Horton frowned inwardly. He’d wondered about that from the first, knowing that the British – at least – would know that he was in Berlin, and they would know that he would be ‘assisting’ Himmler… and he knew they knew…
He smiled. There weren’t that many options. “The Americans will want to move for a quick kill,” he said. “At the same time, they won’t be practiced enough to land directly in… say, Denmark. That close to our shore-based air, their losses would be appalling… and they know it. Their options really boil down to France, Spain or Italy.”
He waited while Himmler considered. There was an unmentioned option – and a handful of stupid options – and he wondered if Himmler would notice. If he did, he had some good reasons for ignoring it; the question was, would Himmler?
“What about a Balkan offensive?” Himmler asked finally. “Could they not launch an invasion through Turkey into Greece and Bulgaria?”
Horton relaxed slightly, glad that his face could not pale. “They could,” he said. “The problem would be that they would have to batter their way all the way to Berlin, passing through endless bloody slaughter… and the future British will know how bloody-minded the Balkan population is. They would have to spend several years marching to Berlin… and their lines would only get longer and longer. They’d dismiss it out of hand.”
“So… France, Italy, Spain,” Himmler said. “Which one would you bet on?”
Horton considered. “Either France or Italy,” he said finally. Himmler lifted a single eyebrow. “France because it lets them deploy near to Germany; Italy because you have a lot of your industry in Italy. Spain, on the other hand, is bad terrain for any invasion; you know how much trouble both sides had in their Civil War.”
Himmler nodded. “So… not Spain,” he said finally. “And do you think we could launch an invasion of England?”
Horton blinked, trying to conceal his shock. Himmler’s smile proved that he had failed. “I don’t think you have anything like the required shipping capability,” he said finally. “The Government would have ensured that there is enough troops in England to kill any that passed the RAF.”
“True, true,” Himmler mused. “The unsinkable aircraft carrier… well, well, well.”
“Is there anything else?” Horton asked politely. In a spy novel, he would have a code for passing messages to his wife, but he wasn’t in a novel and he didn’t have a code. “I would like to compose my next message.”
“Nothing else,” Himmler said. “Have Kesselring and Roth sent in as you leave.”
Himmler allowed himself a smile as Horton left, before resuming his seat and looking attentive. Field Marshal Kesselring, one of his closest allies, and Roth entered, taking their seats. Roth began to unravel a massive set of display papers for him, while Kesselring saluted him.
“Heil Himmler,” they both said, as soon as Himmler looked up.
“Heil,” Himmler replied. They were among his closest allies. He’d once joked, and said ‘Heil Me,’ and only a couple of people had laughed. Hitler had used to say that all the time when with his closest confidents. “What is the current status in Sweden?”
“Confused,” Kesselring said wryly. “As you know, we have the better part of a hundred thousand men in the south, while the Russians have nearly five times that many in the north. Between us… we just don’t have the ability to force the Americans back into the sea, and they don’t have the ability to do the same to us.”
“Splendid,” Himmler said, and outlined his conversation with Horton. “If the Americans land, can we stop them?”
“If we move quickly, then yes,” Kesselring said. “The most important and dangerous moments in a forced landing are the first twenty-four hours. If we can stop them then, we have won ourselves a breather.” He looked into Himmler’s eyes. “We have to spend everything then, planes, ships, men, to stop them from establishing a foothold.”
“Whatever it costs,” Himmler said. “What will this do to them?”
“Apart from costing them whatever it takes to invade us?” Kesselring asked. “It would certainly force them to rethink their plans, even to hold back for a few months. They, however, will do everything in their power to prevent us from counter-attacking at once.”
“I would expect no less,” Himmler said. “Obergruppenfuehrer Herman Roth, what about the development programs?”
“We have made considerable improvements to our anti-aircraft defences,” Roth said. “Although we cannot count on maintaining radio or radar contact, we have managed to slave guns to our radar. Our calculating device may be – is – primitive compared to the British equipment, but we have a far greater chance at bringing down enemy bombers than we had before.”
He smiled. “With some of the new warheads, we should be able to really convince them that they don’t want to fly the new American bombers over Europe,” he said. “In addition, we have a handful of radio-controlled bombs, using radio and television equipment to guide them in, which should make life interesting for the Americans.” He scowled. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty certain that the British can jam them, but we should get at least one blow in.”
“Good,” Himmler said. “What did dear Speer say?”
Roth flicked through his notes. “The Minister said that production was continuing to increase, based upon the reports of clashes with the new British tanks, which we imagine the Americans will use as well. The new anti-tank rockets have been improved as much as we can, but Speer wants more of them if we can make them.”
“I see,” Himmler said. He’d wanted to purge Speer, but the man was needed. “And the superweapons?”
Roth nodded. “The V1, which has more than proved its worth, remains in production,” he said. “Current units are over a thousand at the moment, mainly being aimed at American positions in Norway. The V2 rocket is being mass-produced at the moment; it awaits your decision on how to use them.”
Himmler frowned. “Have they worked all the bugs out?”
Roth snorted. “It’s hard to be certain,” he admitted. “We’ve only test-flown the ones in Siberia, and they worked fine.” He re-sorted his notes. “The V3 is being prepared for its test-flight now,” he said. “It represents a far greater effort than the V2, although its ability to hit America makes it worthwhile. Unfortunately, we’re fairly certain that the British will see it being launched, but what can they do to stop it?”
Himmler smiled. “Bringing home to the Americans the real cost of the war,” he said. “I assume that we passed on the V1’s to Japan?”
“The designs, yes,” Roth said. Himmler smiled; the little yellow men hadn’t proved themselves worthy of joining the master race, but they could at least soak up some of the British attention.
“Good,” Himmler said. “Now… what about the cooperation project?”
Roth hesitated. The idea didn’t sit well with him at all. “We can send the broken-down designs to Russia,” he said. “We assume that they know enough to build their own now, and we’ve been setting up factories in Russian territory, well out of the range of Allied bombers. Still… Mein Fuhrer, this isn’t just a tank design.”
Himmler waved a hand dismissively. “It won’t be long before the Russians become dependent upon us for their weapons,” he said. If Germany fell – and Himmler knew better than to plan for success – they would need bases in Russia. “Besides, the value of the V2 lies in its ability to shock the enemy… which is why we will be using it on Britain. What can it give Stalin that he doesn’t already have?”