“Fox-two,” he said, as the targeting data appeared on the screen. “Blow through them!”
The Eurofighter shuddered as three ASRAAMS launched from its wings in quick succession. The other planes launched, their missiles lancing ahead of them, swatting down the German aircraft with ease.
“We confirm, all targets serviced,” the AWACS said. “The mission is good to go.”
“Oh really,” Dunbar said, her strong contralto easily drowning out any comments from the other pilots. “How much do you want to bet that the response is ‘go to hell’ or some other comment along the same lines?”
Abernathy shrugged. He knew that the mission was dangerous – the Germans hadn’t bothered to return the two pilots they knew to have landed on German-held territory – but he also knew that the flight was almost untouchable. With seventeen of their aircraft destroyed in less than a minute, the Germans would be less eager to challenge them – he hoped.
“It’s worth a try,” Abernathy said finally, when none of the other Eagles commented. Dunbar was known for her temper; Abernathy was perhaps the only pilot who dared to contradict her. “Anything that takes some weight of us is for the good, eh?”
“This is Speaker,” a new voice said. “We are beginning transmission now; stand by.”
In the early evening, at 1700hrs precisely, Radio Berlin broadcast from Berlin to every corner of the Reich. Everyone in Germany was supposed to listen to the programme; failure to do so could be considered evidence of impure thoughts. In a comforting blast of martial music, the announcers read out the latest news – or propaganda – and encouraged everyone to do their duty for the Reich. Afterwards, everyone stood for the German anthem, and returned to work.
“This is Radio Berlin,” a particularly annoying nasal voice announced. Stewart smiled to herself; Goebbels, for all of his skill, wasn’t good at choosing announcers. Whatever criteria he used, it wasn’t good enough; a honeyed female voice might have been better. “Today the glorious forces of the German Reich, under the leadership of Fuhrer Hitler, crushed…”
The nasal voice vanished under a blast of static. Stewart blinked up at Roth, who looked puzzled. All around the small café, the patrons stared at the radio. The owner thumped the set a couple of times, but the static remained.
“We’re being jammed,” Roth said, his tone puzzled, until the static vanished. A new voice appeared, speaking, and Stewart felt her jaw drop.
“This is Generalmajor Erwin Rommel,” the voice said. “The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Apparently, at some time in the future, I would have realised the truth; the Fuhrer, in the name of his own power, would commit the most terrible crimes, crimes for which Germany would be blamed and punished. I was lucky; I was rescued before the SS could execute me.
“Tell me; have you considered the price of Hitler’s Reich?” Rommel asked. Stewart noticed the café patrons glancing nervously at Roth, whose face was darkening. “Across Poland and the Balkans, all those who would pose a threat to the Reich are being exterminated, to the last man, woman and child. In Germany itself, all those who do not confirm to the impossible ideal of German manhood will be destroyed; the Reich will destroy everyone who does not fit its ideal.
“For a man of honour to refuse to fight such evil would be a grave sin. I have no choice, but to take up arms against Adolf Hitler, and fight until the Reich, until the SS, until the evil, is burned from Germany, or it destroys me. If you know, deep within your heart, that Hitler is evil, then come and join me. Help me take back our country, before the British and the Americans and the Russians occupy us, and crush us for years.
“Already, Germans living in America are joining the Free German Army,” Rommel concluded. “If you want to fight and you can make it to free territory, join us. Help recover Germany, because if the other nations, the democracies, do it for us, they will not be gentle. Germany cannot win this war; Germany can only survive by overthrowing the Nazis and returning the nation to its people.”
There was a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “We return you now to your normal program,” he said. “Reports on the progress of the Free German Army will be transmitted every week to you, same time, same channel.”
The transmission ended. Static hummed for a long moment, and then the nasal voice was back, talking about production levels as if nothing was wrong. Stewart wondered; would the Nazis bother to respond, or would they seek to ignore Rommel?”
“I think we annoyed them,” Dunbar said, as the radar suddenly lit up with contacts. Dozens of German aircraft, some jet-propelled, the others more conventional propeller planes, were rising from the ground, being vectored up towards the British planes.
“I noticed,” Abernathy said. The temptation to engage the Germans was considerable, but he knew that it would be futile. “All planes, its time to return to the hanger.”
“Aww,” Dunbar said. “Victor, how about just taking a few pot-shots?”
“No,” Abernathy snapped. “All planes, return to the base. We’re not here to fight.”
“Naturally, it was decided to keep the truth from the German public for the benefit of his family,” Goebbels said, speaking into a microphone and at Stewart’s camera. She held it steady, ignoring Goebbels’ eyes trailing all over her body, despite the conservative dress she was wearing. “The facts of the matter required tact and discretion.
“Generalmajor Erwin Rommel, the former commander of 7th Panzer, was discovered to have been influenced by evil Jewish elements after the arrival of the warped Britain,” Goebbels continued. “The intention of the Jews was to corrupt him and turn him into a weapon against the Reich; for his own safety the Fuhrer ordered him removed from command and placed into a private rest home. When he showed signs of recovery – he was on the verge of denouncing the Jews – they assassinated him.
“Fellow Germans, the man who spoke on the radio was a fake,” Goebbels said. Stewart had to admit that it was clever; how many people had heard Rommel? “He is a faux Rommel; a Jew pretending to be one of the greatest Germans who ever lived and served the Fuhrer. The Fuhrer himself gave Rommel his command, trusted him with his own protection; could such a man ever submit to Jewish manipulation? We buried the real Rommel only a week ago; how dare they try to pretend that he still lives!
“Towards this extent, the Fuhrer today pronounced a death sentence on the fake Rommel, and all associated with him. When the Reich secures its final victory, the false one will hang, and no one will see his final tomb! For the moment, the Reich advises people not to listen to the transmissions; they will introduce dangerous ideas and dilute the perfection of the Aryan nation. Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Fuhrer!”
The transmission creased and a fawning technician ended the recording. Stewart tapped the button on her camera as she lowered it; the recording would continue, but neither Goebbels nor Roth would know.
“A fascinating instrument,” Goebbels said, as she slung the camera around her neck. “Perhaps you could obtain a few for us.”