Roth smiled. The woman was insatiable. “Of course,” he said, and thought of what they could do together.
Professor Horton studied the document from Washington, from the German ambassador, and felt a surge of hope for the first time. He forced a smile off his face as the SS guards hauled him along the long corridors to Himmler’s office, and managed to sound respectful as Himmler greeted him and waved him to a seat.
“The report is grim,” Himmler said, without preamble. “Tell me; will the United States declare war on us?”
Yes, Horton wanted to shout. “There’s no way to be certain,” he said instead. “Historically, the United States was declared war on, by the Fuhrer, rather than declaring war itself. It’s impossible to know for sure.”
“And if America joins the war?” Himmler pressed. “Can we defeat them?”
Horton considered. The information had to be chosen carefully. “If you manage to develop an air defence network and secure positions in France, you can hold them off until they get tired of bleeding to death,” he said carefully. He was determined not to mention the atomic bomb. “I assume that you have no way of hitting them.”
“Von Braun believes that we can push the V3 forward, a rocket capable to hitting the Americas,” Himmler said. “If we can build a nuclear warhead” – Horton felt his face go pale, even behind his dark skin – “then we can threaten them with nuclear fire and devastation.”
“Or they’ll bombard you with their own weapons,” Horton said, reeling. He had hoped that Himmler knew nothing about nuclear weapons. “The British have a lot of such weapons.”
“And would they agree to risk trading city for city?” Himmler asked. Horton winced. “If we have the weapons in time, we can prevent them from landing, correct?”
Horton shuddered inside. “If you have the weapon, then you can deter them,” he said. “You’ll have to set off a nuke someone out of the way, just to convince them that you can do it.”
“Then we would lose a warhead for nothing,” Himmler said. Horton scowled; he’d hoped that Himmler wouldn’t notice. “On the other hand, if we work with the Soviets, we can…”
“They’ll be ready to stab you in the back,” Horton said quickly. Historically, Stalin had considered hitting Hitler; the only thing he hadn’t counted on was Hitler striking first.
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Himmler said. He considered. “Kesselring has been suggesting that we move against the Turks and join hands with Stalin. What do you think of that?”
It’ll overstretch you, Horton thought. “Historically, the Turks were very resistant to joining either side,” he said, wracking his memory. “They made a pro forma declaration of war towards the end of the war, on you, but they contributed nothing beyond that. On the other hand, you control goods that they need to have and you can even threaten a joint invasion.”
Himmler considered. “And once we were in the desert, we could punch into Iraq and then into their new conquest,” he said, ignoring the logistical problems. “I suppose that that would impress the Fuhrer; he might even commission you as a member of the General Staff.”
With a shock, Horton realised that Himmler intended to credit him with the plan. He showed no concern over the Turks, or even the Germans who would be killed on the mad plan. He’d sowed the seeds of Germany’s defeat – and it was only at the cost of thousands of lives.
“Are you unwell?” Himmler enquired mildly. “Perhaps the services of the SS doctor…”
“No, thank you,” Horton said. “I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.”
As opposed to being eaten by something that disagreed with me, he thought, as Himmler managed to look concerned. It didn’t look natural.
“So, if you maintain a defence of the coast at all of the possible invasion points, you can prevent them from gaining a foothold,” he said, knowing that he was suggesting the impossible. “If they can be prevented from gaining a foothold, you can slaughter their men; invasion will probably be impossible until spring of 1941, at least.”
Himmler smiled. “Thank you, as always, Doctor,” he said. “Might I enquire after the health of your wife?”
Horton knew that it was a not-so-subtle threat. “She’s got Morning Sickness,” he said. “Your… nurse has been very helpful.”
“Indeed,” Himmler said. “I have no doubt that she will be equally useful in the future.”
General Galland allowed himself a half-hearted smile; Goring had finally been completely disposed from the Luffwaffe. The podgy Reichmarshall would still have a role in the Reich, perhaps as a propaganda specialist or as administrator of the resettlements in Poland, but he would never be given serious responsibilities again. News of his actions in the last days of the Reich had finally crossed Hitler’s ears, and the tantrum had been spectacular.
A pity that the fat fool wasn’t simply executed, Galland thought, as he listened to Kesselring. The strategist was describing in grand detail Operation Orient, the plan intended to force passage though Turkey during the winter, and then regroup to meet the Americans, should they invade from Britain.
“If we are successful at invading or otherwise convincing Turkey to join us,” he said, “we can push our way into Iraq and this new… Arabia Republic…”
“British Imperialism,” Goebbels said. Radio Berlin had been decrying the conquest of Saudi as soon as word had reached them from Nazi supporters in Iraq. “It exposes the hypocrisy of the British, that they move against a free country…”
Hitler banged the table. “Carry on, Field Marshal,” he said, as the room went silent.
“As soon as we present a threat to their Middle East possessions, they will have to commit forces to fight us there,” Kesselring said, as if Goebbels hadn’t spoken. “Fortunately, the British fleet presence in the Mediterranean has been sharply reduced; mainly Contemporary vessels with a handful of advanced ships. Italian shipbuilders have been turning out submarines, which we have sent against the Contemporary vessels.
“Once we are established, we will move to present a threat to their canal and to their new allies in Saudi,” Kesselring continued. “Their choice will be to fight us in a region hostile to us, while the Soviets head east and enter India.”
“Stalin hasn’t managed to take Iran yet,” Himmler muttered. “How do we know that the sub-humans won’t simply give up?”
“He can’t afford not to,” Kesselring said. “Now, more than ever, he needs our support.” He looked up at Hitler. “Mein Fuhrer, we can have the main elements in place in two weeks, and then ask the Turks to join us or be invaded.” He scowled. “Mein Fuhrer, we have to move now; not before America can weigh in. We have to buy time, time to prepare the new batches of weapons, time to build the atomic bomb. Forcing the pace of conflict forward is the only way that we can win that time…”
“Mein Fuhrer,” Hitler’s secretary called. Galland blinked; she knew better than to interrupt unless it was something very important. “This came in from Washington.”
“Thank you, Trudi,” Hitler said, and took the sheet of paper. He read it quickly. “The die is cast,” he said. “It’s time for us to meet our inevitable destiny.”
Galland read the sheet of paper as it was passed around the room. The important bits were all too clear.