Roth nodded. “Then we have to move,” he said. “You can’t handle the troops?”
Kesselring was a strategist, not a tactician, but he knew the basic odds were bad. He shook his head, taking a moment to study Roth. The SS officer looked sick at heart, battered beyond recovery, but Germany needed him. The fatherland had few people who could help it survive, and Roth had to stand up now.
“No,” Kesselring said slowly. “There are four crack Waffen-SS divisions digging in into Berlin. I have one Wehrmacht division close by, but not close enough.”
“Then Himmler has to die,” Roth said. “Field Marshal, if you leave the city now, with orders to lead the final battle, you could simply surrender the troops.”
Kesselring had considered it. “And what will you do?” He asked. “Will you come with me?”
“I’m going to kill the Fuhrer,” Roth said, and stood up. “Will you come with me for your orders?”
Kesselring allowed himself a moment of hope. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll make it as convincing as I can.”
Himmler knew, even before Kesselring, that the defence line had failed. The sudden shock had galvanised him; panic could come later. Having sent Roth to find Kesselring, Himmler considered his options and recognised that they had suddenly become limited. Germany – in some form – might live into July 1942 and beyond; Himmler himself certainly wouldn’t live that long, unless he left now.
He scowled. That, of course, left the question of where to go. The Allies knew what he looked like – and Mengele had ranted on about things like DNA testing before he was killed – and so west was out of the question. Switzerland, which was facing heavy Allied diplomatic pressure, was out, and so was the Vatican. The Pope might have declared the future Catholics to be heretics, but he could hardly afford to agonise the Allies. Both Canada and America had strong parties demanding that their Governments refuse further diplomatic status to the Vatican, although for different reasons, and the Pope had to be sweating blood.
For a long moment he considered simply trying to leave and blend in with the local population, but he knew that that would never work for long; almost every house in Germany had his portrait hanging on the wall. No, there was only one option left… and the news from the secret weapons project made it very possible.
Calling his secretary, he began to draft orders. The SS units near Poland would retreat into Poland, and then right up to the border with Russian-held territory. A quick phone call to Molotov had the arrangements made; the pride of the SS would fight beside the 2nd Shock Army. In the meantime, stockpiles of advanced weapons and nuclear material were heading east, right to the science cities that had been established in Russia.
He smiled, feeling real hope for the first time in the week. The Wehrmacht had clearly not been composed of good Aryans, for good Aryans would not have lost to the mongrels of America. They could die, to the last man, just to buy the SS the time it needed to prepare the final weapons.
“Mein Fuhrer, the Field Marshal has a plan to defeat the enemy,” Roth said. Himmler made a mental note to discipline his secretary, who had left his post to carry out Himmler’s orders. “He believes that we might still win.”
Himmler looked up. “That is good news,” he said, and meant it. Had Kesselring really come up with something, or was it an attempt to save his head?
“Mein Fuhrer, the enemy has clearly taken losses of their own in the battle yesterday,” Kesselring said. “They are not advancing through our country at hundreds of miles a day, but licking their wounds.”
Himmler nodded. He’d seen that for himself; the British and Americans were concentrating on securing their conquests before leaping forward again like a giant frog. They had little choice, merely to avoid a total disaster; the mini-civil war between surrendering units and units determined to fight to the death had ruined vast parts of the country and the food stockpiles.
He smiled. The thought of the British and Americans having to feed German citizens, if they weren’t all Jews and therefore known to be anti-German, was pleasing. They had betrayed Himmler; to subsist on British charity would be a fitting punishment.
“That gives us time,” Kesselring said. “We still have a number of infantry units, both the older units and the SS units, which we can use to halt the enemy short of Berlin. I believe that they will combine their forces for a single unstoppable thrust across the country – and I plan to meet them and stop them.”
Roth spoke for the first time. There was something… different about his voice; Himmler would have been worried under other circumstances. He smiled to himself; there has been a significant decline in the quality and quantity of your toadying lately, Herman. The Simpsons – whatever they were – would never be introduced to the Germans at large, but Himmler had watched a few episodes, hoping to understand the enemy a little better.
“In the week we should have, at least, we can produce massive amounts of mines and anti-tank weapons, including the new warheads,” Roth said. Himmler relaxed slightly; he hadn’t hired Roth for toadying. Roth spoke on, describing a fluid battle, using mines and armed infantrymen to hammer the enemy, to wear them down, prior to throwing the elite SS regiments in to complete the job.
“I see,” he said finally, when Roth had finished. “The SS regiments have their own tasks to accomplish…”
Kesselring gaped at him. “What could be more important that defeating the enemy thrust?” he asked, astonished. “They’re going to rape our country!”
“What an unfortunate metaphor,” Himmler murmured. There hadn’t been any reports of British or American troops engaging in raping German woman, but he was certain that it had happened – if starvation hadn’t already driven women into prostitution. “Unfortunately, the SS regiments have to complete their own tasks.”
“The plan may still work without them,” Roth said. Himmler nodded; he liked it when someone as intelligent as Roth supported him. “I will see to the logistics at once.”
Himmler smiled. “Field Marshal, you will take personal command of this operation,” he said. “Do not bother to return if you die.”
It had been all that Roth could do to prevent himself from simply drawing his sidearm and shooting Himmler right there and then. Instead, he listened as Himmler informed him that they would be bound to succeed, and then dismissed them without even saying good luck. He sniffed the air as they re-entered the main tunnels of the bunker; there was a definite smell of pure fear in the air. It stank, as if unshaven Slavs had been urinating in the corridors.
He said nothing until they returned to the military quarters, watching as Kesselring issued orders through the communications network, such as it was. He said nothing as Kesselring packed one of the handful of laptops, the one containing some of the data on the nuclear weapons program.
“Are you ready?” Kesselring asked finally. Roth nodded; unknown to Kesselring – it would only have upset him – was more than ready. He’d had enough time to make his own plans, ones that might just allow the Reich to survive in some form, even though it would be radically transformed. Perhaps… if everything worked, he might survive the coming few days.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. “When are you going to move?”