— Joseph Goebbels, Speech on Hitler's 55th Birthday, (April 20, 1944)
Thursday, April 20, 1944
Not needing sleep for another two days, McHenry returned to the hatchway with the disabled Tiger. The pilots were gone. He spent the rest of the early morning watching the airframes crew removing, rebuilding, reinstalling and testing. He stayed out of their way when necessary, asked questions when he had them, and assisted when possible.
He had breakfast at the pilots' mess, discussed the day's activities, and then returned to his quarters to prepare for the event.
The machine's main dispensing drawer slid open when McHenry returned to his room. It was his new suit, as Dale had ordered the previous day.
There were no surprises, which was interesting in its own way. The suit went on just like the Luftwaffe-styled one he had been wearing, pulling the shirt over his head. It tightened by itself. The boots were dark blue. They matched a pattern on his shirt but were otherwise unremarkable.
“Rechner,” he ordered. “Display a mirror for me.”
He had never worn a tuxedo before, or the mess dress Army uniform for evening wear, and imagined this to be the future Reich's version. The suit had a mildly gaudy flair, but it was something he could live with. He was glad the yellow trim was understated. But how would he look beside all the uniformed men and women at the event? And what did they really want him there for? He could not help but feel he was a trophy. He did not want to be a symbol of the Reich's power.
An image flared into his mind: He was a black man from a nation still repressing even the finest men of his race. The Reich had evolved past its racism, and they were clearly proud of that. Could it be that he was to be a symbol of their evolution? Or could he be a symbol of their goodness? To McHenry's mind, that would be even worse. He was still at war, no matter what the Reich thought, and now he might be used as an instrument of propaganda.
He looked down at the Luftwaffe boots lying on the floor beside the new boots on his feet. Clearly, their machine could create anything.
“Rechner,” he ordered. “I want a U.S. Army dress uniform. Add rank, medals and wings in accordance with my service record.” He pulled off his boots quickly. He didn't want to be late.
*
He could hear singing in the distance as soon as the elevator doors opened. It sounded like the entire SS regiment. Their song was familiar. It was a Nazi song from the era. He had picked up enough German by now to understand a few of the words.
The corridors were empty here. A Luftwaffe man had seen him on the other floor, and his reaction to the dark blue Army dress uniform was a pleasant one. He wasn't wearing a hat. That was a deliberate decision. No one else would be wearing one, and he wouldn't be reflexively tempted to salute.
The large door was open when he arrived, and two SS guards had been ceremoniously posted. The huge main watch room itself was no longer functioning as a watch room. The equipment was gone. The dome was now a blue sky. It was practically a parade ground full of men and women organized in platoons, each facing the raised platform in a circle, and all of them wearing black and silver dress uniforms. McHenry made a quick guess that the hall must have held five hundred.
The two guards were the only ones not singing. Dale had been waiting beside them, resplendent in her SS uniform, pitch black with a shiny black leathery stripe across the front, and a silver swastika on one arm. She stopped singing when she gazed at his American uniform. Her proud smile refused to fade but it looked false and without sincerity. She nodded her head as though approving.
It seemed like she was about to speak but the song ended and the great hall became eerily silent. He looked to the platform in the center where Mtubo stood glaring back at him, with a huge picture of his Führer, the august face of Katrina Renard, in the distance behind him. He didn't see a picture of Hitler until he turned to see it behind him.
“I see that our Americaner has decided to dress up for the occasion,” Mtubo announced. He then turned to Stern, who was standing on the platform with him, and the two exchanged whispers.
Dale nodded at McHenry and moved formally toward a formation of SS men and women near the center, some of whom he recognized. Her steps were formal, like marching but not quite goose-stepping. He followed, adopting the same pace and keeping in step, acutely aware that he was being watched. Everyone was so much larger than he, and he was conspicuous in every way. Yet, he was determined to make America proud, now and in the future, even after his country exists only in his heart.
They had reached their position in the formation, with Dale and McHenry at the far right corner, when a man shouted, “Achtung!” And the entire regiment clicked to attention. He recalled his promise to Dale and followed suit, remembering, too, that the Geneva Convention required adherence to military protocol.
Although the speeches were in German, McHenry was able to catch a few words. Stern began the presentation, speaking of their love for science, their love for history, their love for the Reich, their love for Adolf Hitler, and their love for Führer Renard. McHenry wondered whether those thoughts might have been influenced by their meeting the night before.
Then Stern spoke of the mission's importance to the Reich, at which point he stepped to the side for Mtubo to continue the rally. And a rally it was. Mtubo went on at length about the perpetual struggle to maintain order within the greatly expanding Reich. The Reich had expanded to many planets, and the SS always acted as the arm of the Führer. Stern stood beside him, applauding Mtubo's remarks, and laughing at his jokes — most of which were lost on McHenry.
Then he spoke about the first Führer, Adolf Hitler, wistfully recalling the stories they had all learned about the great struggle to unify Germany, leaving an example for the next Führers as they each worked to unify the world.
McHenry turned his head slightly to study the chamber. It seemed even larger than it did the first time he entered. The screens were gone and the dome was black, with the exception of the Führer's picture behind Mtubo. He turned slightly to the right, and that's when he saw the picture of Hitler directly opposite that of Renard. For much of the speech, Mtubo had apparently been speaking to it.
Mtubo then raised his arm in a crisp Nazi salute and shouted in a deep and loud voice, “SIEG!” — the German word for victory. On this cue, the regiment raised their arms and voices in unison, “HEIL!” It was a thunderous cry that evoked the raw power of the men and women of the Reich.
Only one man kept quiet, refusing to raise his arm. McHenry felt proudly conspicuous in the huge chamber. It was like in the newsreels. Perhaps they were reenacting a scene from their history, or perhaps Nazis still did this. McHenry couldn't guess.
“SIEG!”
“HEIL!”
“SIEG!”
“HEIL!”
Mtubo took a small step forward after the tumult and, speaking softly in English, said, “I see that our Americaner does not realize that our victory will be his victory, too.” Then he smiled thinly at McHenry. “With time, you will understand.”
McHenry stood, motionless, resisting the impulse to say anything. He wondered what he was doing here.
The African Nazi didn't focus on McHenry for long. Speaking in German again, the topic returned to Adolf Hitler, his birthday, the Reich and the future.
McHenry then remembered what Dale told him: The Third Reich will stand for an eternity. He considered the predictive abilities of their social science, and their time travel, and he knew that her confidence was justified. The Reich can last for an eternity. Only he can stop them. Whatever the cost, whatever the harm, he must escape.
*
Chapter 18
“Waiting. That one word describes Wall Street's attitude, inaction. Commonly, stock market folks, especially professional operators, anticipate events — ‘discount’ them is the market's word for it. But on the eve of the most momentous happening in history, numbness prevails. Stock speculation is dormant. Recessions and recoveries see-saw with
in narrow range. Indecisiveness is generally expected to rule while uncertainty reigns, meaning until all-out invasion of Europe is launched.”
— B. C. Forbes, financial journalist, (April 23, 1944)
Sunday, April 23, 1944
After trying different U.S. Army uniform types, McHenry settled on the dark green service uniform suitable for office wear. He added the waist-high field jacket that was currently being tested by General Eisenhower himself. He never resumed wearing the plain Luftwaffe outfit he'd been given before. He was still a lieutenant in the United States Army Air Force. He was determined to look like one.
He also liked having the extra pockets of the jacket. The opportunity to grab something never came around, but McHenry would be prepared. That American uniform would be an ever-present reminder that he was still at war.
With greater intervals between sleep periods, McHenry spent a lot of time in the disabled Tiger. He'd play with the simulation mode when it was working, and when nobody was about. He also made himself aware of any changes to the projected completion date. The moment the ship was flyable, he wanted to be on it. When crewmen were back at repairs, he'd continue to watch and to help out. He was determined to learn everything he could.
“Kneifzange,” a crewman called out, holding his hand up in the Tiger's middle cabin.
By now, McHenry knew the word. He reached for the pincers before the man's assistant could get there and handed them to the man.
The crewman, apparently of Asian origin, nodded appreciatively. He used the pincers to pull out the pipe.
His handling seemed rough to McHenry, surprisingly so on such a sophisticated system. He had yet to understand why some things must be handled gingerly, sometimes only by machines, while other things can be treated like the wheels on an old '27 Ford.
The pipe slid out slowly. Finally, both ends floated loosely in the middle cabin.
The crewman put the tool back into the toolbox, and a ring changed color from red to gold. All tools were accounted for. The box sealed shut.
“Thank you again, Herr McHenry,” the senior crewman said. He then turned, snapping against a bulkhead when he saw Dale floating at the Tiger hatch in her SS uniform. “Achtung!” he shouted to his assistant.
She replied in German, floating to one side as the two men quickly made their way out through the hatch, taking the long pipe out with them.
Their rapid change in demeanor was startling to McHenry. There were few women in his Army, and fewer still who were officers of a rank equivalent to Dale.
“It's getting late for that, you know,” she said when they'd gone.
“For what?” he asked.
“That uniform. It will be a thousand years old when we go back home.” She reached over for a moment and touched the metallic wings. They looked and felt just like the originals but McHenry knew them to be made of the Reich's advanced materials just like everything else around him.
“Well, nine hundred, anyway,” she continued. “Whatever your sentiments — and I do understand them; we all understand them — I don't think you will want to be wearing it too long after we leave this time. You have the rest of your life to look forward to.”
“The crew seems to like it,” McHenry said. He reached for the controls, adjusting the view mode as they maneuvered themselves into seats. He wanted the unenhanced view.
“The Luftwaffe crewmembers are military men. They can appreciate your sense of duty even if it is to the wrong side. And, truth be told, that's a big reason why you're here. Your presence is a very pleasant distraction. You have to consider, this was planned as a five-year mission — even if it is ending early. The presence of visitors was going to...”
“Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “It's ending early? This is the first I've heard of it.”
“It was announced early this morning. Are you still taking naps?”
“That explains it. The doctor says I'll have a few more.” He looked up at the maintenance schedule on the panel. He knew that escape was practically impossible, but he hoped that, given sufficient time, an opportunity would eventually come along. “When is this ship leaving?”
“In another month. We will be here long enough to witness the invasion.”
“Good,” he said sarcastically. “I'll get to see how it is that the entire population can change their minds overnight about fighting the war.”
“Oh, Sam,” she sighed. “How closely have you been keeping up with events down there?”
“I read the paper every day,” he said. “President Roosevelt is still on vacation.”
“You're keeping up with where he goes?” She laughed. “I suppose you want to know his location in case you get a chance to escape. Are you planning to land this Tiger on the White House lawn?”
“Maybe,” he replied, returning a smile, but wishing his dreams weren't so obvious.
“Have you noticed the strike news?” she asked.
“Airstrikes?” he asked, wondering if she was changing the subject.
“No. I meant the labor strikes in America and Britain.”
“I read that. I didn't dwell on it.” McHenry shifted uncomfortably in the high seat. “It's unfortunate but these things happen in a free country. It doesn't mean they won't supply us in the end.”
“Think about it, Sam. Your country is at war, but you should see that not everyone feels that way. While you were fighting overseas, Americans back home were going on strike. It's worse in England. This will be their worst strike year since the nineteen twenties.”
“I'd wager that practically all those workers want the Allies to win. You know the invasion fails partly because of weather. It does not fail because of inadequate matériel.”
“No, it doesn't. But the people will be happy to see the war over. That's all I'm saying. They want to get back to their lives.”
“They still want us to win. I don't doubt that we would get supplied.”
“You miss the point, Sam. This isn't simply a supply issue. You know that human sentiment, morale and propaganda are key ingredients in a war. These same things happened in Germany during the first world war. They had a munitions strike in 1918. It didn't last long enough to have a direct military effect on supply to the front. As a great man observed, ‘the moral damage was much more terrible. In the first place, what was the army fighting for if the people at home did not wish it to be victorious? For whom then were these enormous sacrifices and privations being made and endured? Must the soldiers fight for victory while the home front goes on strike against it?
“‘In the second place, what effect did this move have on the enemy?’ It made the English and the French more confident that the war might end in their victory — if only they stay in the fight just a little bit longer. ‘Here the resistance had lost all the character of an army fighting for a lost cause. In its place there was now a grim determination to struggle through to victory.’
“And most importantly,” she concluded, “they never needed to seek peace as long as Germans showed weakness. They never needed to invade Germany to end that war. The German people of 1918 simply gave up. They wanted peace more than the Allies did. And the Allies knew it. The Kaiser had no choice but to abdicate.”
“Were you quoting Coughlin again?” McHenry sniped.
“No. Most of that was Adolf Hitler.” She grinned. “My point, Sam, is that it's understandable that people will want to stop the war. I'm not saying that it's always good. It wasn't good for Germany in 1918. They needed a leader to continue to rally the people. The Kaiser was no longer capable of that.”
“Oh,” he mused. “I'm beginning to understand now.”
She looked down at him, smiling.
“What you really don't respect about America is that we would give up.”
Her smile disappeared. She reflected on that for a moment. He did, too. It hit both of them hard. To McHenry, giving up bordered on the dishonorable. An outright defeat would be better than giving up when the entire future of the
human race is at stake.
It was Dale who spoke again first. “Sam,” she said. “Hitler offered far, far better terms than what the Germans received after the first world war. They were really quite contrite. Sometimes peace is the best option.”
“Was there really peace after the U.S. and Britain gave up?” McHenry asked resentfully. “Or was this peace only for us while the rest of the world was torn apart?”
“Sometimes the people just need a rest,” she said quietly.
He took that non-answer for what it was. “Have you considered trying this with the Grauen?”
“We still remember the Treaty of Versailles,” she said, her confidence returning.
“Another treaty that Hitler broke.”
“That treaty deserved to be broken,” she said firmly.
Then her tone changed, making it obvious to him that she was quoting again. “‘Who therefore entertain the thought that the Treaty of Versailles would be honored by all its participants? Does not the vast majority of historians regard that treaty as an unjust document? Was not its chief objective the dismemberment of the German Empire? Did it not impose a fine of 57 billion dollars payable in gold upon a penniless people from whose treasuries had been removed the last ounce of gold? Did it not shackle the German people to the pillar of oppression when it virtually forbade them to trade with other nations? Did it not despoil Germany of all her colonies? And in a spirit of revenge and barbarism, instead of peace and humanity, was not the Treaty of Versailles instrumental in removing more than a million milk cows upon which depended the little children for their food?’
She was reciting the words more passionately now, “‘Certainly, Germany signed the Treaty of Versailles — because there was no alternative — a treaty that will go down in history as the most inhuman aggression ever committed against any people in the entire history of the civilized world. An aggression which was not aimed at the Kaiser, and at those who were responsible for Germany's participation in the World War. A treaty that was not aimed at the international bankers who sent the Bolsheviks into Russia, but aimed at the poor, victimized people who had remained behind when the malefactors had fled to safety.’
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