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Chapter Thirty: Dance of the Diplomats

Aldershot Army Base

United Kingdom

15th May 1942

It had been the first time that Gunter Jagar had set foot in the future Britain, a world of marvels and magic, even to a former engineering student. The train that had transported them from Dover to the British Army base ran on principles he couldn’t understand; he had badgered the guard to tell him how it worked. For a long time, he felt as if he was a curious innocent child, free from all debts and obligations.

The feeling ended when they reached the special station, which was along a private rail line that was for the military and important government business only, according to their escort. Sergeant Kettle, who’d been asked to accompany them, hadn’t said much about it, beyond the fact that the existence of a large part of the rail network was unknown to a large percentage of the population.

“How are they to know that there are more lines for any single main line than they could possibly grasp?” He’d asked, when Jagar had asked why. “They don’t understand the concept at all; to them it is all wooden railways or electric railways, but how many of them have more than a handful of trains?”

He’d begun a long story about a schoolmaster he’d had who played with modal railways, constructing one of great complexity that had awed the children, but Jagar hadn’t been paying attention. The wonders of the British countryside were nothing special to a man who’d been born in Bavaria, but the technology on view, as if it were cheap and simple, was awesome.

The train stopped in a special station, one that was hidden by woodlands, and Kettle led them along the path into a building, also half-hidden by trees. They could hear the distant, but very recognisable sounds of men training for combat, but they couldn’t see them.

“This is the servants entrance?” Rommel asked, breaking his long silence. Jagar hadn’t dared to disturb him; he’d been wrapped in contemplation during the entire train journey. “We come as common supplicants?”

“Not at all, General,” General Flynn said. Jagar flinched in alarm; they hadn’t even seen him hidden under the awning. “This is one of the little places we don’t tell the public about, just to keep the press off our doorstep.”

He led them inside, taking care to take their coats as they passed through a security barrier. “I trust that we can rely on your discretion,” he said. “This is regarded as one of the most secure places in Britain, purely because of its unknown nature. With PJHQ at Northwood and Main Building near Whitehall, the press and the pack of reporters have plenty of places to besiege.”

“This is a very Spartan building,” Rommel said. He sounded approving. “Do you entertain politicians here?”

Flynn chuckled. “Not in the slightest,” he said. “You have been brought here for a reason; Colonel Muhlenkampf can handle the task of bringing the main Bundeswehr force back to the forward base in Britain.”

Rommel lifted an eyebrow as they stepped into a big meeting room. It was comfortable, in a strange shabby way. “I was under the impression that the Bundeswehr force was not going to be allowed to come to Britain,” he said. “Have circumstances changed?”

“Yes,” General Cunningham said. Jagar studied the burly general, so different from Flynn or Rommel’s tall frame. Instinctively, he knew that Cunningham would smash through any problems, no matter what they were. “Won’t you and your aide take a seat?”

Rommel took a seat, waving Jagar to the seat next to him. Cunningham didn’t sit; he paced over to the end of the table and activated a display screen, revealing a map of Europe. Tactical icons – German, French, Italian, and Spanish – dominated the scene. A large number were grouped in France; a second group were bunched around Denmark; a third were stationed along the Soviet-German border.

“I have to inform you that this meeting is strictly under the highest security,” Cunningham said. Jagar considered their isolated rustic location and wasn’t convinced. “The invasion of Europe is planned for the 1st of June.”

Jagar gasped and felt Rommel stiffen beside him. He wasn’t sure how to think; he knew that the Nazis had to be destroyed, but at the same time he found it hard to be sanguine about a war being fought over all of Germany.

“The basic plan is simple,” Cunningham continued. “On the 1st, elements of the SAS and SBS, supported by the new trainees and paratroopers, will attempt to seize the docks in the Netherlands; hopefully expanding their control over most of the country, as far as Amsterdam and Rotterdam. They will be supported by the most intensive air attacks ever mounted, using satellite guided weapons to hammer away at the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe units within the region. A careful program of disinformation has attempted to convince the Germans that the target is in fact Normandy.

“In the event of a success, we intend to place ten British divisions and twenty American divisions into the Netherlands during the day,” he said. The map altered to show the progression. “Again, none of the units involved know the real target, but we have trained them as best as we can for the task at hand. While we imagine that Himmler will seek to counter-attack, we have great faith in aerial interdiction; almost everything in the RAF’s and USAAF’s inventory is being turned over to the mission. As soon as our lodgement is secure, we will leave the Netherlands, and advance.”

The display changed again. “We will have to deploy some units to the West Wall, just to prevent a counter-attack from that region, but almost everything else will head directly for Berlin. We won’t attack cities directly; we’ll do what we can to seal them off and trap whatever forces remain in the cities. Once we reach Berlin, we plan to take the city and hopefully Himmler, before moving on to the east.”

“You’re talking about travelling… several hundred miles in a very short space of time,” Rommel observed. “Are you that confident in your ability to bomb everything out of your way?”

“Pretty much,” Flynn said. “Unless the Luftwaffe has made a genuine quantum leap, the worst threat will be radar-guided guns, and we have missiles designed to take them out. I won’t say that it will be easy – this is very different from the Middle East – but we can do it.”

“And then I presume that you intend to march on to Moscow,” Rommel said. “Do you have any idea of how long and difficult that would be, even if you faced no opposition?”

“Yes,” Flynn said. “In fact…”

“Other options are being explored,” Cunningham interrupted. “We’re not at liberty to discuss them. However, you may be wondering why we asked you to come here.”

Rommel smiled. “It seems as if you don’t need us,” he said. “The proud Bundeswehr force does not seem to have any role at all in events.”

Cunningham shook his head. “We understand that fighting in Germany might be difficult for many in the Bundeswehr force,” he said. “However, we have two separate missions for you, if you can undertake them.” Rommel nodded. “The first one is that we would like to have two of your Panzer divisions attached to the main force for the attack on Berlin,” Cunningham said.

Rommel nodded. “Assuming that someone with a working brain doesn’t overthrow Himmler and surrender, I think we can help. We’ll have to, just to live with ourselves afterwards.”

“The second mission is a little more complicated,” Cunningham said. “We would like you to handle police duties and accept surrenders from forces which we hope will be cut off by the advance.” He tapped the display. “The SS, we suspect, will fight to the end, but we have hopes that the regular Wehrmacht units will surrender to you, particularly under promise of good treatment. Resistance, we hope, will be minimal; the Werewolves might not fight against you.”