Christopher Nuttall - Axis of Evil

“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” Barton said, and paced out of the room as the meeting broke up. Hanover chucked once to himself, and then went to order the nuclear strike.

“It’s about to get very hot in Russia,” he muttered to himself. “And now we’re dependent upon a German to pull off a great victory. What has the world come to?”

Zek Base

Nr Grozny, Chechnya

29 thJune 1941

It was called Zek Base by its workers, the thousands of unfortunates who had been condemned by future history; a massive complex for servicing an advancing Russian army. The Zeks , the slave workers, would do the work, while the NKVD carried out its mission in Chechnya, exterminating the native population. Thousands had been enslaved and forced to work to death, blasting the roads and rail lines through the Caucuses and creating a logistics framework that provided Zhukov’s army with supplies and new regiments. Thousands of soldiers were based there, awaiting their passage down to Iran, or on leave enjoying the minuscule comforts of Zek Base. The only thing the base had was enslaved women for prostitution, but Zhukov had insisted; leave was apparently good for the enlisted men.

After all, the future said so.

The Trident warhead detonated over Zek Base at midnight, a time chosen with malice aforethought. Microseconds after it had detonated, the expanding fireball ravaged over the base, literally wiping it from the face of the Earth. Russians, slaves, Zeks … all perished in the blast. Although the supply lines didn’t entirely depend upon Zek Base, Zhukov’s army had suddenly lost most of their stockpile in one massive explosion.

In the future, the Muslims of the steppes, those who survived, would tell tales of the day Allah smote the infidels with his fire. The day became a holy day, one hotly disputed by almost every other Islamic sect, until the truth came out, years later.

Irbid, Jordan

29 thJune 1941

Gunter Jagar, now breveted as a Captain in the Bundeswehr , was finding life as General Rommel’s assistant, aide and general bodyguard more than confusing. Rommel simply refused to behave as he thought a general should; far from staring at maps and planning movements, Rommel was often to be found cruising around in his mobile command vehicle, or his personal CV-22, trying to direct attacks in person. Whenever Rommel arrived, the Bundeswehr bent over backwards to obey, sending new and dangerous attacks against the Waffen-SS .

Jagar glared at the map that had been spread out on the table in the middle of the small tent. Rommel himself stood at one end, giving orders to Colonel Lehmann, one of the Panzer commanders, through the radio telephone. The Waffen-SS , several divisions of the bastards, had been placed near Damascus, their commander, SS-Obergruppenführer Felix Steiner, tasked with destroying the Bundeswehr .

“They don’t trust Heinz to do it,” Rommel had commented; when he’d asked why the Nazis simply hadn’t sent the entire Iraq Korps down to engage the Bundeswehr directly. General Heinz Guderian, the Korps commander, had been fighting a holding action, instead of launching an offensive of his own, apparently waiting for the Soviets to bleed themselves out in Baghdad.

“But the Soviets are allies of the Nazis,” he’d said.

“They’re never going to be friends,” Rommel had said, and ended the discussion.

Jagar swung his attention back to the map as Colonel Muhlenkampf strode in, knocking the sand from his boots, before saluting Rommel with a precision that Jagar couldn’t hope to match. The tall German from the future winked at Jagar, before taking a seat and waiting for Rommel.

“The British had carried out their part of the plan,” Rommel said. “The Nazis can no longer reinforce the Iraq Korps .” He scowled. “And, with the reported destruction of the Soviet supply base, Stalin can’t supply the Iraq Korps , even if he wants to.”

“Yes, Herr General ,” Muhlenkampf snapped. “Are we ready then?”

Rommel nodded. “We have to get rid of the Waffen-SS ,” he said. “As long as that force remains in the Middle East, Heinz will be unable to move. Tell me, what is the status of the Panzer divisions?”

“1 stand 2 ndare ready to launch the main attack,” Muhlenkampf said, tapping the map. “We have logistical support and air cover in place. 3 rdPanzer Division is supposed to be launching the flanking operation, and Colonel Lehmann reported that they were ready to launch the attack.”

“Good,” Rommel said. He glanced at his watch. “I see no further version to delay, do you?”

Muhlenkampf shook his head. “No, Herr General ,” he said. “We need to move before Steiner starts getting ideas.”

“Then send the signal,” Rommel said. His eyes glittered. “The redemption begins now.”

SS-Obergruppenführer Felix Steiner studied the massed ranks of his panzers, and the shining steel of the SS recruits, and refused to admit to the cold despair. Cold hard logic warned that the loss of the supply lines meant inevitable doom – and the loss of communication with Berlin meant that there would be no way to ask for orders – but his determination drove him on. The time for probing attacks was at an end; if the Reich were to lose in the Middle East, he would take the treacherous Bundeswehr down with him.

Swiftly, he considered the problem. He’d sent scouts out with the tribes of nomads who drifted across the entire battlezone like ghosts, and he knew where the Bundeswehr was based. There was no doubt that it was the Bundeswehr ; the strange versions of German markings were clear to their eyes.

“Order the panzers to be ready to move,” he barked, and his subordinates jumped to obey. Steiner considered asking for help from Guderian, but dismissed the thought; the Wehrmacht was full of cowards. “Now!”

Steiner didn’t know – only a handful of people in the Reich knew – that the British had successfully completed a network of orbital satellites. Without that knowledge, he was unable to comprehend the possibilities of orbital spies looking down on him unblinkingly, or on the computer programs that flagged his movement for attention.

“ Herr General ,” Jagar said, “satellite reconnaissance reports that the Waffen-SS is moving. They’re coming our way.”

“Let me see,” Rommel said, ignoring the shaking CV-22 as it headed over the battlefield. The streams of Bundeswehr tanks passed under them as Rommel studied the laptop. The countless vehicles were analysed far faster than a human could hope to do, defined, classified, and designated for attack. Rommel studied the patterns for a long moment, noting the advancing British forces from the south.

“Is that wise with Stalin around?” Jagar asked, noting the small holding forces that had been left near the Russian forces. Rommel ignored him, weighing up the problems for a long moment.

“They’re going to clash headlong into us,” Rommel said, studying the breakdown of the Bundeswehr tanks and associated vehicles. “The question is; do we want to let them and fight it out tank to tank, or do we want to set up a trap?” He thought rapidly. “Steiner isn’t a fool,” he mused. “They won’t impale themselves on our guns.”

He smiled. “I think we’ll allow the tanks the pleasure of scrapping with the enemy,” he said. “Warn Colonel Muhlenkampf that the enemy is on the way.”