“And Adolf Hitler is dead,” Horton realised. “What do you want from me?”
“I will be frank with you, as the Americans say,” Himmler said. “Quite frankly; I have considered simply disposing of you. History has been changed sharply… and your knowledge of the direct path of the future has been devalued. However” – he paused long enough for Horton to feel a flicker of hope – “you understand the forces at work far better than anyone else under my direct control… and, of course, it would be impossible for you to take power for yourself.”
He smiled wryly. “You, Professor, are going to be my Grand Vizier.”
Horton gaped at him. Did insanity come with the role of Fuhrer? “Mein Fuhrer,” he said, “you want me to advise you?”
Himmler nodded. “Tell me, who else can I trust?”
Horton thought as fast as he could. “I have a condition,” he said. Himmler lifted an eyebrow. “I want my family returned to Britain.”
Himmler held his gaze, just long enough to be uncomfortable. “You are in no position to make bargains,” he said. Horton said nothing. “You will be required to serve me faithfully,” Himmler said. “If there is the slightest mistake… well, look at the end of the quack.”
Horton looked at the pictures again. “I understand,” he said finally. “You will return them?”
“We will ask the British to pick them up,” Himmler said. “Failing that, we can return them through Portugal. Now, my Grand Vizier… what is your advice?”
Horton sighed. “My honest advice is to sue for peace,” he said. “One way or another, it can’t be much longer before the Allies come for Berlin.”
Himmler smiled. “Perhaps,” he said, and outlined his plan. Horton listened with growing horror; the plan was cunning, terrifying… and it might just work.
Chapter One: The First Step Forward
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
23rd March 1942
As he had done every day for the past two years, Prime Minister Sir Charles Hanover checked the report of the Weird Incident Investigative Group; the council of scientists set up to study the Transition. The Transition, the event that had put the entire nation of Britain back in 1940, two years ago, had been determined to be an unnatural event, but past that…? No one had a clue; from eminent scientists to women who read tealeaves… it was as big a mystery as ever.
Perhaps we’ll find out the answer one day, but not for a while, Hanover thought, picking up his cup of tea and taking a sip. It wasn’t what it had been once; the supplies of tea from 2015 had run out nearly three months ago, even under the rationing system. The various merchants had forged new links with India, but the tea just wasn’t the same. Hanover chuckled; given the chaos enveloping India’s borders with Soviet-occupied Iran, he supposed he should consider himself lucky to have it.
A mound of briefing papers and emails occupied his attention, demanding that he study their contents and make executive decisions that his subordinates would translate into real live action. General Cunningham, working with SHAFE – Supreme headquarters Allied Forces Europe – was particularly insistent, demanding that Hanover order the RAF to assign more of the priceless handful of tactical support bombers to support the Allies in Scandinavia, the war raging across Norway and Sweden.
Hanover cursed. He’d hoped for – worked for – an American declaration of war against Russia, allowing the British a rest and a chance to rebuild their strength. Instead, the declaration had come at the wrong time… and a three-way war had broken out in Scandinavia. The American forces, after having kicked the Germans out of Norway, had been hammered by the Soviets; General Patton had been forced to feed more and more men into the maelstrom. In the meantime, the Soviets had recovered from the shock of the nuclear strike against their supply lines… and managed to launch a minor offensive into India.
Blasted logistics, Hanover thought coldly, staring out of the window at the cold grey sky. Logistics prevented Patton from evicting the Soviet Army back to Finland and beyond; logistics prevented the British from developing the ability to defeat Russia in Iran once and for all. Between the sudden need to protect the Turks, who at least could fight once they were rearmed with modern weapons, and the need to strengthen the defences of India, mounting an offensive had become impossible.
Hanover shook his head wryly. The talking heads, the people who gave their opinions on television, had claimed that America entering the war meant the victory was in the bag, claiming that it would all be over by Christmas 1941. As it had happened… the decisive defeat of the Germans in the Middle East had saved them from having to fight the Germans as well as the Russians in that theatre, but at the cost of damaging relations between the Republic of Arabia and Turkey.
Hanover glanced up at the map. The only good thing to have come out of the victory – apart from removing nearly half a million Germans from the balance sheet – had been the chance to help the Republic of Arabia to grow properly. Soon, he knew, it would absorb Iraq… and that was where the problems were going to begin. Not only had the Turks snatched a large chunk of Syria, but they were also evicting the Kurds… and pressing a claim to the oil wells in Northern Iraq.
Bastards, Hanover thought coldly. For once, he had had no argument with Shahan McLachlan, a man who might grow up into the leader of the Muslim Reformation. He certainly hadn’t done badly, forming the Republic of Arabia out of the desert wastes of the former Saudi Arabia – and working to create the first Muslim democratic state. Shahan had protested and threatened war… and if the Soviets hadn’t taken that day to remind the Turks that they still existed, it might have done very badly for everyone. The Russians had bitten off a chunk of Turkey, which had started the Turks screaming for help themselves.
Hanover sighed. There were nearly one hundred thousand British soldiers dug in near Istanbul, holding the supply lines closed and defending Turkey, even though they were no longer needed there. Politics demanded they stay there, even as politics demanded that a similar force remain in England at all times, against the impossible threat of a German invasion.
It was a great deal simpler when we were on our own, Hanover thought, and took a sip of tea. In the Far East, where America wasn’t at war with Japan – despite supplying Australia and India with weapons – the Japanese refused to admit that they were beaten. They’d lost almost all of their fleet to British ships – Admiral Turtledove had redeemed himself in the eyes of the Board of Inquiry – and several of their army divisions had been annihilated during the ill-fated invasion of Australia.
Hanover clenched his fist, squeezing the cup tightly. Once the new submarines were at their base in Australia – fifty new diesel submarines – the Japanese supply lines would be cut, once and for all. He’d argued that the submarines they did have should be sent in at once, but the Australians had been reluctant; they’d wanted to ensure that they moved in with overwhelming force.
Hanover shuddered. Not only were the Japanese moving thousands of their own people to China, displacing the Chinese, but they were reinforcing their own defences. Even with the advanced technology, the death toll of an attempt to invade Japan itself would be ghastly… except how else could they compel the Japanese to surrender?
Atomic weapons, Hanover thought, and shuddered again. The Americans were working hard on their own weapons, and he knew that the Germans and Russians were trying hard to complete a bomb. After all, they had a very good reason to want one… and plenty of incentive to use it. Once America got into the fight, and Scandinavia was secured… the invasion of Europe could begin.