“You read my preliminary report,” Roth said. “All the evidence suggests that they came from the future…”
“Nonsense,” Kesselring sneered. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Mein General, I may be having flights of fancy, but in that case my fantasises have become reality,” Roth said carefully. “I cannot give you any other explanation.”
Kesselring put the phone down without bothering to reply. “Bah,” Roth said aloud, and put his own phone down more gently. He stared at the books, lying on the table, knowing that he should be reading them again, or sending them to the tank designers. Knowing that something was possible was half the battle, but without Kesselring’s support it might be difficult to convince the Fuhrer. Without Hitler’s support, any possibility of using the new knowledge, as fragmentary as it was…
“Herr Standartenfuhrer,” Untersturmfuehrer Johan Schmidt said. “One of the prisoners would like to see you.”
Roth raised an eyebrow. He was tired and depressed, but perhaps the prisoner might prove to be the key to cheering him up. “Show him in, Untersturmfuehrer,” he ordered. Schmidt stepped back and waved in a man; Roth studied him with interest. He seemed to be in control of himself, with an air of general competence and an instantly-forgettable face. Spy, Roth thought coldly, and wondered why he’d thought that.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Standartenfuhrer,” the man said. He held out a hand; Roth shook it carefully. “I am Jim Oliver.”
The name was so… ordinary that Roth dismissed it at once as a nom de plume. “SS-Standartenfuhrer Herman Roth,” he said. “I understand that you wanted to see me?”
The man didn’t seem intimidated by the title. “I work for a group in Britain,” he said, and broke off, staring at the books. “My books,” he said.
Roth was amused to hear the note of warmth in his voice. “Your books?” He asked. “Tell me, how much do you know about history?”
“So you know that we’ve fallen back in time,” Oliver said. “I had wondered. I know quite a bit; it’s something of an amateur interest of mine.”
“From your books, I have gleaned the fact that Germany lost the war,” Roth said bluntly. “Tell me, how did that happen?”
Oliver laughed. “You’re an SS man and you ask me that?” He said. “You need a real historian for the specifics, but I can give you the generalities.” He took a breath, counting on his fingers. “You launch an aerial attack on Britain, that fails, then you send General Rommel to North Africa, which lasts until America enters the war.”
“America entered the war?” Roth asked in alarm. The Fuhrer had dismissed America as a nation of weaklings; could he be wrong?
“Yes, after Japan bombed Pearl Harbour, they fight you as well,” Oliver said. “But the real killer was the invasion of Russia; they – you – headed into a vast country without the power to subdue it. Despite fighting against both you and Stalin, the Russian people managed to evict you by force of numbers – and finally managed to crush you in an epic battle for Berlin.”
Roth felt numb horror spreading through his heart. He’d expected bad news, but this…? It was terrifying, shocking, horrifying… how could the Russians and Americans triumph over the Volk?
“In the meantime, the Americans crush the Japanese and occupy their home islands,” Oliver continued, remorselessly. “By 1945, they have mastered atomic weaponry, and use two atomic bombs on two cities. The world then settles down for forty-odd years of Russian-soviet rivalry, and then the Americans win the Cold War, and even the War on Terror.”
“I see,” Roth said finally. “Tell me – what do you want?”
The question seemed to amuse Oliver. “Quite frankly, I want to work for you, in exchange for certain monies.”
“Money,” Roth said coldly. “Anything else?”
Oliver smiled. “Ah, Standartenfuhrer, what do you think happens to Britain in history – the original history?”
“You are confident that history has… changed?” Roth asked. “This could be a freak incident.”
“If something like this had happened, I would have heard about it,” Oliver said. “Tell me, what do you think that the price of victory is for Britain?”
“I have no idea,” Roth said. “Tell me.”
“We lose the empire, we lose our independence to the French, thanks to our cocksucking politicians, and we are a laughing stock,” Oliver said. “If you manage to forge a peace with Britain now and invade Russia with a better chance at victory, you might just be more… accommodating than the American allies.”
“The Fuhrer has offered to forge a just and lasting peace,” Roth asked. “Now, perhaps you can help us to understand some of the devices that you brought.”
Oliver concealed a smile at the bemused expressions of the German technicians. The modern-day laptop was far beyond their ability to understand; he lined the laptops up and started to activate one of them, looking for one without a password. He could have used his own, but he was unwilling to expose the password too soon.
“This is a small portable computing device,” he explained, as the screen cleared to reveal the familiar WINDOWS logo. “You can use it for many different purposes.”
Digging through the small collection of books, he found a users manual and passed it over to the two technicians who were taking a plug to pieces to discover how it worked. Through trial and error, they were learning how to use it; the manual even provided the correct degree of current. Ignoring them, he picked up his mobile phone from the small pile of phones and turned it on, checking that the wireless link with his laptop was still working. There would only be enough stored power for a few hours use at full power, but there would be enough for what he wanted. Almost as an afterthought, he checked the connection with Britain, and he blinked. There was a signal; very weak, but it was there.
Dear god, he thought, the entire island must have come through the time warp. His mind reeled at the thought; it seemed incomprehensible. If he hadn’t read a lot of science-fiction, he might have been unable to even grasp the concept.
“Mr Oliver,” a voice said. He turned to see the Standartenfuhrer; the tall and disciplined Nazi. “I have been in touch with Berlin; they have demanded my presence and that of yourself, along with the gadgets.” The Standartenfuhrer’s gaze focused on the phone that Oliver was still clutching. “What are you doing with that?”
Oliver fought hard to conceal his reaction. “I think I have something important to tell you,” he said, and began.
Chapter Five: Declaration of War
RAF Feltwell
United Kingdom
7th July 1940
Absolute panic had hit RAF Feltwell, one of a handful of American bases in the United Kingdom, when contact was suddenly lost with America, the orbiting space shuttle and the space station, and the carrier battle group that was supposed to be taking part in an exercise. Colonel George Palter, badly frightened, had complied without argument to the British request to link Feltwell into the British defence network, while carrying out his own investigation. Twenty-seven hours later, attempts to raise Washington had failed – but Feltwell was receiving some radio transmissions from Europe.