Kesselring frowned. “In two days, or thereabouts,” he said finally. “I’ll send you the code word when I’m ready.”
Roth nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t let you down.”
He frowned. He knew what Kesselring didn’t know, or wouldn’t acknowledge. With the SS dug into Berlin, a quick surrender would be out of the question. There was only one way to end the war, and he’d made up his mind to try.
Fuhrerbunker
Berlin, Germany
15th June 1942
Discovering that he’d been locked up in his rooms again was an unpleasant shock for Professor Horton, who’d worried endlessly what would happen next, assuming that Himmler had been killed by one of his rivals. None of the major Nazis – those that had been spared by the SS – would trust him, and as a black man the rank and file would hate him. Something had happened, he knew, but what?
“Come with me,” Himmler’s secretary said, bursting in without bothering to knock. Horton looked up; the young man was sweating with fear, which was… odd. He hadn’t seen anything that could scare him before; the young man didn’t seem to be fazed by anything, even blood on the carpets.
Ignoring Horton’s questions, he pulled him along the corridors, taking him directly into Himmler’s office. Ignoring the two gorilla-like guards who wanted to search Horton, he pulled him into Himmler’s room, saluted Himmler, and then left.
“Observe the map,” Himmler said grimly. Horton stared up at the map; red arrows were marching across Germany. It had taken nearly a year to advance on Berlin before, he knew, and that had been with the Soviets advancing from the other side of Germany. He concealed a smile; his people had done well.
“As you can see, the Allies” – Himmler practically spat the word – “have managed to shatter the defence line and they’re now heading for Berlin. Follow-up forces are occupying the cities behind their lines even as we speak, preventing the citizens from rising in revolt against them. It won’t be long, Herr Professor, before they reach Berlin.”
Horton blinked. A strange recklessness came over him. “Then why haven’t you fled while the Wehrmacht dies to cover your flight?” He asked. “That’s what you tried to do in the other history?”
Himmler’s eyes glittered. “I will leave today, Herr Professor, and you will come with me,” he said. “We are going on a little trip.”
“To where?” Horton asked. “Switzerland?” He smiled hopefully; the Swiss would hardly court British intervention by allowing Himmler to keep him prisoner.
“To Russia,” Himmler said. Horton gaped at him. “Comrade Stalin has agreed to play host to me, several thousand of the best SS men, and the fruits of the advanced weapons projects, such as the first atomic bomb of the Reich.”
Horton felt a numb sensation spreading through his body. His legs nearly gave out. “Don’t know remember what they did to Germany, just for hosting a bioweapons laboratory?” He asked. “What do you think they’ll do for using a nuke on them?”
“Oh, the Russians will get the blame,” Himmler said. “The nuke will be launched in defence of their territory, after all. In the meantime, the Werewolves will grow strong, and then I will make my triumphant return to Germany at the head of an army of SS men…”
He’s mad, Horton realised. Himmler had finally gone off the deep end. “You can’t be serious,” he breathed. “You can’t do that…”
“Oh, Herr Professor, I think you’ll find that I can do that,” Himmler said. Horton recoiled; the Fuhrer had definitely lost it. “You, of course, are coming with me, just to help me adapt to conditions in Stalin’s court.”
Horton felt his mind whirl. He was certain that Stalin would simply shoot Himmler out of hand – and that was hardly a bad thing – and he was certain that he would be shot soon afterwards, or would the NKVD insist on dissecting his secrets first?
Roth received the codeword a day late, when he had just begun to fret in earnest. Kesselring had been receiving as much in the way of supplies that Roth could dig up, including in some cases weapons that were intended for one of Himmler’s pet regiments. Himmler had turned a blind eye to his actions; he seemed to be certain that Roth was working for the good of the Reich.
It had taken nearly a week to build his own private network. It helped that most of the SS men in his part of the service were intelligent; it hadn’t taken long to convince them that Himmler was going to desert them to save his own skin. It had taken Himmler time to suppress all the evidence of his cowardliness in the other timeline, but Roth threw his store of information open to a selected number of his friends and allies, convincing them to move against Himmler.
He hadn’t breathed a word about the second plan to Kesselring. It would have only have upset him.
“It’s time,” he muttered to himself, and gathered his men. There were only twenty-three of them, but they had surprise on their side, and determination. “Group one goes to the communications room,” he ordered. Half of the staff there would be on their side anyway. “Group two follows me.”
He led the second team through the corridors, meeting no one, until they reached the outside of Himmler’s quarters. Quickly, he picked up one of the telephones that had been attached to a wall, and gave a particular order. Alarms started to sound, emergency systems started to move. In seconds, the bunker would be divided into little sections, all cowering against the threat of a nuclear attack.
“It’s done,” he said, as the doors to Himmler’s suite of rooms burst open. He fired once from his pistol, a long burst of machine gun fire answered him, killing half of his team. The rest shot down Himmler’s men, rushing into his office. A single grenade blew down Himmler’s door; he would treasure the expression on Himmler’s face for as long as he lived.
“It’s over,” he said, noticing with shock the secret tunnel in the side of the bunker. He blinked to realise that Professor Horton, handcuffed, was waiting with Himmler. “Give up!”
Himmler’s face whitened very quickly. “What is the meaning of this?” He demanded. “I demand to know…”
Roth almost gave him a flippant answer. “You have been disposed,” he said. “You have a choice; you can order the units on the surface to surrender, or you can die right here, right now!”
Himmler was trembling. “If I order them to surrender, you’ll just kill me,” he said. “I can’t…”
“We won’t kill you,” Roth promised. “We will send you to South America. You can take your chances there.”
Himmler picked up the radio and spoke rapidly. Roth listened carefully; the orders were for surrender, which was to be made to the British immediately. “Are you happy, traitor?” Himmler asked finally, as he put the radio down.
“I haven’t been happy since discovering that you had Kristy raped and murdered,” Roth snapped. “I…”
There was a sudden burst of firing from behind him. Roth spun around, pistol lifted, to see one of his men fall backwards, shot through the head. He fired quickly, firing into Himmler’s secretary, and then something slammed down on the side of his head. He had only moments to realise that Himmler had acted quicker than he would have believed possible, before the world sank into darkness.
Himmler allowed himself a quick moment of absolute triumph, before realising that the surrender order had not been countermanded. Cursing, he sent out the orders on both lines, and was shocked to discover that the line to the Wehrmacht had been cut. He cursed, once, and then again; Professor Horton had been shot through the leg.