Christopher Nuttall - The Invasion of 1950

Himmler coughed. “What do you think the British will do with their other fleet units?”

Manstein tapped the map. “I expect that they will concentrate their forces and advance towards us, attempting to cut the sea lanes,” he said. “If they succeed too soon, they will defeat the invasion force, but once we have enough supplies in place, we will still have a chance at victory. The Italians and Japanese may take advantage of their absence to strike; the only problem remains the reaction of the Americans.”

Hitler erupted. “The Americans couldn’t prevent us from doing anything,” he barked sharply. “They have their own problems with their mongrel races and won’t be concerned with our actions!”

Joachim von Ribbentrop, the Reich’s Foreign Minister, looked nervous. The man was believed to be a fool by everyone, including Hitler. “The American President has been focused on internal problems and the Japanese threat,” he said. “I do not feel that the Americans would get involved unless we offered them some huge provocation.”

Himmler smiled. The power play was obvious now; if Kesselring and Speer won the invasion of Britain between them, they would have a chance to oust him from the centre of power in the Reich . It was what he would have done; indeed, he had done it to Goring, among others. When Hitler died, and that wouldn’t be long now, the next Fuhrer would be one of the three most prominent Nazis…

“There is a way of preventing the British from asking for help,” he said, and outlined it. The idea was simple and he even had a unit on hand that could handle it. “The British might not even be able to issue orders for a while if the plan succeeds.”

Hitler loved it. “A splendid idea,” he said, his face growing flushed. “See that it is carried out perfectly.”

“Of course, Mein Fuhrer ,” Himmler said.

“I want to have Britain as part of the Reich within two months from today,” Hitler said. His sight faded for a long moment. “Go now… and bring Britain into the Reich .”

The assembled senior commanders and cabinet members left quickly, but Himmler lingered just long enough to meet Hitler’s eyes. His body was shaking slightly, breaking apart, and failing him; it wouldn’t be long before he died. Hitler knew that he had, at best, only a few more years to live. The longer he lasted, the more his body would degrade and humiliate him still further. Himmler couldn’t bear it any longer and fled the room…

Trapped in a dying shell, Adolph Hitler was in hell.

Wewelsburg Castle, Germany

“ Heil Hitler !”

Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler returned the salute as he clambered out of his car, looking up at the towering heights of Wewelsburg Castle, a building that he had purchased and developed for the exclusive use of the SS. His elaborate plans had been impeded by the demands of war, but he resumed construction once the Soviet Union had collapsed and no serious enemies remained to threaten the Reich. Himmler had personally organised the establishment of Niederhagen concentration camp, near the Castle, and the thousands of slaves from the east had been used ruthlessly to build Himmler’s dream. Seven years later, it had become one of the most impressive sites in Germany, a fitting tribute to the New Order.

He shook his head as he proceeded up towards his private office. The existence of the Castle, as well as the secrets and rituals at the heart of the SS, had been kept from the remainder of the German people, many of whom would never approve what was being done in their name. Himmler remembered with a flush of embarrassment the German women who had demanded the return of their Jewish husbands; ever since then, he had become determined to keep many secrets to himself, safe from the interfering gaze of many Germans who didn’t want to know what was being done in their name. The Church was a particular problem for Himmler; his program to establish massive SS families and legitimise bastard children faced massive opposition, even though the Pope had been pressured into providing reluctant support. The final battle between Church and State hadn’t been fought yet, Himmler knew; one day, the Waffen-SS would march into the Vatican and put the Pope and his Cardinals to the sword. One day… and, if Himmler became Fuhrer , that day would be very soon.

“ Herr Reichsfuhrer ,” one of his secretaries called. “I have the latest figures on the use of Untermensch workers for your perusal.”

“Please hold them for the moment,” Himmler said. He made a point to be polite to all of his subordinates, knowing that if they were scared of him, they would start lying to him, rather than face his displeasure. “I will study them later.”

He walked into his private office and smiled to himself. There were literally millions of Untermensch — sub-humans — within the vast territories that the Reich had occupied, and they were all at the disposal of their German masters. The SS had spent the last seven years registering the Untermensch and using them for whatever purpose suited them, from slave labour to working on massive concentrated farms to feed the German people. The East was dotted by plantations now, each one run by the SS to grow food; in time, the serfs would all die, to be replaced by men of good German stock and tractors of good German manufacture.

The East was also rife with insurgency, but as the SS systematically restricted the movements of the population, even the insurgency was dying down. It would be years before it was all gone — Himmler suspected that Beria was supplying them despite the terms of the treaty — but there was no way that the insurgents could defeat the Reich .

There was a single knock on the door and Himmler barked a command, without looking up, until Skorzeny had reported. “ Heil Hitler ,” he said, and saluted. It made him envious, in a way; no matter how many blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryans he surrounded himself with, it wouldn’t change his own appearance one iota. Himmler wasn’t a perfect SS man and never would be, but the man facing him lived up to the legends.

“ Heil Hitler ,” Gruppenfuhrer Otto Skorzeny said. “You wanted to see me, Herr Reichsfuhrer? ”

Himmler took a moment to study Skorzeny. At forty-two years old, the famous commando, who had been involved in raids and attacks on the Soviet Union and the insurgents that had replaced them, still looked like a young man. He had planned and executed a daring raid on the Soviets just before the end of the war, and Hitler had been impressed enough to order Skorzeny promoted and given his own unique unit of soldiers. Skorzeny hadn’t wasted his time, either; the unit of commandos had proven themselves in covert operations against a dozen sensitive targets.

“I need a readiness report on your unit,” Himmler said, allowing Skorzeny to draw his own conclusions. The Reichsfuhrer wouldn’t have summoned him for a report unless there had been a failing so great as to justify him being thrown out of the SS — or if there was a prospect of action. “How ready are you for immediate deployment?”

Skorzeny’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of action. “The unit is in peak condition at the moment,” he said. Himmler had given him a thousand men back at the start; now, with reserves, new recruits, and even hundreds of SS men clamouring to join, Skorzeny could have tens of thousands of men under him. Instead, he had his core group and several thousand reserve soldiers, just in case they were needed. “The men are ready as they’ll ever be to launch an operation against any enemy.”