Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! (49 page)

“All right, all right.”

They entered the pub, and under Jack’s steely gaze, Alan offered to get the round in.

“Three pints of ale and a special whiskey, I assume gents,” Arthur smiled, winking at the red-faced Geordie who managed to return it. The barman silently queried him, and Alan shook his head slightly, winking again, ignoring Jack who was still casting dark glances at him in irritation.

They took up seats in the saloon bar; usually an order would be made from in there, costing more than a pint in the public bar, but with the lack of customers such ceremony was redundant. Alan, having controlled his breathing, glanced over to his right, where the pub’s sole other occupant was brooding alone, staring into the dregs of his near-empty pint glass.

“All right, Bill. Can I refill your glass mate?”

Bloodshot, watery eyes sunken in an unshaven face slowly turned to the wiry Geordie at the bar, on whom they rested calmly. Alan shuddered inwardly, keeping his face still. Bill looked as though he had neither washed nor slept for days.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, like…” Alan began uncertainly. Bill had a strange quality of putting him on his guard. The tone of that deep, cultured voice was clear, even though the man looked, smelled and generally staggered like a wreck of a human. His voice was clear. Even his gaze was level.

“Ah… let me get you a pint. As an apology for before?”

Bill nodded to him. “Thanks. Much appreciated.”

Alan bought him a beer, placing it down on the wooden table in front of him with good grace. “Very decent of you,” Bill said quietly, without moving. Alan watched him uncertainly for a moment, before turning to take his own pints to the saloon room. As the door swung shut on the Geordie’s disappearing back, Bill finally reached forwards and slowly brought the glass up to his cracked lips.

Alan set the glasses down at their table.

“Well, I reckon we’ve got time for just the one or two…” he scratched his chin.

“Let’s meet back here tonight when they’ve reopened,” Jack said, assuredly. “We need to properly plan, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Plan. And, well…”

“What?”

“It might be nice to have a drink or two. Just enough to get merry. I mean… who knows when we next will, eh?”

His tone was breezy, and they all reacted with similarly breezy, fleeting agreements. Smiles masked fear.

~

Seating back at the great table, Heydrich once more led off.

“It seems we shall continue without the Reichsführer-SS present, which should pose no problem because with
no disrespect intended towards the Reichsführer of the SS
…” Heydrich cleared his throat noisily, “… his
cultural tasks
involve the study and documentation of
historically sacred German blood
and its influence in England, mysticism and of Teutonic tradition”

There was a silence, which suited Heydrich fine.

“Our tasks are different. For the record; my idea of the cultural blending of England and Germany is the combination of the two great historical nations of Saxon blood, with our advances in the arts, in science, music, philosophy, poetry and literature –
decadent Jewish materials excepted
; in music and philosophy, likewise. Psychology especially – the pain of any Jewish psychologist of note or those included in our special search lists G.B is to be immeasurable even by Gestapo standards.”

“Here, here,” Müller snarled, in a low, deep growl. “The Jewish intelligentsia should be packed into a mine and blown sky high.”

“Thank you, Gruppenführer Müller,” Heydrich said patiently.

He rose to his feet.

“Nothing is to stand in the way of this union. We are the great nations and the German-British World Reich will be an age of glory never surpassed in history, of German and English western culture and Saxon blood triumphant.”

The SS men all banged the table in strong support.

“Herr Reichsprotektor,” Siewer began, “what were you saying regarding the army’s delegation of legal enforcement tasks to the SS?”

“Ah,
specifics
. Good. The Field Marshal and I spoke on the phone about this, briefly.
Negro music
and anything decadent, be it Jewish or black, American or from London or Leeds or Liverpool, is
categorically outlawed
; punishable by severity equivalent to that in the Reich.”

The
Einsatzgruppe
leaders made notes, and then looked up expectantly.

“Narcotics… including but not limited to opiates – despite unofficial policy even amongst,
alas
, members of the Party Elite…”

Heydrich’s tone was delicate, but every officer present guffawed, especially Müller. Army Chief adjutant Siewer laughed openly, too, slightly warming to Heydrich. With his impromptu rise from captain (retired) to first Field Marshal, and then
Reichsmarschall
– Generalissimo – and command of the Air Force, the supremely confident, enormously ruthless and falsely convivial Göring was not popular amongst the Army High Command at
Oberkommando des Heeres
.

Heydrich smiled. “Yes… opiates shall be
illegal
and possession in any quantities punishable by internment in the
Konzentrationslagers
the Reichsführer and I are installing here, under the direction of our good friend the Brigadeführer,” he said, nodding to the Austrian, who again twisted his face into something that vaguely resembled a polite smile.

“While hardly a problem worth tackling in the Reich itself,” Britain’s viceroy declared, a sudden melodrama allowing the high pitched edge to his voice, “the so-called ‘Youth Assassin’ of cannabis is rather more prevalent
here,
much as it is in America… and it
will
be held in the same legal category as opiates, and cocaine and the stimulants.”

“And if they are Jews, fucking kill them on the spot,” Müller grunted. “Or drag them in for special interrogation.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Gruppenführer Müller,” Heydrich said, patiently. “Yes, any Jews found in possessions
large enough to be classified as for distributary purposes…
or simply, in possession, is to be
summarily executed
in public as a deterrent – no KZ, just SiPo interrogation and then, it’s your call; hand them over to an army firing squad or publicly hang them yourselves at the discretion of the SD squad commander in question. Dr Six, if this is to occur in London which is by far the largest population centre and the expected hub of decadence; I would like you to handle such an affair
personally
.”

“Understood, Herr Reichsprotektor…” Six nodded, the response Heydrich expeccted from his unctuous underling.

“Good,” Heydrich nodded. “This applies to all present and those you delegate squads’ commands to. Cannabis, and any psychoactive narcotic, be it mescaline from the peyote cactus, hallucinogenic fungi, all of it;
Napoleon
banned it, and so do
I
. Europe and our peoples will not permit the wholesale descent to lunatic degeneracy; these so-called free-thinking liberal sodomites and Jew-poisoned, pornographic-minded Bacchians…”

Nebe caught Müller’s eye across the gleaming table with deliberate, lingering insolence. Heydrich was notorious for alcohol-fuelled orgies, and wild nights out that often resulted in violence, depravity and barbaric retribution arranged for any and all who happened to fatefully cross him. After a long career as a policeman that predated the Nazi rise to power, the grey-haired, hook-nosed Nebe knew more than most the truth regarding such substances and alcohol, and which intoxicant it was that was more likely to render its users amenable to aggression and immoral behaviour, let alone ‘degeneracy’ and ‘decadence.’ And, for that matter, he knew all-too-well what Heydrich was like, regardless of what chemical compounds were in his system. Nebe doubted that use of any drug, even the
degenerate
Bacchian
ones, would be enough to purge the man’s relentless cruelty.

Müller, himself a policeman prior to Gestapo duties, returned the gaze with an amused, knowing malice. Nebe smiled genially, the skin bunching above his huge, hooked nose, and he turned back to face their chief.

“As to the legal framework,” Heydrich continued, enjoying himself, “happily the Führer’s military command
i.e.
the army
will oversee the necessary legislation being passed – at
least
until the new government is formally approved, and arrangements are made with Berlin,
i.e.
the Führer and the Reichsmarschall. They will also accommodate our ‘Mahatma Propagandhi’, Reichsminister Goebbels…”

There was sniggering again. Many at the table feared and loathed Heydrich like the Black Death, and avoided him as they would a leper; his Machiavellian, predatory nature was well-known and whispered of. Today, though, held in his relative favour as he basked in new and awesome authority, they were all slowly warming to him.
That
, and the exquisite buffet, of course. Sometimes, it paid to be in such company.

The humour helped mask the ruthlessness of his naked ambition.

Heydrich paused, noting the body language and reactions of the SS commanders, and with the supreme confidence of an unchallenged leader, broke from his speech. A leisurely pause for thought, and the swollen security chief resumed speaking.

“Yes, the good Doctor… and the necessary campaign of public enlightenment on this and other such matters. They will offer the honeyed and veiled words alike, providing the paperwork, and the Reich Security Office will, as ever, serve as the iron fist behind policy. As we are the dustbin of the Reich, we must become the cleansing agent and dustbin of England, the machine into which enemies will be thrown and come out mincemeat. Clear?”

“Clear, Reichsprotektor,” several of the men returned. The ones who remained silent were glared at by Müller, each in turn. The Austrian Brigadier held the Gestapo department chief’s gaze, and neither looked away for some seconds before Müller grinned. The silent, animalistic challenge was subtle, but Heydrich wryly noted the exchange.

“Hopefully the English don’t persist in the folly of opposing the anti-Jewish measures. On a similar note; for tactical reasons, while escalating these important tasks,
we should not be too overt or public at all times
so as to not provoke our natural allies the English into revolt as opposed to alliance, particularly in the event of a prosecution of a final showdown with international Jewry and Judeo-Bolsheviks in the east.”

Joachim Peiper, who had remained present as Himmler’s liaison, broke in.

“Regardless of balance, if I may Herr Reichsprotektor, once undesirables are eliminated their families and friends will be stirred up to a hatred of Germany, if it doesn’t already exist–”

“We will not expect to be popular among the populace if our actions are overtly extreme and public in
all
matters, so I would expect a certain amount of discernment and balance, in light of England’s place alongside Germany in the new order we are setting in the world…” Heydrich’s response was delivered fast and smooth, and he rose to pace the room, intoxicated by his dictatorial power. “No wanton bloodletting; we must let the economy thrive, the populace come to terms with the new order and the establishment of a certain amount of trust as we have found in willing elements in France; let only Jewish, masonic or otherwise overwhelmingly subversive elements that are to be victim of SS justice become public spectacle, the rest dealt with quietly behind closed doors or in the extra-legal framework of the concentration camps. This is how things will be.”

Beats of silence. The Reichsprotektor continued.

“One final note on this, however; all two thousand plus entries
remaining
in the Sonderfahndungsliste Great Britain, those not personally exonerated by myself such as Halifax, are to be treated with
extreme prejudice
, and sent the way of the Brigadeführer’s camps if not executed in our care… and if resistance is met and arrest made difficult, arbitrary execution is permitted – made as painful for the undesirable as and where is possible.”

“Including women, Herr Oberruppenführer?” Peiper asked, frowning.

Heydrich glared at him. “Regarding the latter point, at the discretion of the arresting agents and their command. I don’t see any
overwhelming evidence
that Virginia Woolf and her ilk should be…
relentlessly
tortured… but if they meet their end during arrest or en route to detention facilities, I’m sure that neither the Führer will consider anything untoward about the affair, nor will the KZ commandants or guards complain about having one or several less mouths to feed and bunks to watch.”

Dr Rudolf Lange suddenly spoke, his deep voice as coarse and brutal as Müller’s, belying his education and erudite nature.

“Regardless of gender, extreme prejudice to Jews and subversives. That is the brief, Herr Haupsturmführer Peiper. We must defeat the better angels of our nature.”

Heydrich nodded approvingly at his protégé. “Indeed. Dr Six and Dr Lange here are more than aware of this following our meetings in Berlin, but for those not present at Prinz-Albrecht Strasse, allow me to explain…”

He rose, and began circling the table. “We will encounter many different types of our Saxon brother and enemy alike here in Great Britain. Firstly, the racial equal who is favourably disposed towards National Socialism and the Reich; as is happening with British soldiers and
re-education
, this is to create our true brotherhood and establish the Thousand Year Reich. Secondly, the racial equal who is
not
favourably disposed towards we Germans or the Party and our policies; these are to be quietly eliminated, firstly – if non-violent and uninvolved in partisan action, by internment and re-education, or if otherwise, their violence will meet with a violent end via the SS.”

“Just to clarify Herr Reichsprotektor, severity to be determined on a case-by-case basis, following interrogation as and when is possible?” Dr Six asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you explain, Herr Reichsprotektor?” Schellenberg asked.

Heydrich looked at him, deeply irritated.