Hanover nodded. He’d seen the predictions, drawn up by historians who’d studied Indian history. The Princes would tear their country apart, and they had the forces to do it as well. The nation would not tolerate an attempt to put the Raj back together after it had failed so disastrously; Hanover knew that the sealed orders called for abandoning the subcontinent.
“Events in Iran move along,” Stirling continued. “We have sealed the Russian forces inside the cities and are destroying any forces that tried to poke their way out of the trap. Our own tank columns are racing for Tehran, but the Russians are pulling out of the east and heading north themselves.”
“Wise of them,” Hanover said. He entered his office and took his seat. “I assume that they’re retreating?”
“It certainly seems like it,” Stirling said. “I think they must be trying to save what they can.”
Hanover nodded. “Have the harassment campaign press them as hard as they can,” he ordered. “The ones we kill now, we won’t have to fight later.” He smiled. “Besides, perhaps we can defer the arrival of an American force if they leave before the Americans can reach the battlezone.”
“Aye, sir,” Stirling said. “I’ll forward the orders at once.”
He left the room. Hanover closed his eyes for a long moment, deep in thought. This sudden development of rockets was alarming; they might well be able to hurt thousands of civilians, particularly if they used nerve gas or biological warfare. Would that be enough to end the war?
“I wish I knew,” he said aloud, and headed down to the war room. There was work to be done.
Fuhrerbunker
Berlin, Germany
22nd April 1942
“Everything must be perfect,” the SS flunkey – SS Hauptsturmfuehrer Thierbach – insisted. Stewart ignored him, checking out the display in front of her face; Himmler’s desk stood against one wall, surrounded by a map of Germany. There was no Nazi flag in the room, anywhere.
“I said…”
“I did hear you,” Stewart snapped. Knowing that she was about to go home had cheered her up no end, and she wasn’t about to let a man with a ridiculous title get in her way. “I have years of experience in public relations, and it will be perfect.”
She paused to examine the room. It was neat and Spartan, not over-decorated or tasteless, and it was serious. People had expected orgies, but in this room Himmler would be just another bureaucrat, if rather more powerful than most. On his own, Himmler could never have risen to power, but after Hitler had died, he’d been in the position to snatch power, despite his limited imagination.
“He has to give his message from his desk,” she said. “He cannot remind people of what he is, because that would destroy anti-war sentiment, and he cannot attempt to play too much upon their emotions, because that’s pretty obvious these days.”
“There is such a thing as anti-war sentiment?” Thierbach asked. Nazi Germany, of course, wouldn’t tolerate any such thing. Stewart was finally beginning to understand how lucky she’d been to have been born into the west. “Your people would force the government to end the war?”
“Not exactly,” Stewart hedged. “Your Fuhrer would have to make a very good offer for peace, and then they might protest against further bloodshed.”
“I see, I think,” Thierbach said, checking the positioning of Stewart’s camera. “Is the camera in place?”
Stewart smiled at his unnecessary manipulations of the camera, just to prove he was doing something useful. It beat watching his eyes following her around. “The camera is perfect,” she said. In fact, with modern technology, it could have produced an acceptable image though a fishbowl. “Everything is ready.”
Right on time, Führer und Reichskanzler Himmler stepped though the door, followed by two gorilla-like guards. “Is everything ready?” He asked. “Are we ready to begin?”
Stewart smiled behind her hand. “Yes,” she said. If Himmler noticed, he chose to ignore it. “We may begin when you are ready.”
Himmler nodded and headed over to his desk, checking his uniform as he sat down. There were no Nazi symbols on the black uniform, just in case. “You may start the camera,” he said.
“I will give you a countdown,” Stewart said, and activated the camera. “Five… four… three… two… one… talk.”
Himmler composed himself as the red light flickered into a steady glow. The message was too important for any problems to interfere with; he was prepared to repeat the speech as often as he had to, making certain that the speech was perfect.
“To the people of Britain, America and the British Empire, greetings,” he said. He spoke fluent English and he’d spent time with Roth and the SS linguists, making certain that his dictation was perfect. “I am Führer und Reichskanzler Himmler, of the Third Reich of Germany.
“Your Governments will know – they may not have told you – that we have developed weapons capable of penetrating even your superlative defences and delivering a warhead to a precise target. If the war continues, we will be forced to deploy the rockets against your cities, in revenge for the thousands of German civilian deaths in the war. The Volk cry out for revenge, but I do not wish to end the war on such bad terms. You can burn us with radioactive fire; we can infect you with a deadly disease… and both of us will lose.”
He paused significantly. “In order to avoid this horrid fate, the Reich wishes to offer a final and conclusive peace agreement. Unilaterally, we have declared a weeklong ceasefire over the Reich; your forces will not be attacked unless they fire on us first. Further, as a gesture of good faith, our forces are withdrawing from Sweden, which will allow you to occupy it and liberate from our grip.”
He gave a self-deprecating grin. “The Reich places this offer on the table,” he said. “The Reich will withdraw and place back into the hands of their legitimate governments, France, Spain and Italy. The Reich will also agree to the creation of a rump Poland and permit them free access to the sea – without taxes or tariffs – through any port on the Baltic.
“Finally, the Reich will permit any citizen who wishes to leave, from democrat to Jew, the right to leave, and it will pay for their passage to Britain. That is the offer we are making to you; we hope that you will consider it.”
He smiled thoughtfully. “This signal is being sent through transmission towers in Germany and through the services of a reporter stationed here,” he said. “The attached messages will give instructions for contacting us, and we urge the British and American Governments to do so.” He smiled again. “The ceasefire will last for a week from the transmission of this message, whatever else happens, and we will attempt to avoid clashes between our forces and yours. Unfortunately, our forces have orders to fire if fired upon, so please confirm that you understand quickly, before an incident happens.
“Thank you for your time,” he concluded. “I look forward to a lasting and permanent peace between our nations.”
Chapter Eighteen: Considering The Issue
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
23rd April 1942
“Yes, Mr President,” Hanover said, speaking into the secured phone. “We received the offer of a ceasefire too.”
Truman’s voice was dry. “General Patton has been asking for orders,” he said. “Do we let the bastards escape to Denmark?”