The Invasion of 1950 (47 page)

Davall didn’t get any sleep at all that night.

***

It had taken
Brigadefuhrer
Franz Deininger nearly an hour to wiggle free of his bonds. The British insurgents had severely damaged his right hand, but his left was still intact. With a great deal of effort, he had managed to loosen his bonds enough to get his hand free. He would have used handcuffs in their position, although they might have intended him to escape eventually, perhaps in the hopes that he would be merciful to them when they were caught. If that had been their intention, Deininger had no intention of allowing it to work. He intended to hunt them down like dogs or Russians. They would pay for ruining his leave.

His right hand throbbed badly, and he forced himself to concentrate long enough to free his other arm, and then his feet, releasing himself from the chair. The effort of standing up almost made him collapse as his body staggered under the sudden change in position, but he caught hold of the table, still covered in the remains of the food from their meal, and steadied himself. The water jug had remained intact and he drank some of it, using it to clear his parched throat while he considered what to do next.

The novels that were churned out to celebrate the power of the SS man would have had the lone hero – someone based on a mixture of Otto Skorzeny and Hitler himself – carrying out medical aid on his own body, but Deininger knew that he couldn’t do that, certainly not without one of his hands. It would be much safer to ask for help from a trained medical team, which would mean admitting what had happened here…and there was really no choice. He was expected back to work within a couple of days, maybe less if the system failed to hold up under the pressures of the offensive, and they would ask questions if he turned up with a bandaged hand. They were already unhappy about him having taken a few days off to spend them with Janine…

The thought reminded him about her, and he moved as quickly as he could into the bedroom. He saw her there, lying naked on the bed as he had imagined, but then reality intruded upon the idyllic view. She had been left there, tied and gagged, and he felt his anger rising again. All he had wanted was a pleasant few days with a girl. He could have pretended to have a normal life. They had ruined it and ruined her as well. Her position suggested that they had amused themselves with her, hurting her, ruining her…he had known, of course, that she was a prostitute, but it was no longer possible to
pretend
.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as he looked into her frightened eyes. He staggered over to the bed and sat down beside her, his hand touching her bonds and trying to undo them. It rapidly proved to be almost impossible with his hand, so he staggered back into the kitchen, found his ceremonial dagger, and carefully severed the bonds with that. Her hands looked worse than his, almost black and blue from having her circulation badly interfered with, but he was sure she would recover the full use of her hands. He passed her the knife after she rubbed life back into her hands and she used it to free her legs. A moment later and she had removed the gag, revealing a tear-streaked face.

“Don’t worry,” Deininger repeated and took her in his arms. She shook against him, trying to draw what comfort she could from his embrace, and he put his good arm around her. Her body had been wonderful to his eyes only hours before, now she was a human being in need of comforting. He could have done with some comfort himself, but he put his own concerns aside to comfort her. “It’s all over now.”

She held him away from her as they lay together. One of her hands found its way into his pants. Her voice was teary. “Do you want to…?”

“Not now,” Deininger said, feeling the throbbing from his hand growing. She withdrew her hand, looking almost relieved. The expression on her face almost made Deininger’s heart melt. “I think you’d better call the local command post and get them to send a team up here.”

Her eyes flashed with fear; Deininger interpreted it as her remembering what the SS had been like, back in Occupied France. “Don’t worry,” he said, as he pulled himself to his feet. “They won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.”

She staggered to her feet and found the telephone; a moment later, she had called the command post and explained what had happened. The operator didn’t believe her and demanded to speak to Deininger; Deininger took the phone and left the operator in no doubt that if he didn’t get a team up to Deininger’s cottage at once, he would be shipped at once to the worst area of Russia and assigned to counter-insurgency duties. Even the worst fanatics tried to avoid those duties there, apart from the ones who weren't quite right in the head; the Russian insurgents were the worst foes the
Reich
had ever faced. They might not be able to actually
defeat
the
Reich
, but they could constantly impede the New Order as it set about trying to rebuild that section of Europe.

The noise of the fighting was growing louder in the distance when the security team arrived with a medic. Deininger had ordered Janine to get dressed, but he was all-too-aware of their hidden disapproval, their sense that he had somehow deserved it, or worse. The medic set his fingers as best as he could, but it would take much more to repair his hand completely…and Deininger knew that he wouldn’t get the priority, not with heavy fighting in the south. They would leave him unhealed until the
real
soldiers had been given medical aid…

He found it hard to disagree with their priorities, intellectually, but emotionally, with the pain burning through his hand, he hated their cold logic. The medic had given him a shot of something for the pain, but it refused to fade completely, a reminder of just what the insurgents had done to him on a night that should have been perfect. They would pay for the humiliation, he decided.

“The grounds are empty,” the head of the security team said dryly. The SS soldiers had conducted a brief search, but apart from several rabbits, they’d found nothing of interest. The hidden mockery in his voice was easy to hear. “The insurgents seem to have escaped.”

“We’re going to find them,” Deininger said, shortly. He glared around the room until they all nodded their understanding. “We’re going to dissect this town until we find them, understand?”

London, England

Winston Churchill approached the Houses of Parliament with more trepidation that he was normally willing to admit to feeling. The population o
f London was restive; they could hear, in the distance, the sound of guns. The Germans might still be many miles away, but an unopposed charge could bring them to the gates of London in less than a day. The entire governing centre of Britain had been sealed and secured by hundreds of soldiers, including the two who were escorting Churchill personally. The Germans would not be allowed to launch a second surprise assault on the very heart of British power.

He allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. He had gone to see the King back in 1940, after becoming Prime Minister for the first time, and again in 1943 when his own party had removed him from power. Then, he had been full of fear for the future and yet convinced that Hitler and his thugs needed to be stopped whatever the price. Almost alone in political Britain, Winston Churchill had known that Hitler could never be reasoned with, never be convinced to accept what he had and seek no more territory; it was, more than ever before, him or the rest of the world. That truth had driven Churchill for years, from his hopes that the Allies might stop him, to his desperate faith in the French Army, to the point where it looked as if German soldiers were going to set foot on Britain itself.

Instead, Hitler had gone east and so pleased the anti-communist side of the British Establishment that it had been surprisingly easy to get them to go along with a peace treaty, even such a grievously flawed treaty that played to Hitler’s advantage. It was something that bothered Churchill during his lone years as an MP and persistent critic of the government. Would it have made any difference if he had fought them instead of standing down? Would the war have raged on until Hitler landed anyway?

There was no way of knowing, not now. Churchill knew that with the Germans on British soil, all of the gathered might of Britain would be focused on driving them back into the sea. The events of the next few days would decide the fate of the British Empire, and indeed Britain’s very survival as an independent state; British Intelligence had picked up enough clues as to Hitler’s plans for the country to know that they didn’t dare lose. Not for Britain the happy state of Vichy, with Mosley and the former King Edward as German puppets; Britain would be controlled by a German governor and the establishment would be purged. That had sent fire burning down the spines of a few hundred members of the establishment, including, to Churchill’s private amusement, some members who were inclined to make peace with Germany, and the country was united behind him. The only worry in his mind, now, was simple; was it too late?

Sounds of gunfire rose in the air again as the battle raged in the distance. Churchill had seen, in the darkness, flashes and flickers of light, but now, in daytime, all they could sense of the battle was the noise. Churchill had seen the charts in the War Office, heard the reports as they came in, and knew that the fighting wasn’t necessarily going well. The Germans had the advantage of greater mobility and the ability to bring all of their fire-power to bear on a single point; the British had the advantage of being determined to win and well dug into British soil. The Germans had learned, time and time again, that British towns and cities were hard targets; they’d simply enveloped many of them and concentrated on driving onwards towards London. The die was cast…

Churchill could sense the mood of Parliament as he entered, a mixture of fear and grim determination. England hadn’t been invaded for centuries; even during her darkest moments, Napoleon hadn’t been able to land on her soil. The French had failed, the Spanish had failed…and, back during the last two wars, the Germans had failed. Now, he knew, they had landed, but they would not succeed in taking Britain. They would do it over his dead body, something that was very likely; he had already decided that, whatever happened, he would not leave Downing Street. The Germans would have to take it from him.

They gathered in their rows, looking for hope and a promise that there was a future. Churchill despised many of them. They were small men, in their way, throwing away the core of Britain’s greatness for their own private dreams. The Empire was crumbling, the very soul of Britain was imperilled, and yet they saw fit to try to enhance their own positions at the expense of the country. Where would the Empire have been if men like them had been allowed to rule? Where were the Pitts, the Wellingtons, even the Gladstones and the Parmerstrongs? Churchill looked upon the Members of Parliament and swore a silent oath that if Britain survived her darkest hour, the country itself would be reshaped and recast in the image that had served Britain so well in the past. He knew what he believed in, and he was determined to fight for it.

The Speaker spoke into the silence. “I call upon the Prime Minister to speak to us about the progress of the war,” he said, his voice betraying not a hint of concern or fear. “I ask the Honourable Member to address us now.”

Churchill pasted a suitably grave expression on his face and stood up. “Honourable Members, I speak not only to you, but to the millions of Britons who are listening, and to Hitler himself, skulking in his bunker while his forces fight and die to take an island that will never surrender,” he intoned. “I speak to them all, and I ask them to hear my words and listen, for Britain is indefatigable and will never be defeated.

He allowed his voice to quieten. “We face our darkest hour,” he said. “Last night, the Germans launched their offensive against our lines, spearheaded by units that we know and have learned to dread. We know that the 7
th
Panzer leads one of the attacking prongs, and we know that
Das Reich
leads the other, both units that have achieved a enviable reputation on the battlefield. We know that within the next few days, the fate of England will be determined…and the Nazis shall never win! They must be made to understand that one fact, above all others; Britain has never been a victim, but a country that can and will fight to defend its hallowed freedoms!

“Out there, the men of the British Army, the Home Guard, and even brave British citizens caught behind enemy lines are fighting to stem the tide,” he proclaimed. “Out there, they are fighting desperately to save us all from Hitler’s hordes, and they will succeed! The Germans think they’re winning, they think that because some lines have proven themselves weaker than others, they can punch through and win. We have had years to prepare for the day when the Germans came, and our tactics have been prepared well in advance. The Germans will be beaten!” Applause from the MPs caused him to pause.