Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! (21 page)

Himmler glanced at his nominal subordinate, unsure of his intent. His suspicions were confirmed by the slightly mocking smile playing at Heydrich’s pinched lips. He could never tell when the SS-General, Security Police and SD chief was being sardonic – even about the Führer. He brushed the thoughts aside. They were at the Führer’s
own residence
.

“I’d imagine the Führer is fascinated by the whole landscape, my dear Heydrich.”

The security chief suppressed a snort. He knew from detailed reports, and a chance remark from Reichsmarschall Göring that the Führer didn’t give a damn for dreamily contemplating the beauty of the snow-capped peaks. He stared only into the future, and gazed fatalistically up at the mountaintops or down the abysses; symbolic of the earthly struggle by which he saw life, and shaped his own worldviews and thus, that of the German people whole.
A great Darwinian struggle for survival
. Heydrich had watched him on their Obersalzburg visit the previous year, before the outbreak of war with Poland. He had engaged in discussions of suppressing the Polish intelligentsia, and poring over maps and death lists on the terrace. But the old man, who pored over the plans for Speer’s architectural monstrosities with such rapture, had not so much as glanced at the view.

They reached the top of the steps, greeted by more saluting guards on the terrace, and along with Himmler’s adjutant Joachim Peiper, the SS and police leaders were ushered in through the threshold and arched gallery beyond it, over marbled floor lined with expensive rugs, and into the Great Room.

There, framed against the huge glass window and the mountain scenery of the Obersalzburg stood Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the Greater German Reich. Conqueror of Poland, Czechoslovakia, Scandinavia, and all of Western Europe, basking in triumph over France. He wore a field grey jacket, with his Iron Cross 2
^nd
class dangling from the left breast pocket. Hands clasped in front of him, flanked by his Deputy-Führer on one side and their ever-present subordinate on the other, he looked for all the world like the godhead he strove to be.

Himmler and Heydrich stood to attention, and clicked their heels. Their right arms shot out.

“
Heil
!”

Hitler raised his own right arm, straight up at the shoulder. The stern features softened, and allowed for a small grin.

“Heil, Reichsführer, my dear Himmler, and Gruppenführer Heydrich, the man of iron.”

The two SS men approached their leader, flanked by the dark-browed figure of his Deputy-Führer, Hess, and the leader of the Party Chancellery under Hess, Martin Bormann, a fleshier figure with an unprepossessing face. Both were brown Party jackets, marked with the swastika armband. Hitler shook hands with the visitors, each in turn, before they saluted the two high Party officials. Heydrich gave Bormann a knowing, wry smile, curling across his cruel lips in naked amusement, which the Reichsleiter observed coolly without deigning to pass comment.

Hitler acknowledged Himmler’s adjutant, a soldier familiar to him, who was stood to attention further back.

“Hauptstürmführer Peiper, greetings to you. I trust you are well?”
The celebrated Waffen-SS officer clicked his heels again, saluted for the second time and gave a short bow.

“Mein Führer, I did my part for the Fatherland, and am on top of the world,” Peiper solemnly declared. Himmler and Hess nodded approvingly. Bormann glanced at Heydrich’s own newly decorated tunic, bedecked with honours.

Heydrich imagined the Führer sat here in this room for hours, or stood framed by the great marble fireplace and great paintings; a bust of early party ideologue Dietrich Eckhart present; Frederick the Great gazing down on the Führer as he delivered lengthy monologues to an eager Hess and Bormann under the crystal chandelier. Or perhaps stood gazing out of the window, in contemplation of history and destiny. How
greatly
Himmler must
wish
he could spend more time up here, he mused. How badly Goebbels must miss his permanent place by the fireside; still publicly the third or fourth highest ranking Party official and Reich Minister, yet within the inner sanctum, still languishing in semi-disgrace with the Führer after the Baarova affair and his handling of Kristallnacht. Such
envy
, mused Heydrich. How the ever-present Bormann was part of the furniture while his nominal chief Hess was now irrelevant to the man he deputised; legally third in command! And countless others, all vying for their spot with the Führer.
Little Führer’s
of their personal realms, the kings of their own inner circles of fawning sycophants, but while longing to be honoured with a seat at the table, to listen to the Führer’s monologues and gain favour.

The thought amused Heydrich.

After exchanging pleasantries, Hitler suggested his visitors join him on the terrace outside, to take advantage of a fine day. Himmler eagerly agreed. Heydrich wondered what it was that Hitler wanted to say to them in private, presumably away from the ears of Hess. It was a surprise to see the Deputy-Führer there; Bormann, his Chief of Staff and de facto deputy-head of the Party, had suggested that Hess spent comparatively little time at the Führer’s side now, unlike he, who owned one of the few residences on the Obersalzburg complex – under the ‘Eagle’s Nest’ proper and overlooking the Berghof itself – in addition to becoming the Führer’s personal secretary.

During his declaration of war, September 1
^st
of the prior year, Hess had been named the successor and leader of the Reich in the event that both Hitler and Göring fell. The third man, above even Goebbels, whose political redemption was not yet secure on the outbreak of war. Yet Heydrich knew that not only had Bormann replaced Hess in importance, the Deputy-Führer was no longer even welcome to dine with the Führer at the Reich Chancellery in Berlin, having irritated him with several new bizarre eccentricities.

One by one, would the dominos fall, Heydrich knew. Just as the former paladins had, the current crop would fall, with the inevitability afforded by stratagem.
Strasser, Röhm… Goebbels, Hess. And later, Bormann, Himmler, Göring. Even the old man, when the time is right
.

The Führer led them outdoors, blinking in the sunlight, and the three men strolled to the terrace and its parapet on the edge. Birds shrieking only quietly intruded on their moment. The Führer looked out to the mountains; downwards, Heydrich noted wryly. He gazed into the abyss. In the distance, over the tops of great pine trees, Hitler’s native Austria could be seen, as a green triangle framed by snow-capped mountain peaks under the clear blue of a glorious day.

“I trust you travelled well, my dear Himmler?” Hitler asked.

Himmler’s usual prim disposition had collapsed into eager ingratiation.

“Yes, mein Führer. Isn’t all travel free and light in these glorious times?”

Oh God
, Heydrich thought, fixing a warm smile on his wan face to mask the contempt that threatened to overcome him.

“Your view is as beautiful as ever, mein Führer,” he intoned smoothly. “I remarked to the Reichsführer that it was fitting to imagine the Führer of the Greater Reich gazing out to the great mountaintops, planning the reawakening and conquest of a Great Germany. It’s very majestic… very German.”

Hitler surveyed him, sternly.

“You have performed well yourself, Herr Gruppenführer. I see beyond your role in the Security of the Fatherland, you have earned an Iron Cross for active service.”

He pointed at the Iron Cross that adorned Heydrich’s own field grey SS tunic, with a handful of other assorted decorations including medals for service in Danzig, the Sudetenland and during
Anschluss
. The Iron Cross, though, held pride of place. It was attained by the display of heroism and clear bravery in active military service. Heydrich’s was an Iron Cross, Second Class. It matched Hitler’s own.

“I merely did what I felt was my duty, mein Führer,” Heydrich replied smoothly. “As a General of the SS, chief of the SD, leader of the criminal and political police forces, I have to lead by example. To represent the ideals of the Schutzstaffel elite and all that the Reich and National Socialism stand for.”

The Führer nodded intensely, and clapped him on the shoulder, just once. “You are an exemplary officer of the Fatherland. A fearsome opponent of our enemies…”

His voice trailed off, and he stood and once more gazed outwards to the Obersalzburg vista. Heydrich noted that his narrowed eyes were filmed with thought; he looked out unseeingly, not in appreciation, but in his own mind. He lived in the imagination.

“As beautiful as ever, mein Führer,” Himmler said, standing beside Hitler at the parapet and gazing out. Heydrich sensed he felt threatened. Usually,
Uncle Heini stands as a barrier between myself and the old man
, he thought. But now things will change.

“It is indeed beautiful, my dear Heinrich. Indeed it is. It is a great shame your noble work for the Fatherland prevents you from joining the others in residence here, somewhere nearby. I could speak to Reichsleiter Bormann? Perhaps, when our war is truly won you can retire out here with the children. Bavaria is in your heart.”

Bavarian sentimentality now, Heydrich thought darkly.

Himmler beamed, almost clicking his heels. “That would be wonderful! Of course, when the time is right, and the Order is ready to be passed on to the next generation. Speaking of which, how is the Reichsmarschall? Is Herr Göring here in Obersalzburg yet?”

“No, the Reichsmarschall is still on his diplomatic mission to England, after which he will return to Karinhall for a short but well-deserved break from political and military matters,” Hitler answered.

“Indeed, I have seen first-hand the results of his Air Force,” Himmler smiled, a little falsely. As he did so, Heydrich met his eyes with his own proud smile, and Himmler’s faded. Heydrich had been part of that very air force.

But Hitler had plaudits, too, for his high priest.

“You were well received in the Low Countries, is that not so, Herr Reichsführer?”

“Yes,” Himmler answered readily. “Holland in particular, as we expected, the racial quality is remarkably high. I joined with the Waffen-SS
Germania
as we advanced through the Low Countries. I personally took the surrender of a Flemish town near Antwerp called Rumst, with Herr Peiper and Gruppenführer Wolff. No resistance to be spoken of, and in the Netherlands in particular we were treated graciously, and met many ardent believers in National Socialism. They are a fine addition to Germany.”

Himmler switched his reverent gaze from his Führer to the mountain vista once more, and as an afterthought, added: “I was surprised by the lack of resistance. We simply rolled through. Attacks were extremely limited.”

That’s because it was an empty rigmarole
, Heydrich thought, greatly irritated by the blatant pandering.
You weren’t in France, near the frontlines. It was a shoring up exercise to bolster rear-lines and your non-existent credentials, with the real battles elsewhere and the war already won
.

The Führer, however, seemed satisfied.

“Good, good… knowing you as I do, Reichsführer, I imagine in the weeks and months that have passed since, the wheels were long set in motion for an SS-Netherlands legion in the event of our great showdown in the East?”

“Yes, mein Führer. And the French, for whom fascism represents national liberation. An embryonic SS-Charlemagne division promises much.”

“Good, good. Excellent work.”

“Mein Führer, what are we to do with England?”

At this, Hitler turned, and beckoned they follow him. Leading back into the now deserted Great Room, the SS leaders took seats by the marble fireplace, while the Führer remained standing.

“Ah, yes… England. A disappointing affair, it must be said. With a hopeless, quite hopeless military position, I’d hoped the inevitable removal of Churchill would lead to a quick and proper armistice. The Aryan bankers and industrialists wanted it. The ruling classes wanted it. King Edward wanted it. Aristocrats wanted it.
No one but Jews
wants war between Saxon peoples! No one but the Jews! Even with the remarkable work of Herr Heydrich here… utterly ruthless, a great example of the true use of power as an instrument of national strength!” Hitler cried, losing his train of thought as his deep-rooted approval of pitiless initiative politically applied overwhelmed him.

Heydrich smiled at the praise. Himmler waited, impassively. Hitler collected his thoughts, and continued. “As it was, the British,
absurd
people,
still
hesitated to see sense and come to terms, that criminal clique in Whitehall. We had to launch the invasion while we could, as soon as we could, with them in disarray, only for them to offer peace after all, depose the lunatic fringe and stand down the ludicrous, criminal orders Churchill gave for the island’s defence. And the result? Neither full blown
war
nor a truly honourable
peace
. Neither a stable occupation, nor a protectorate-state, operable without German military presence. We are trapped in the uncertainty between war and peace; a compliant government and an unruly populace. It needs to end. We need
stability
.”

Heydrich sensed he was stirring himself up to rage; a ranting diatribe against the Jewish infestation of Downing Street and Whitehall. But then the Führer unclenched his irritable hands, relaxed his posture, and then lowered himself gently into one of the armchairs.

Himmler leaned forwards in anticipation. Heydrich couldn’t help but anticipate the Reichsführer’s disquiet, which was surely coming any moment now.

“I discussed this at length with the party. Herr Bormann was very clear and forthright with his views.”

I’ll bet he was, thought Heydrich.

“The Reichsmarschall agreed wholeheartedly with the idea.”

Undoubtedly so
, agreed Heydrich, silently.

“I need you, Heydrich.”

Himmler’s pale, hamster-like face dropped, his jowls bunching momentarily though the Reichsführer-SS quickly recovered. The cool Heydrich held the Führer’s gaze, masking the intense thrill of the moment. Hitler, holding the gaze of his ‘Hangman’ was nodding to himself, his pale blue eyes fixed intensely on those equally icy globes of blue set closely together on the equally pallid, hard, severe face of his most feared paladin.