“That isn’t your concern,” he said. “Concentrate on finding ways to destroy the enemy.”
“Rumours are spreading, Herr Reichsführer,” Kortig said. “I’ve heard soldiers openly wondering just what’s happening to the dead or wounded.”
“Such talk is to be reported at once,” Karl snapped.
“And then working with the Heer will become impossible,” Kortig said. “We’re not the Gestapo, Herr Reichsführer.”
Karl scowled. The Gestapo had managed to wind up with egg on its face after Von Braun had defected to the United States, shortly after the Arab Uprising had begun. His predecessor had been quick to take advantage of his rival’s weakness by asserting control over counter-intelligence and policing, which had led to another major turf war when the Gestapo had started to recover from its failure. And both services had often wound up working at cross-purposes. God alone knew what the Americans had managed to do while the Gestapo and the SS had been at daggers drawn.
When I am Fuhrer, there will be a reassessment, Karl thought, coldly. The Gestapo will be folded into the SS, once the senior leadership has been purged.
“I suppose not,” he said, neutrally. “I’ll see you before you depart, Herr Obergruppenfuehrer.”
“Likewise, Herr Reichsführer,” Kortig said.
Karl watched him go, thinking hard. Hans Krueger – damn the man – had made it clear that the civilians would never support deploying additional troops to South Africa, but the military might have other ideas. Field Marshal Justus Stoffregen was unlikely to take a stand, yet one of his immediate subordinates might be tempted into supporting the deployment, in exchange for a number of concessions. It galled Karl to have to concede anything to the military – they should know to obey orders without question – but he had no choice. The military spent more time fighting turf wars with the Waffen-SS than it did preparing for the final war with America.
He keyed his intercom. “Maria, please invite Field Marshal Voss to the castle,” he said, slowly. He made a habit of keeping track of Voss’s schedule – along with those of the other high-ranking officials – and Voss shouldn’t be too far away. “Let me know when he arrives.”
“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” Maria said. There was a long pause as she put the request through the secure computer network. “Voss’s aide says he can make it to the castle within four hours, once he’s finished his inspection tour.”
“That will be suitable,” Karl assured her. “Please let me know when he arrives.”
He wondered, as he ordered dinner, if Voss was genuinely occupied or probing to see how important the matter was, but decided it wasn’t worth trying to find out. Ordering Voss to the castle would make the Field Marshal dig in his heels – Field Marshals didn’t like being ordered around as though they were new recruits – and probably alert the civilians that Karl was trying to make a private arrangement with the military. Kruger, to give the bastard his due, had his own network of spies and agents within both the military and the SS. But he didn’t understand, he couldn’t understand, the triumph of the will.
Our economy was poor when the Yankees blew up the global economy, Karl thought. He hadn’t lived through those times, but his parents had. No wonder they’d wanted a farm, even if it exposed them to constant insurgent attacks. They’d wanted something solid under their feet. And we still managed to create an empire greater than Alexander’s.
It was nearly five hours before Field Marshal Gunter Voss was shown into the office. Karl rose to his feet, carefully pasting a civil expression on his face. The military, for all its skill and dedication, wasn’t as devoted to the will as the SS, but it had to be respected for the moment. Afterwards, when Karl held supreme power, it would be different. The military would be folded into the SS and its senior leadership removed from power. It might have been forty years since Rommel had allowed the Jews to escape Palestine, but the SS had never forgotten, let alone forgiven.
Pity Rommel died before the Fuhrer, he thought, as he shook hands with Voss. Himmler would have given him a thoroughly unpleasant death.
“Herr Reichsführer,” Voss said, once they had exchanged pleasantries. “I confess I was quite curious to see the castle. I’ve heard so much about it.”
“I’m afraid we don’t sacrifice virgins here,” Karl said. He smiled, as if to say that all such rumours were thoroughly absurd. “Nor do we bleed our men white so they are bound to us in death as well as life.”
“How disappointing,” Voss said. He sat on a chair and leaned forward. “I’m due to inspect the fortifications at Dunkirk tomorrow, Herr Reichsführer, so I really don’t have much time. Can we get to the point?”
“Of course,” Karl said. He disliked small talk too. Thankfully, it wasn’t one of the qualifications for his post. “I want your support for deploying additional forces to South Africa.”
“Chancy,” Voss observed. “The logistics are going to be a pain in the ass. Any day now, the Yankees are going to start sending more advanced MANPAD weapons to South Africa, weapons capable of hitting our transport aircraft in flight. And once we start losing those aircraft in significant numbers… well, we might as well admit that the war is on the verge of being lost along with them.”
“The Luftwaffe will certainly be horrified at the thought of having the paint on their aircraft scratched,” Karl agreed, tightly.
“Scratched isn’t the problem,” Voss said, simply. “The problem is losing aircraft we cannot easily replace. And the road network from French North Africa to South Africa is pathetic.”
Karl nodded, slowly. Millions of coolies had been pressed into working on a road and rail network to link the disparate sections of Africa together, but it was slow going. The blacks were rebellious and the French, he suspected, were deliberately delaying, fearing – perhaps – that they would lose the last vestiges of their independence once the road network was up and running. Besides, the South Africans had already lost hundreds of vehicles to IED attacks on their roads. The problem would merely spread through the rest of Africa.
Voss smiled, rather coldly. “What are you prepared to offer in exchange?”
“You’re engaged in a long duel with the Luftwaffe over who controls the close-air support aircraft,” Karl said. It wasn’t a problem the SS faced, not when the Waffen-SS had its own fleet of CAS aircraft. “I would be prepared to throw my support behind you.”
He watched Voss carefully, wondering just what the Field Marshal was thinking. The Heer wanted its own CAS fleet desperately, knowing that the Luftwaffe preferred to spend money on heavy bombers and fancy jet fighters rather than aircraft that might actually be useful in South Africa. And yet, Goring’s will still cast a long shadow over the service he’d built up from scratch. It had taken years of political infighting for the Kriegsmarine to get control over the aircraft it flew from its aircraft carriers…
Not, in the end, that the carriers ended up going very far from the Reich, he thought. There was nowhere for them to go, unless they wanted to run the gauntlet of British and American missiles. After what had happened to Norway, few countries would cheerfully accept a German ship paying a port call. Sending the fleet to South Africa would be asking for trouble.