you believe the war can be won?”
Alfred hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
“You are the field commander of the Waffen-SS,” Forster said. If he knew how empty the title was, he showed no sign of it. “Your opinion is presumably very well informed.”
“It is,” Alfred said, flatly. Was this some test of his loyalty? Karl Holliston’s paranoia seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds, particularly as he didn’t have any real outlet for his feelings. The people he suspected of plotting against him were the people he couldn’t move against without risking another civil war. “Why do you ask?”
Forster met his eyes. “Because Holliston is insane,” he said, flatly. “And because this war needs to end.”
Alfred tensed, bracing himself. If this was a test of loyalty, sharing his true opinion would probably lead rapidly and inevitably to his execution. But would Holliston take the risk? Would he even need to take the risk? Alfred knew, without false modesty, that he was far from irreplaceable. There was no shortage of officers who could be promoted into his shoes, if necessary.
“Let me tell you how I see it,” Forster said, when Alfred said nothing. “The Waffen-SS has been gravely weakened, first by the ill-fated offensive against Berlin and then by the enemy’s counteroffensive, a problem made worse by our own nuclear weapons. We are desperately short of everything from panzers and assault rifles to training cadre, which is why we are calling up men who shouldn’t be going into the army for at least another two years. Our air force has been effectively destroyed and we have no naval forces to speak of — and they wouldn’t be particularly important anyway, if we did.