The Invasion of 1950

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “Some suspected trouble,” the officer admitted, grimly. “They just didn’t realise how the Germans would spearhead their attack.”

  An hour later, Jackson stood on a car and examined the line of soldiers standing in front of him. Most of them were Home Guard; the survivors of his force and some others, a handful were regular soldiers who had been caught away from their regiments and had been co-opted into the makeshift company rather than being allowed to make their way back to their units. Jackson hoped that the army bureaucracy had managed to catch up with this change, or the men were likely to end up facing charges of desertion in the face of the enemy, which carried the death penalty. They would have to prove that the Home Guard had drafted them and that wasn't going to be easy.

  “We’ve taken a beating,” he said, grimly, watching them. They looked despondent, some of them bitterly determined to carry on fighting, others broken and shattered by the experience. The Germans had beaten them off and defeated them…and, for a unit that had never known defeat before, it could be disastrous. “They threw us back and killed hundreds of our friends and fellow soldiers, and they now think that they’ve won.”

  He leaned forwards. “They’re dead wrong,” he decried. “We fought well and bravely against those paratroopers, and we chased them away from their targets. We hurt the Germans and now, without their advantage of surprise, we’re going to hurt them again. They’re going to come at us again and this time, we’re going to kick them right where it hurts! This is the sort of fighting we are trained to do, with weapons we understand and well-built positions, and we are going to hold the Germans. This time, we are going to hold!

  “They’re going to come at us with tanks and heavy weapons, but we’re going to stop them,” he continued. “We’re going to hold and we’re going to make them regret that they ever came into our country and attacked us. Behind their lines, our wives and children are trapped…and we’re going to free them. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” they shouted back.

  “I expect each and every one of you to hold the line until they withdraw or we are given orders to fall back,” Jackson thundered. “If a man should leave his post without orders, I’ll shoot him in the back myself. We are going to hold them, whatever it takes, and win time for our forces to regroup and crush the ratzis like bugs. No one breaks, no one runs; we hold and we fight as a body!”

  The march through the countryside was surprisingly quick; they found the defence line, such as it was, without too many problems, although the presence of German aircraft, high in the sky, warned that the Germans were watching them. Jackson saw the German aircraft, so high up that it was barely visible, and wondered what had happened to the RAF. Had the remainder of the country been attacked as well? The General hadn’t said that there had been any other incursions, but if the Germans could have launched more than one, wouldn’t they have tried? The soldiers grumbled a little as they joined in the construction works, but Jackson was starting to realise that he might have made a mistake; the line just wasn't very solid. They all knew how to dig foxholes and hiding positions for the guns, but when the Germans came down the road towards Ipswich, they were likely to have very few problems in punching through the line.

  “I want those antitank guns set up to provide covering fire,” Jackson ordered, pushing his concerns aside while he prepared his lines. The colonel commanding the hundreds of men who were funnelling into the area seemed to have a clear idea of what he was doing, but he was clearly worried about being encircled; the Germans would probably have the advantage in manoeuvre war. They would want to take Ipswich intact, because of the road and rail connections, but they could do that by starving out the town, rather than simply trying to take it by storm.

  It made him wonder what preparations were being made in Ipswich itself. Were there Home Guardsmen there being prepared for a siege, or were they considering declaring the city an open city, no soldiers from either side allowed. If that happened, the Germans would probably ignore the declaration, just as they had ignored a similar attempt on the part of the Russians. They had stormed Stalingrad by force and killed almost all of the inhabitants, those who hadn’t bowed the knee quickly enough. They had then gone on to impose their domination on large chunks of Russia, encouraged the Shah of Iran into rebellion, and won the war. Did anyone truly recognise the growing threat before it hit them?

  He shook his head. The English countryside looked so safe and tranquil…

  But, to the east, the Germans were gathering their forces. Soon, he knew, they would attack.

  Chapter Seventeen

  London, England

  The Members of Parliament looked stunned and disorientated as they filed into the chamber, some of them fresh from viewing the damage to Downing Street and the results of the pitched battle in St James’ Park. The remaining German commandos had fought to the death and had left behind nothing but rubble when they had finally been crushed under the weight of superior fire-power Alex DeRiemer suspected that some of the commandos had actually escaped in the chaos, but it would be impossible to know for certain until they resurfaced, if they resurfaced. They might just have gone to ground and decided to wait until German panzers reached London.

  He cast an eye down at Churchill. The former First Lord of the Admiralty and the new Prime Minister – almost all of the remaining Cabinet members were dead – looked grim. He’d spoken briefly to DeRiemer and Monty, ordering DeRiemer to stay with him and Monty to attempt to make some sense out of the reports that were pouring in from across the country. DeRiemer would have preferred to be working with the intelligence reports himself, but Churchill’s orders had been clear; he wanted the man who had predicted the new German offensive with him. DeRiemer didn’t know if he should feel honoured or very nervous.

  The MPs settled down, quieter than normal. He saw a young lady in the Conservative ranks, her face pinched and grave, very grave. Others looked as if they were on the verge of heart attacks; the rumours placed the German Army within hours of London, something that was technically true, but only if they met no opposition.

  DeRiemer was now convinced that Dover was a feint; the searching soldiers hadn’t encountered a single enemy parachutist, not even someone who had bailed out of a crashing aircraft. Dover was silent; the same could not be said for Suffolk. The Germans were on the land now, standing where Napoleon had failed; England had been invaded.

  The Speaker gavelled for attention.

  “Honourable Members,” he said, his own voice shaking, “I call upon the Right Honourable Winston Churchill, recently confirmed by His Majesty the King as Prime Minister, to address this august body.”

  DeRiemer wondered, as Churchill stood up, just how tempted he had been to start his speech with ‘I told you so’. For the past seven years, Churchill and a small number of other politicians and military men had been a voice crying in the wilderness, warning the world that the threat of Nazi Germany had yet to end. His influence had seen some precautions taken, but they had proven themselves painfully inadequate when the Germans finally landed; DeRiemer felt that almost as a physical blow. If he had been able to predict the exact site of the German landing, they could have had an infantry battalion dug into the port, and the Home Fleet out of the harbour and protected by a cloud of RAF aircraft. If…

  “Honourable Members of this House, I speak not only to you, but to the British Public,” Churchill said. He rarely spoke directly on the wireless; he had a slight stammer in his voice that was only apparent if people listened to him directly. Years of experience in public speaking had helped him suppress it until it was almost unnoticeable. “I come before you today with grave news; our country has been, for the first time in centuries, invaded by an enemy force. Yesterday evening, German forces landed in the Port of Felixstowe and commenced unloading the spearhead of a major fighting force aimed at nothing less than the conquest of our entire country.

  “And yet, that is not the gravest of tidings,” he continued.
“I must confirm to this house that Home Fleet was attacked last night from the air, a savage attack employing the most advance technology and anti-shipping weapons the Germans have at their disposal. It is with a heavy heart that I must confirm the loss of nine heavy capital ships and forty smaller ships. Even this setback pales in comparison to the deaths of thousands of our soldiers, sailors and airmen. The defenders of the harbour gave everything they could to stand the German Air Force off, but eventually the Germans were able to hit and seriously damage Home Fleet as a weapon of war.

  “And yet, even that news is overshadowed by the German attack within the centre of London itself,” Churchill concluded. “I must confirm now, to the people of this great nation, that Prime Minister Atlee and dozens more were murdered by German commandos, who parachuted down into London. The commandos were finally defeated but in their wake they left nothing but destruction. Our country is bleeding, and yet…”

  He seemed to be speaking directly to DeRiemer as he spoke.

  “When Hitler showed himself for what he was, we did nothing,” he said. “When Hitler broke the bounds of international law, we did nothing. When we finally stood up to him, we found that he was too strong for us to handle any longer, and our valiant French allies went under, forced into a humiliating surrender and permanent submission to Hitler’s evil regime. We fought on, aiding those we could and salvaging what we could, but in the end, we made a critical error. We chose the easy way out.”

  “We told ourselves that we could endure no longer,” he said, anger darkening his voice. “We told ourselves that all our allies, one by one, had fallen, and there was no disgrace in a peace without victory. We were safe from Hitler’s control, so there was no shame in coming to a respectable agreement with an honourable man…but did we understand that Hitler was not an honest man? Yes, we knew that, and yet we deluded ourselves that he would abide by a treaty that was only convenient for him for a short time. We allowed ourselves to let down our guard, and, yesterday, German forces thrust a knife at our nation's heart.”

  The Chamber seemed silent, wrapped up in the moment. “This is England’s darkest hour,” Churchill pronounced, and his words echoed in the air. “German forces are ashore in strength and are preparing an offensive towards London. When they come to London, they will attempt to take this proud city and shatter once and for all our empire. Hitler will remain unsatisfied until he has eaten the entire world, and now he has finally come for us…and we find ourselves in a weaker state than ever.”

  He paused. “We have lost the ability to control the Channel,” he said. “Elements of the Royal Navy are steaming back towards England as fast as they can, but until they rendezvous with the remains of Home Fleet. We will have to stop the Germans in a war fought out in the villages and hills of England, a savage campaign that will lay waste to the land we love, but a campaign that must be fought.

  “We know what defeat looks like,” he said, coldly. “We know the fate of the French, strangers in their own country. We know the fate of the Russians, broken into servitude. We even know the fate of the Italians, who are treated as dirt by their German allies…and we know just what fate the Nazis have in mind for the Turks, the Swiss, all the remaining free nations of Europe, including us. We know…

  “And we will fight.

  “I told this House once, long ago, that I could promise nothing, but blood, toil, tears and sweat,” he said. “I tell you now that we can win, and we will win, and we must win, so that a monster like Hitler can be defeated and prevented from controlling the entire world. If we are defeated, here, in our own lands, Hitler will have nothing preventing him from conquering the entire world. We will fight and we will win! Hitler’s empire will come to an end; we, we free people, bearers of the hopes and aspirations of an entire continent groaning under the yoke of slavery, will end him.

  “There is no peace with Adolph Hitler,” he concluded. “We will fight him until he is defeated, or until he kills the last of us, who will never accept a role in his New Order. Today, we start fighting back!”

  He sat down. After a pregnant pause, the entire chamber erupted into cheers and shouts, a handful of MPs singing ‘God save the King’. DeRiemer looked for the young female MP and met her eyes for a long moment; they, too, were glowing with passion and determination. For the moment, at least, Britain was united behind Churchill.

  His lips twitched. All that they needed do now was drive the Germans back into the sea and then march to Berlin.

  ***

  Kim Philby fancied himself as a man on the edge. As a young man, he had converted to communism and had, since then, followed orders from Moscow to remain above suspicion and continue to report from the heart of the British intelligence service. He’d accomplished a great deal over the years, gaining responsibility for monitoring the remains of the Soviet Union, an irony that never failed to make him smile. Moscow – through him – possessed near-perfect awareness of what their enemies were plotting, even Churchill’s desperate plan to have Beria assassinated and replaced with one of the Red Army Generals in hopes of keeping Russia in the war.

  Philby hadn’t despaired when Beria had made the devil’s bargain with Adolph Hitler. It wasn't unprecedented in the history of the Soviet Union – Lenin himself had made a bargain with the advancing Germans, buying time for Imperial Germany to collapse, as Lenin had predicted – and Philby had just continued to report, even through the hiatus that had followed when Moscow had fallen. The contact line had been re-established, however, and Philby had continued to feed reports to ‘contact zero’ until the day the Germans arrived.

  He tasted brandy on his lips and looked up into the merciless eyes of Otto Skorzeny. He knew who Skorzeny was, of course; Radio Berlin had turned him into a superhuman, a perfect soldier and commanding officer, almost able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Skorzeny lived a charmed life, dancing through bullets as if they were nothing but rainfall; the only sign of any stress in his life was a scar that he’d picked up in the wars. If Skorzeny was Contact Zero, then…

  Philby’s life had just shattered around him.

  “Let me tell you a story,” Skorzeny said. “Moscow; nine years ago. The city has fallen, but a handful of senior NKVD officers are desperate to make a bargain with their new rulers, so they take their files to the senior SS office there and show him what they can offer. That man is none other than Himmler’s own personal hatchet man; he sees what they’re offering, arranges to have the building sealed off and examined by the SS, and takes the files back to Berlin. Himmler orders it to be kept a secret, checks through the files, and issues his orders. The windfall has to be used. A few months later, they make contact again with part of the chain that leads back to you, and start issuing orders.”

  His face twisted into an ugly smile. “And you obey.

  “You spend the next few years sending back all the information you could get you hands on,” he continued, his smile growing wider. “You get requests for information from the heart of the Soviet Union and you forward it on. You get requests about information on how Germany is penetrated by British Intelligence and you pass it on. You get requests about some dispositions of British forces and you pass it on…all unaware that you were working for the Reich. How does that make you feel?”

  Philby blanched. His mind was racing, trying to find a way out of the predicament, but nothing presented itself. He’d had an evacuation plan for when the British finally realised what he’d been doing, but that plan had certainly fallen apart when Moscow fell; he’d almost certainly walk right into the hands of the Reich. If he made it to Russia, they probably wouldn’t be too happy to see him; from their point of view, he was an agent who had gone silent. He thought, briefly, about trying to talk MI5 into striking a deal, but…

  “I know what you are thinking,” Skorzeny said, calmly. Philby jumped as the commando’s face came closer to this own. “You’re wondering if you can take us to the nearest army post and betray us, hoping to save your neck
from the hangman’s noose. I don’t think that that would be a very good idea, Philby; your actions ensured the deaths of thousands of people in the Royal Navy and cleared the way for our invasion. You spied for us; once they finish laughing at you, you’ll be hung from the neck until you are dead.”

  His hand stroked Philby’s neck; Philby flinched away, but didn’t dare lift a hand to brush Skorzeny away. “And that would be a great shame,” Skorzeny said. The touch of his hand was somehow soft yet threatening, crushing Philby’s soul as it moved around his vulnerable neck, reminding him that he could be killed by a single blow. “You have nowhere to go now, nowhere but the Reich. Your services have earned you a place in Germany, if you are prepared to help us now.”

  Philby struggled, looking for an escape, but he couldn’t see one – apart from suicide. Skorzeny was right; if he were caught, the enormity of his crimes would ensure that he was tried in a secret session, then hung and his body buried somewhere without a marker. He hated the Reich, detested it and all it stood for, and he had worked faithfully to bring about its end…unaware that he had really been helping his ideological enemy. Hot tears stung his eyes as he started to shake; Skorzeny snorted in disgust and half-turned away, sparing Philby the sight of his smile.