“There are people much worse off,” he snapped at Horton, before thinking as fast as he could. Staying in the bunker was certain death, so he checked the dead body of his secretary, picked up his weapon, and pointed it at Horton. “Tell them it will never be over,” he said, and ran down the escape tunnel.
Horton bit his lip as hard as he could to stop himself from screaming; his leg felt horribly sore. He tried to hold it, to stop the bleeding, but with his hands handcuffed it was impossible to stem the flow. Dimly, he was aware that Roth wasn’t dead, but too close to death to help him.
“I’m sorry,” Roth said. His voice was weak; he vomited. Horton shuddered; the vomit had streaks of red mixed in with yellow. “You might survive, Doctor.”
Horton looked down at his wound. “I don’t think so,” he said. He tried to hold himself still, willing the blood to stop flowing. It didn’t work. “I don’t deserve to die this way.”
Roth laughed, coughing up more blood. “We all die in the end,” he said. “Doctor, I’m sorry I got you into this.”
Horton realised dimly that Roth was sincere. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “No one knew that this would happen.” He paused. “Why? Why did you join the Nazis?”
“Never had a better opportunity for my skills,” Roth said. “Never had a job because of the depression, never got along well enough to teach, but I knew engineering. Hitler took the gloves off and allowed us to experiment.” He laughed. “And then I was offered a commission in the SS, studying the equipment of other nations, because I had little skill for my own. I was supposed to be examining the new French tanks… and then your aircraft crashes right next to me.” He snickered. “And now the man I looked at as a second father has fucked off to Russia with an atomic bomb…”
He coughed up more blood. When he spoke, his voice was delirious. “Tell Kristy I love her,” he said, and died.
Chapter Forty-One: Which Side Are You On?
Forward Command Post
Brandenburg, Germany
15th June 1942
Field Marshal Kesselring was puzzled. Himmler had broadcast a surrender order, one that placed all of the military, Wehrmacht and SS alike, under his command. Only minutes later, he’d tried to countermand his own orders, but too late to prevent many units – the ones with reasonable commanders – from siding with him. Oddly, some of the reasonable units included SS units, with Wehrmacht units supporting the ‘fight to the last’ idea.
He cursed as an SS messenger brought him a note from Roth. He scowled as he realised what must have happened; Roth’s little plan had clearly failed, although not completely. The forces inside the city, by and large, were remaining firm, but almost all of the other units had declared for him – and ending the war.
“Raise the British,” he ordered, hoping that they could punch a message through the infrequent jamming. “Tell them… tell them that we wish to discuss terms.”
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
16th June 1942
The situation map was changing even as he watched, illustrating the complex nature of what was rapidly becoming a multi-front war. Hanover scowled as fighting broke out in Paris and the rest of France, while Italy was trying to throw off the German yoke. Worst of all was Germany itself; half of the German units in the field seemed to be fighting the other half, and some of them were pleading for Allied assistance.
“So, what exactly is happening?” Hanover asked finally. He waved a hand at the map. “My eyes are going to go if I look at that too long.”
Stirling smiled dutifully. “It’s confused,” he said. “From what we can gather, Field Marshal Kesselring contacted all of the German army units and ordered them to surrender, but not all of the units agreed with this policy. Himmler’s stand to the last order seems to have also made the rounds, and some units are following it. As it happens, Himmler himself seems to have vanished and some units are heading east to meet up with the Russian army, which is digging in along the border, which is about midway through Poland.”
Hanover scowled. The little units, marked with the hammer and stickle flag, were growing even as he watched. Stalin seemed unwilling to let his allies go down without a fight, or perhaps to allow the Allies to take up positions in Poland.
“Bother,” he said absently. “I think that we’d better lean on the teams in place in Russia. With all of the unrest in the Ukraine, you’d think that we would be able to slow down their reinforcing.”
“Most of our bomber asserts are concentrating on reducing the German units that have refused the surrender order,” Stirling said. “There are four divisions dug into Berlin, sir; we might have to force them out just to recover whatever records there are in Berlin.”
Hanover scowled. “What about the Wehrmacht?” He asked. “What’s happening to it?”
“We’re disarming the units that surrender and we’re placing them in POW camps,” Stirling said. “After one incident when a surrendered unit opened fire on American forces, we started ordering them to disarm first, which not all of them are willing to do. Other units seem to have simply dissolved and scattered, heading back home.”
“They won’t be that much of a problem there,” Hanover said. “What about the advance?”
“Going very quickly now,” Stirling said. “Berlin, of course, presents the real problem; we can take it, but the cost would be high.”
Hanover studied the map. “And, of course, we have to prepare to move against Stalin as well,” he said. “If we move forward as far as Berlin and surround the city, then we would at least buy ourselves some time. Who knows, maybe whoever’s in command of the city will surrender.”
“We would have to offer amnesty,” Stirling said. “One SS unit did offer to surrender, in exchange for amnesty, and General Flynn rejected it.”
“Good for him,” Hanover said. He approved of such decisiveness. “We will not allow any of them to escape to Peru and Argentina this time.”
“Sir, President Truman did suggest the use of a nuclear weapon on Berlin,” Stirling pointed out. “General Eisenhower is going to ask you about it this afternoon.”
Hanover, who knew that British intelligence read American mail, shrugged. “We have to avoid using nukes against cities,” he said firmly. “There have already been too many nukes going off on this world.”
Forward Command Post
Brandenburg, Germany
19th June 1942
General Rommel rarely shouted. He had a way of getting his opinion across the room or into the discussion without shouting or screaming, a trick that Jagar envied. He felt sick, very sick; the British had insisted on showing them around a Concentration Camp.
“It is a matter of honour, General Flynn,” Rommel said. The little troika of commanding officers – Flynn, Stilwell and Rommel – stared firmly at one another. “We have to liberate Berlin.”
“With all due respect for the fighting qualities of the Bundeswehr,” Flynn said thoughtfully, “you are ill-prepared for a street-to-street fight.”
Rommel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Look; you saw that camp. It is a matter – no, a demand – of honour that we, we Germans, take part in the cleansing of Berlin.”