Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! (50 page)

“…
Yes
, Walther. Notable cases, Dr Six is to personally deal with and decide upon; non-significant arrests are purely security police prerogative; cases constituting a
Threat To The Reich
or of otherwise of major significance is
my
remit, to be passed on with immediate effect… moving on…
Thirdly
, with racial inferiors who have infected this island the same as they nested like vipers in our country, the parasitic Jew or otherwise racial
untermensch
who are
favourably
disposed towards the German Reich…”

He cast a disdainful look at the table, and Müller provided him the reaction he was looking for in the form of a disgusted, disbelieving snort. Eichmann, too, paused from studying the varied
Einsatzgruppe
reports to look suitably bemused.

“…These…
people…
I use the term loosely… once registered, and scanned for infractions, are to be used as an auxiliary civil and security sub-service under our watchful eye for the maintenance of stability, much like the racially equal Anglo-Saxon British fascists… assuming they are not guilty of any overt crimes for which we can pass them over to the camp system, or special interrogation.

Heydrich returned to his seat, and for the first time while in an important meeting, lit a cigarette. Eichmann and Schellenberg stared at their chief, in something approaching shock. The Reichsprotektor inhaled deeply with pleasure, releasing rings of smoke, and letting the rest out in smaller whisps.

When he spoke, it was with his trademark urgency and forcefulness.

“We can iron out the wrinkles of this issue in
later years,
when the burgeoning New Order has been established in all German and British territories from the Americas to Africa to the Far East. This period is for the establishment of a new system in England that is amenable to the Reich, which will further the aims and goals of our influence in the continents which we cannot occupy by force. The Führer,” he said, letting his evocation sink in, “…
explicitly
stated to myself and… to me, at the Berghof, that this is the most pressing issue currently facing the Greater Reich.
Understood?”

Murmurs of assent.

“
Fourth
, and last, the racial inferior who looks upon the German Reich as the rat-catcher of European culture that it is, are unfavourably disposed towards us and the elimination of such people is to be the most public and severe meting out of justice seen here in Great Britain as with everywhere else. No mercy, no secrecy, destroy racial enemies with maximal vengeance who are also actively working against the interests of the Reich, from sabotage to resistance, armed or otherwise, through media and black propaganda, economy, whatever it may be. Destroy all cancer without mercy.”

“Understood, Herr Reichsprotektor,” they cried in unison.

“Our treatment of these four types will be written into lore. In some parts of the world, perhaps in history books – depending who writes them – a certain amount of opprobrium may be attached to our names and our work, but of course, such hypocrisy fails under measured scrutiny. From Britain’s Empire builders such as Cecil Rhodes, and the murderous viceroys who bled downtrodden colonies of their resources, to our own Kaiser’s imperial policies in Africa, to the French Revolution and beyond; harsh measures of oppression have often been used to further and strengthen the civilisation of the race as a whole. It is social science. Revolutionary times call for revolutionary actions, and in time, the harsh nature is forgotten for the results they bring.
The ends justify the means
. Objectively, there can be no such censure attributed to our work, and the coming generations will vindicate us wholly.”

Silence. Heydrich smiled his full-lipped predator’s smile.

“Gentlemen, soon we will enjoy the culture, sophistication and charm of this great city without its detritus. A Jew-free London with no racial or political undesirables, can you imagine? There is a true appreciation of culture here; I will greatly enjoy travelling to the finest concertos and operas that the married trio of London, Paris and Berlin have to offer; one of the TRUE achievements of our cause. A Greater German Reich into which Jew-free London, Paris and Berlin are incorporated. And that will be our victory, the total victory of the SS, and of Germany, and of the
Thousand Year Reich
.”

He rose to his feet, and this time, every other officer present leapt to theirs. Fourteen right arms shot outwards.

“Heil Hitler!” Heydrich shouted, his long, pale face suddenly flushed.

“Heil Hitler!”

The men trailed towards the door. Heydrich watched them go, armed with his orders, and he thrilled to imagine the role in the world’s new order that he now filled. It enraptured him. Logic quickly replaced his daydream, and almost as an afterthought, Heydrich yelled at the receding figures of the SS command, his high-pitched nasal tone returning, stopping them dead in their tracks.

“Memorise any notes you have taken during this meeting, and then before you sleep tonight, make sure they have been destroyed.”

10pm. It was unlike operations in Germany, striking at the onset of dawn, or in the blackness of night, enveloped by the darkness of the early hours. The English winter evening was no less dark, but had been chosen.

Cigarette tips glowed in the back of the military trucks; ten men in each. They wore SS field gear, blank patch and SD sleeve diamond in place, submachine guns at their feet. Several inspected their pistols. All were more than acquainted with such raids; some had participated in the great burning raids of Poland, leaving whole villages and towns in flames and shooting the swinish peasantry as and when they decided. The grey platoon was an
Einsatzkommando
; the prospect of wholesale murder did not appal its men.

As they reached the approach to York on the A64 at Askham Bryan, two of the trucks peeled away, heading northwards to the upper districts. The first truck rolled on, smoothly hurtling forwards on its grim mission.

Behind it, a Mercedes Benz followed in the first truck’s wake.

“Not far now, Oberführer,” Heinz Jost remarked.

“We will arrive in less than five minutes. Guy Fawkes Inn is right next to the York Minster, would you believe, Brigadeführer.”

Jost smirked. “Perhaps Heydrich will attach some quasi-religious sentiment to the occasion. Part of the Reich’s spiritual crusade against the godless forces that oppose it.”

Schöngarth grinned at that. “After all these years attacking the Church, even with its support of fascism throughout Europe… and the meeting tomorrow with Göring and the Tommies! General Hangman will have a smirk on his face tonight like a Cheshire cat that just got the cream.”

“Won’t he
just
, Oberführer.”

“Well anyway, our friend Eric, or ‘George’ obviously attached some symbolic significance to it, Brigadeführer,” Schöngarth observed. Jost murmured an affirmation, pondering the man they were after.

Due to orders from on high, the two men found themselves at the back of an SS Mercedes together, driven by an enlisted trooper from Nebe’s outfit, collaborating in a mission as part of the overall crackdown Heydrich announced that day in London, a major clearing up operation for the Einsatzkommandos before personnel could be sent east. Heydrich tasked Nebe, who passed it to his deputy commander Jost, humiliating both with the reminder of their positions, and to add to the ignominy, demanded that SD Chief Northern Zone Schöngarth participate in ‘a mission of vital significance.’ Jost had to swallow his pride.

While the Brigadier-General and the Senior-Colonel Schöngarth got along well enough, it was another typical Heydrich move, in that while Kripo chief Nebe was stuck in the role of
Gruppe Manchester
commander while the lesser ranked Dr Six ran London and was chief coordinator for Britain, Jost – who shared Six’s rank, and held a senior position in the SD – was stuck as a mere deputy-commander of a
Gruppe
under Nebe, a humiliation befitting the long-time associate of Heydrich’s estranged former deputy, Werner Best.

Schöngarth was outranked just one notch lower in the SS-SD hierarchy; a senior colonel, having been promoted
thrice
from major in only fifteen months, but he was
Acting SD Chief of the Northern Zone
. The same hand that held Jost down, pushed up the ruthless, clever man sat beside him. And be it one rank inferior, or three; Schöngarth’s favoured position was humiliating for the Brigadier nonetheless. Jost had been a Brigadeführer when SD
Kommandant Nord
Schöngarth was a mere lieutenant. At least, Jost conceded, the man is educated and bearable, like Nebe. Had Heydrich placed one of the more thuggish types from Gestapo or Kripo as their nominal northern overseer, or a foolish INTERPOL bureaucrat, Jost may have been compelled to risk conspiring against the all-powerful policeman.

The small convoy reached the inner city districts, and passed by the ancient city wall.

“
Jorvik
, Brigadeführer,” Schöngarth noted. Jost nodded, thoughtfully.

“The Saxons… the Vikings… and now the SD continues the Germanic legacy of Yorkshire.”

Schöngarth laughed at that, his voice granular, contrasting with an occasional eloquence. “I’ll have to base myself nearer to your commando, Herr Brigadeführer. Outside of Dr Lange and a few assorted SD in Leeds, most of the SS around here would have no idea who the Saxons
were
. Typical slack-jawed Orpo bulls and Kripo sniffers. Even in Gestapo back in ’35, I never heard so many banal conversations about fucking
this
woman, torturing
that
Jew. Not that persecuting Hebrews or catching hold of a
schnuckiputzi
lacks merit but Christ… some intelligent conversation should not be too much to expect, no?”

“Quite.”

“With Dissident #1 in custody, we’ll have earned a drink anyway, Brigadeführer, perhaps you could show me the little after hours drinking hole you boys have got set up in Manchester? I’m in no rush to get back to Leeds and the likes of that Amon Goeth character. Christ, some of these bastards should be in Poland policing the Jew ghettos, the way they are… they’re not fit to be in society.”

Jost laughed himself, a deep rumble that began in his chest, spilling out through his oesophagus and escaping his long, set mouth. “Sounds like you need the break. Come over, there’s no shortage of wine and women in our neck of the woods. And with old Arthur in command, only the most civilised coppers in Kripo and the SS are hanging around our Manchester drinking holes…”

Schöngarth joined in the laughter; his own harsh and guttural, utterly belying his background and education. Outside, it was a familiar picture of nocturnal German operation; the northern English countryside had been a tranquil sea of black, and the human settlements dozing in peaceful slumber. Crickets chirped, in an otherwise eerie still. The convoy stole on through the night.

As they penetrated deeper into the small city, well within the city limits of the old settlement, appreciative murmurs escaped German lips at the sight of the walls. History, in particular that of the ‘Aryan’ blood groups in northwestern Europe was of course exalted beyond all else in the new German Reich. It was that history that demanded a Germanic present.

The group rounded the narrow corner of St Leonard’s Square, which was entirely deserted with the curfew in effect, beyond the fluttering of some pigeons in the shadows. Had there been human life present, it would have disappeared at the approach of motorised vehicles; the sound of vehicles being driven at night meant Germans, or at the outside best, the unfortunate local police, instructed to prowl by their foreign overlords. Special permits were granted to designated drivers on logistical jobs that were deemed necessary, allowing for night travel within set parameters. Beyond that, only the occupiers were to be found in the dark.

Cruising past the square, the SS turned at High Petergate, barely squeezing through the narrow opening in the ancient Roman wall and down the narrow street. Fifty metres along, the road widened into a square, with the great York Minster cathedral planted majestically to their left, its great west front towering over them, a huge colossus of magnesium limestone; gothic spires and grand architectural design drawing appreciative stares from the two SD officers.

A small grass square and Great War memorial stood to their right; and two narrow streets forked out alongside the famed cathedral’s southern flank, separated by a small church building in its shadow. They slowed to a halt, adjacent to the smaller building on the open area at the Minster’s base.

Jost got out of the car, quick to take lead in the operation.

“Out, boys look lively! This way”

The troops purposefully disembarked, forming something like a phalanx. Schöngarth, watching, mused that the young men had not seen active combat, merely clean-up jobs, and this was their playing warrior in the dark square of the York Minster. He resolved to tell Heydrich, perhaps draw an approving smile from that pale, mocking face.

Jost marched past the small church building to the second street squeezed between the minster’s southern base and the War Memorial Square, to what was almost the first doorway of the long terrace row.
Number 27, High Petergate
. A plaque on the window helpfully proclaimed ‘Guy Fawkes, Born Here 1570.”

Jost went to hammer the door, and then, thinking better of it, stepped aside. One small gesture with his head, and the stormtrooper behind him kicked the door through, the SS men swarming into the building, yelling loud enough to wake the dead.

Jost and Schöngarth, grinning ear-to-ear, entered the building after them, listening as the troops emptied rooms of the lesser dissident’s not fitting the description of their great prize.

In one room they found a typewriter, and stacks of dissident leaflets, some of which they had seen before, having been distributed far and wide across the northern zone, ruminating on German atrocities and extolling the populace to rebel. Worse still, in another room they found communist paraphernalia, a Star gun as used by the anti-fascist International Brigades in Spain, and even a CPGB card.