The Invasion of 1950 (55 page)

His eyes glanced around the military camp, trying to take in its awesome size. He had never seriously considered the army as a career, not after what had happened to his uncle in the last war, it still surprised him to see just how large the camp actually was. There were thousands of soldiers walking everywhere and carrying massive loads with them; only the quiet surrounding Churchill was noticeable. The camp hummed and throbbed at all hours of the day, with the soldiers desperately preparing for the resumption of the war, something that everyone he’d spoken to expected to come quickly. The Germans might take the offensive again, or maybe they would wait for the British to launch their attack, but either way, both sides knew that the status quo wouldn’t last. If the Germans built up first, they would take the offensive and seek to  punch through to London.

He grimaced. London exerted its baleful influence over the fighting; for one side, it was the target they must protect, for the other, it was the place they must take to win the war. DeRiemer knew that Churchill had contingency plans to continue the fighting after London fell, assuming that it did fall, but the blow to British morale would be staggeringly huge. London had been turned, by the BBC, into a fortress that had resisted the worst the Germans could throw at it; God alone knew what would happen if London fell. Would defeatism take the British population, as it had taken the French in 1940, or would they feel a renewed determination to fight on?

Their next destination was a tent full of wounded soldiers. DeRiemer kept his face blank, feeling the urge to be sick as he took in some of their wounds, and even Churchill looked subdued. Churchill spoke to them gently, while pretty nurses tended their wounds, and some of them managed a smile for him. One man screamed at him, asking if losing his legs was worth it, and he said nothing. A row of doctors, looking harassed, testified to the grave shortages of medicines and drugs and weren't reassured when Churchill explained that a vast amount of supplies were on their way from America.

“They keep telling us that,” one doctor said. “We have to do surgery without any drugs, and we’ve even used alcohol to sterilise the wounds.”

“We’ll have as much as we can sent forward,” Churchill promised. “I shall see to it personally.”

“There have been too many deaths,” Monty said. “The final offensive will have to be carefully planned to avoid needless death.”

Churchill said nothing as they reviewed the final formations, his silence noticeable. DeRiemer wondered if something was wrong. Monty addressed the soldier, promoted one of them, and watched Churchill carefully. The Prime Minister’s thoughts were elsewhere. It wasn't until ten minutes later that he finally spoke.

“An excellent collection of young men,” Churchill said finally. Monty looked pleased at the description; they were his men, one and all, and he had fought hard to make sure they got the supplies and reinforcements they needed. “I would now like you to brief me on the plans to take the offensive.”

“Of course,” Monty said. “If you would like to follow me…?”

He led them towards a set of low buildings in the middle of the camp. They were fenced around with barbed wire, as much to keep the ordinary soldiers out as the Germans, although DeRiemer had some problems imagining the wire holding the Germans for long. All they would need would be a set of wire cutters and they’d be sweeping into Monty’s headquarters. A small group of soldiers, wearing clean uniforms and holding older weapons, stood to attention as Monty passed through the gates and led them up to the buildings.  He presented his ID card  to several sets of guards, who didn’t allow their awe at seeing Churchill in person prevent them from examining his card carefully.

“We actually had a German impostor claiming to be Colonel Glodstone,” Monty said by way of explanation. He smiled as he remembered. “The man would have made it too – he was quite good – except for the fact that Major Prestonbury knew Glodstone and knew perfectly well that he had been injured during the Battle of Ipswich and shipped up to Scotland for recuperation. We caught him and tried to interrogate him, but the bastard popped a suicide pill and died on us.”

He shrugged. “We would have shot him anyway, but even so, he could have told us a lot,” he said. “It’s going to be a problem as we insert more new units into the combat zone, Prime Minister; we’re going to have to hold more meetings between senior officers, just to be sure that everyone knows one another.”

DeRiemer coughed. “And what happens if junior officers obey orders from a man they think is a superior officer?”

“Good question,” Monty said as he led the way into the main room. “Soldiers are trained to obey orders, regardless of their nature, and we don’t…encourage them to question orders in the middle of a battle. All we can really do is keep an eye out and perhaps insert a few trick questions for any suspected impostors.”

DeRiemer looked around the room as the handful of staff officers stood to attention. It was bare and gloomy compared to the War Office he remembered from back in London, but Monty’s staff had rigged up electric lights, pouring down illumination on the set of maps in the centre of the room, each one drawn on with pencil marks. A handful of maps showed arrows and unit insignias as part of a planned offensive. The others were clear of anything but possible lines of advance. It all looked impressive, but DeRiemer would have bet good money that the German plans for the attack on London had looked good too, and those plans had come unstuck. Would the same happen to the British plans?

“We have been working hard to integrate American supplies and volunteer units into our line of battle,” Monty said after a moment. “The Canadian and Australian units insist on remaining under their own command, at least tactically, but we have been able to oblige them to some extent. There have been some problems placing the Americans within our units, but as they came in company-sized units, we have been able to work them in.”

Churchill held up a hand. “I was under the impression that the Americans would be fighting as an army in their own right,” he said. “Why have you changed that?”

Monty didn’t blink at the question. DeRiemer suspected that he had expected it. “The American Government originally said nothing about the creation of an American Army within Britain, but apparently they changed their mind once we actually had enough Americans to form an army,” he said. “They requested that we treat the American troops as Commonwealth forces and insert them into our formations, as we did back in North Africa. It hasn’t caused any real problems, as they’re still largely operating under their own officers, but in the long run we may have supply problems. Their weapons are different and need different supplies.”

Churchill nodded. “And how would you rate them as combat troops?”

“It’s impossible to say,” Monty admitted. “They’re enthusiastic and determined, and a few of them have experience fighting as volunteers in the Mexican Civil War. Those people ended up mainly with officer and sergeant commissions. The remainder trained well under well-planned conditions, but they have never really been under fire before, and their discipline, while good, is also limited. I don’t think that they will break, but it may take them more time to get used to fighting in such conditions; Mexico was nothing like this war.”

He shrugged. “I have much more confidence in the Canadians and the Australians,” he said, “even though the latter in particular was very insistent on operating only under an Australian General. They trained according to the same standards as we do, and they use the same weapons, so supplies aren’t going to be so much of a problem. They’re tough, disciplined, and ready to whip the Germans until they cry uncle and surrender.”

DeRiemer nodded to himself. There had only been a few hundred Germans taken prisoner during the war, mainly low-level soldiers, all of whom had been moved to a detention camp somewhere down in the south. British Intelligence had wanted to interrogate them, but as the Germans were respecting the rights of British soldiers, Churchill had vetoed any attempt to get information out of the prisoners. They had earned the right to be protected…although the same could not be said of the SS men. Tales of atrocities had spread through the lines, and not a single SS man had been captured. It was all-too-possible that none of them were being allowed to surrender.

Monty smiled. “We believe that the Germans have been moving in supplies as fast as they can, but with the heavy attacks on their merchantmen now under-way, they have to tie up much of their naval force covering the shipping lanes,” he said. “Rommel must be working all hours trying to get more reinforcements over, but we think that it won’t be less than a fortnight before he’ll feel confident enough to try anything, and quite likely a month before he can go on the offensive again. The constant fighting along the front lines must be draining him as much as it's draining us.”

His hand traced a line on the map. “It is my intention to attack once the Royal Navy has engaged the German Navy,” he said. “Ideally, the Royal Navy will hurt the Germans enough to prevent them from shipping more supplies into the occupied zone, and we will be able to push them back and break through their defence lines. They have kept a reserve, but we suspect that they don’t have the numbers to hold us back, and once we break through, we will keep moving until we retake Felixstowe and put an end to the invasion.

“Overall, we will be launching four attacks into occupied territory, trying to crush the enemy between them, and then working to mop up the remainder of the invading forces,” he said. “The soldiers we have trapped in cities and towns, surrounded by German units, will come out at the same time, keeping the besieging soldiers pinned down and making Rommel react quickly to save as many of his men as possible. In order to thwart us, they will have to stop all of our pincers, and that won’t be easy.”

He hesitated. “I have also been able to slip orders to the stay-behind units that are still in contact with us,” he added. “They are to engage the enemy as soon as the attack begins and make it much harder for the Germans to reinforce and drive back our forces. Many units have been wiped out, but others have survived and are still operating. They will be giving their all.”

Churchill nodded his great head slowly. “And how confident are you of victory?”

Monty stood up. “Give me a week to complete preparations, and I will deliver you a victory,” he said. DeRiemer heard the confidence in his voice and hoped that it was not misplaced. Rommel was known to be brilliant under fire. “A week is all I ask.”

“Very well,” Churchill said. His voice rang out majestically in the confined space. He’d learned since his first term as Prime Minister; DeRiemer had heard that his encouragement to several officers to act before they were ready had cost lives, if not the battles. “You will have a week. May God go with you and your men as you engage the Germans for the final time.”

Felixstowe, England

“You can’t give yourself up,” McAllister said.

Gregory Davall stared around at the small group. They were taking a terrible risk, but all of the Grey Wolves were at the meeting, bar one. Janine had been pushed into taking care of the German they’d wounded – ‘poor little baby,’ she’d remarked acidly when they’d met in the brothel – and couldn’t slip out at night. The strength of the Grey Wolves lay in the fact that they knew each other, trusted each other. The weakness was that if one of them could be made to talk, the remainder of the unit would be rapidly exposed and destroyed. Davall had been put through the ‘resisting interrogation’ course along with the others, but he had been warned that eventually everyone broke under torture or drugs. The Germans had quite a reputation for extracting information from unwilling donors

“She’s my wife,” he said, forcing his voice to remain low. It still gave him a cold sweat to think of how close he’d come to telling the German what he was; someone who knew English better might have picked up on his desperate choice of words and wondered why those words in particular. “They’re going to kill her tomorrow if we don’t save her!”

“We can’t save her,” McAllister said. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Davall’s shoulder. “They’re holding all the hostages in their barracks, and they have the entire place guarded as if they expect the 1
st
Armoured to hit them at any moment. There’s seven of us, not counting Janine, and there’s no way that we can rescue them before the morning.”

“I could give myself up,” Davall said. “You could all hide and escape, or remain undetected…”

“You would be made to talk,” McAllister repeated. “Greg…I know how much Kate means to you, but you can’t give yourself up, not like this. We knew that this was always a danger…”

Davall glared at him. “How many of us really expected that it would happen?”

“We were told, back when Constable Johnston came around to ensure that we all got the message, that we had been placed on alert,” McAllister retorted. “We knew what would happen – what might happen – and we could have said no. What could they have done to us if we had just kept our heads down and tried to remain unnoticed? We knew how the Germans acted, and we feared that they would take it out on our families, and now…you can’t give yourself up.”

“I will,” Davall said. “Kate means the world to me!”

“You can’t save her anyway,” Rigby said. “You heard the rumours from the cell the Germans broke in Ipswich, two weeks ago. They killed the adult members of the cell and shipped the children over to Germany. If they find out who you are, and they know that you and Kate are married, they will kill her as well anyway. They may even kill James. I don’t know what age they consider the upper limit for sending someone to Germany to become a German. Kate is dead, Greg. I’m sorry, but her fate was sealed when they choose to take her as a hostage.”

Davall wiped tears away from his face. “Are you…do you think that they chose Kate because they
already
knew about me?”

“If they did, they would have taken you,” Rigby said coldly. “There would be no need for any silly game of Cat and Mouse, no need to let us have a chance to escape; we wouldn’t even have known you were taken until they rounded us all up. You must not surrender.”

Davall found himself looking for another solution. “We could take a German hostage and force a trade,” he said, trying to think of a suitable German. The only important ones would be at the barracks, but while Janine might have access to the German they’d wounded once before, she’d reported that her German was in the doghouse. The SS suspected him of something – Davall wished that they'd had the foresight to take some very compromising photographs – and wouldn’t really care if he died. “Or we could find something else to bargain with…”

“It would be too risky,” McAllister said after a moment’s thought. “How many German officers could we snatch without being caught?” He paused. “And you can’t pretend to give yourself up, either. They’ll expect you to surrender us or simply torture you anyway. I’m sorry, but…”

“We’re going to make them hurt,” Davall hissed, too furious to keep his voice down. McAllister shushed him rapidly. “I want to really hurt them in response for this, whatever it takes, understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Rigby said. “We
will
make them pay.”

“That’s nice,” Davall said coldly. His voice almost broke through grief. “It’s not going to bring her back, is it?”

***

“
Out of the question,” Rommel said, shortly.

Standartenfuhrer
Ludwig Stahl eyed Rommel grimly. The Field Marshal looked tired, very tired, and yet he still burned with inner fire. As one of the Führer’s
favourites, he had influence beyond the considerable authority of his rank and position as the supreme commander of German forces in Britain. Stahl needed to handle him carefully, whatever else happened, as Rommel was dangerous. A word from him could have Stahl sent to Russia or simply put in front of a wall and shot.

“The insurgents have managed to hurt us,” Stahl said, shortly. Whatever
Brigadefuhrer
Franz Deininger’s role in his own captivity – and Stahl still had his own suspicions – they could hardly allow what had happened to him to go unpunished. The British insurgents would learn that the
Reich
was there to stay. “I have the authority to respond to such actions as I see fit.”

“I was appointed the commanding officer by the
Fuhrer
himself,” he said shortly. “I have authority here, and I see no reason to disobey our orders and treat the British as if they were Russians. We need cooperation from the people here or our supply lines will be broken…”

“Again,” Stahl said dryly. His gaze fell to the still handcuffed women in the room. They had been tossed in, and left there. Some of the men had been suggesting that they should have some fun with them before they were hung in front of the Town Hall, but Stahl had vetoed that suggestion; there was yet time for the insurgents to give themselves up. “My responsibility is to break the British to our yoke, and that sometimes requires harsh measures.”

He nodded towards the massive map of Felixstowe he’d pinned up on the wall. It was important for any officer to familiarise himself with the area he intended to rule, and until Rommel had arrived, he had been in supreme command of the area. Felixstowe and the surrounding area had been a heady responsibility, but he had hoped to parley it into a much more powerful role in occupied Britain, a goal that was now at risk. The insurgents had been a small threat at first, but as they made more and more raids, they even risked the success of the invasion itself.

“The invasion depends on our having the freedom to move through the country,” he said, knowing that Rommel would understand. “If the insurgents continue their attacks to the point where I am unable to guarantee the security of the supply lines, they may impede us from sending supplies to your lines. I cannot patrol every mile of those lines without stringing my forces out too thin, nor do I have the manpower to ensure that our social control will hold perfectly. We need to make a harsh example.”

“The British are not Russians,” Rommel reiterated. “We have orders to refrain from using Russian-suited methods against them.”

“Yes, they might get the message sooner,” Stahl snapped back. “If we make one brutal example, show them just how far we are prepared to go, they will wilt and abandon their attempts to resist us.”

“We both know what really happened at the battle,” he said. “I know that the British hammered us and might be preparing their own offensive, so we have to react harshly to any threat to our rear. Field Marshal, if we fail to do this, we might have a rebellion in the rear at the worst possible moment.”

Rommel didn’t bother to disguise his irritation. “And, tell me, with what will the British launch a rebellion?” He asked. “I was informed that you had rounded up all of their weapons, or was that a case of optimism over common sense?”

Stahl hesitated.

“I thought that we had rounded up all the weapons as well,” he avowed grimly. Admitting failure galled him. The SS tried hard to develop a reputation for infallibility, and Rommel wasn't about to allow them to forget such a failure, not now. “The British left arms caches around the countryside, however, and we could not be expected to find them all. The only ones we have located come from interrogating captured insurgents, and they were all well-hidden, well enough that we wouldn’t be able to find them unless we took the countryside apart piece by piece.”

Rommel glowered at him. “Regardless, I forbid you to execute the women…”

Stahl played his trump card. “I understood the possible implications and took the question to
Reichsführer-SS
Himmler, who in turn took it to the
Fuhrer
himself,” he said very carefully. Rommel was still capable of having him shot. “The
Fuhrer
approved the execution of the women unless the insurgents surrender, and as they haven’t surrendered” – he glanced at his watch meaningfully – “they will be killed, as per the responsibilities of the town…”

Rommel exploded. “You seem to be under the delusion that incorporating the British into the
Reich
somehow makes them perfect citizens,” he almost shouted. “Do you really think that any amount of legalistic nonsense will change them instantly into good and loyal Germans?”

“No,” Stahl said. “I expect that the invasion and the occupation will convince the British that resistance is futile. If I have to make the entire town will suffer to make the point, then I will…to prevent a worse disaster.”

He glanced at his watch again. “And, as they have not surrendered, I intend to proceed,” he said. “Would you like to watch?”

“No,” Rommel snarled and stormed out of the room. He would have guessed that Stahl had refrained from telling him about having sought permission to prevent Rommel from calling the
Fuhrer
directly – as was his right – before it was too late to halt the executions. Stahl smiled to himself and stood up, carefully buckling on his service pistol and slinging an assault rifle over his shoulder, before heading out to the Town Square. He’d spoken to the British citizens there, the day he’d arrived in Felixstowe; today, he would make another speech to them, and then make an example.

He checked the arrangements quickly. German engineers had rigged up a massive platform and prepared a series of gallows for each of the wives. Machine gunners had taken up positions around the platform, just in case someone tried to rescue them right in the middle of the hanging. As the crowds gathered in front of the platform, encouraged by grim-faced British policemen and blank-faced SS soldiers, Stahl allowed himself a tight smile. It wouldn’t be long before the British insurgents gave up and surrendered themselves…or they would be responsible for an atrocity committed against their fellow townsfolk. As far as Stahl was concerned, it was a win-win situation.

“Bring out the wives,” he ordered and watched as the wives were brought out, one by one, and placed on the gallows. They made a curious mix, from a red-haired mother who spat in his direction as she passed but otherwise seemed calm, to a young girl barely out of her teens who was sobbing uncontrollably. The crowd made a move towards them, only to come face-to-face with machine guns and German soldiers with deadly stares. Stahl watched and hoped that there wouldn’t be a bloodbath; his permission to act as he saw fit only went so far.

He tapped the microphone. “These women have been sentenced to death through random selection in response to an insurgent attack against an SS officer that failed miserably,” he said. “The punishment of the insurgents will fall upon their heads now unless the insurgents take this final opportunity to throw themselves upon the mercy of the Greater German
Reich
. I say now, to those who choose to try to fight the
Reich
, stop now before innocents die.”

There was a long pause. No one spoke. “I know that there are insurgents in this crowd,” Stahl said. He’d given orders that the only people to be spared from being brought to see the sight were to be the husbands, who might be expected to react badly to seeing their wives killed. “If they step forward now, the women will be spared and reunited with their husbands, or…”