The Invasion of 1950

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “I would advise against it,” Canaris said, softly. Hitler eyed him maliciously. “There is no target within the United States more certain to draw a violent response from the United States than the Canal. We could bomb Washington and it wouldn’t provoke the Americans as much.”

  “And what does that matter?” Hitler demanded. “Where do the Americans stand on the scale of pure power?”

  “The Americans built up their fleet during 1940 and continued the program until 1944, when Roosevelt left office,” Canaris said. “They may not have quite our level of naval technology, but added to the remains of the British Navy, they would have a major advantage over our navy and would win the battle. In a year, we wouldn’t even have the technological advantage; Mein Fuhrer, it is not the time to poke the Americans.”

  Hitler subsided slightly. “Once we have finished the British, we will turn our attention to the Americans,” he said, flatly. Himmler nodded in private relief. “What is happening on the ground?”

  It was Manstein who spoke. “We have defeated the early British counter-attacks and captured enough strong-points to be fairly certain of holding the lodgement for the moment, and we are currently reinforcing in strength,” he said. “The British fought to hold Ipswich, but we punched through their defence lines and shattered them, taking several thousand British servicemen as prisoners in the process. Those prisoners have been well-treated and have been moved to a new detention camp near Felixstowe, although I suggest shipping them back to the continent as soon as possible.

  “The British themselves appear to be establishing two defensive lines,” he continued. “One of them is being established in the direction of London, the other in the direction of Birmingham and the mid-lands We believe that the British intend to block us from any further advance and then evict us from their country; naturally, we do not intend to allow them to do that.”

  “Of course,” Hitler agreed, dryly. “How do you plan to stop them?”

  Manstein’s hand traced a line on the map. “We are currently expanding our lodgements and intend to make contact with their main defence line within a week, as much to ensure that we wipe out isolated Home Guard forces as to make our territory very clear,” he said. “Resistance, since we beat them at Ipswich, has been mixed; some of their units have been alert and not to be trifled with, others were disorganised and became easy prey. Once we come into contact with their main defensive line, we will mass our forces and engage as soon as possible, punching through the line and rolling it up before moving on London.”

  He looked down at Hitler for a moment. “It has been suggested that we attempt to seize their industrial areas, rather than London, but as long as the British Army remains in being, our ability to guarantee the security of our conquests is limited,” he admitted. “Therefore, I suggest that we continue with the original plan and engage them on the way to London, smashing their army and convincing them that further resistance is useless.”

  “But not all of them seem to have learned that,” Himmler purred, taking advantage of a brief pause to needle Manstein. “How else would you account for the incidents of resistance across the country?”

  Manstein kept his face blank. “There have indeed been some attempts to resist us,” he conceded. “There have been a handful of incidents of young British men taking shots at our people, mostly missing, and they have been dealt with severely. The only incident that was not easy to deal with was someone who was actually a Home Guardsman who’d been ill and therefore wasn't in uniform. The commander on the ground decided to believe him and sent him to a camp.”

  Himmler snorted. “The security of the rear area, however, is in the hands of the SS,” Manstein concluded. “Perhaps the Reichsfuhrer would like to detail that?”

  Hitler looked at Himmler, who nodded. “We have nearly two thousand trained and experienced SS security forces on the ground now, and that number is increasing all the time,” Himmler said. There are also several elements of the Waffen-SS Das Reich unit, but they are soldiers, rather than security forces. “We have been quick to secure our control over the occupied territories, but we have been unable to prevent a handful of incidents, most of them minor. One particularly odd set of minor incidents involved British police officers; three of them have been murdered within a day of our arrival.”

  Hitler looked unconcerned. “Was that the result of one of our activities?”

  “I don’t know,” Himmler admitted. “They didn’t kill themselves, but our forces have strict orders not to interfere with the local police unless they get in the way. It’s more likely that it could be someone settling a few old scores under the chaos caused by the invasion.”

  He paused. “Apart from a handful of attempts to impede us, all dealt with swiftly and decisively, the British civilian population has been keeping its head down and trying to ignore us as much as possible,” he said. “Overall, we have some thousands of British working for us on the docks, and they’re being paid very high rates for their work, but I don’t think that they can really be considered enthusiastic supporters of the Reich. In the long term, they may end up with no option but to support us, but that depends on the course of the war.”

  Hitler nodded. In Occupied Europe, the Reich had worked hard to cultivate groups that would have little choice but to support the Reich. The Vichy French Government was only popular compared to the Occupation Authorities in Occupied France; the French knew that Admiral Darlen was much kinder to them than any German would be. Hitler’s England might end up with a British puppet government running most of the country and only a few areas directly controlled from Berlin. That would, however, depend on the outcome of the fighting…and how much the British had left to bargain with when they finally conceded their defeat.

  “In the air, we have air superiority over most of the important areas of Britain,” General Adolf Galland said, his voice confident and very controlled. He was aware that Hitler was watching the Luftwaffe like a hawk, looking for signs of the same failures that had forced the postponement, and then cancellation, of Operation Sealion. “The British RAF has taken a beating, and its efforts to interfere with the landing operations and the expansion of the beachheads have, so far, proven to be failures. Their main efforts have concentrated on breaking up our bomber formations and attempting to bomb the invasion ports in France, but I suspect that they are actually conserving their strength as much as possible for the main event.”

  He smiled grimly. “They have to know that we will want to break out as soon as possible,” he said. “When that happens, they will throw everything they have into the air over the battle and try to keep the Luftwaffe off the backs of their soldiers. We are working to impede that in two ways, focusing our attention on their airfields and forcing them to react to our moves, rather than giving them time to catch their breath and launch their own attacks.”

  “Good,” Hitler said after a long heart-stopping pause. “I expect you to focus your efforts on keeping them off balance. Albert, what about the deception plan?”

  “In France, we have ten divisions, four infantry, six panzer with signal traffic warning the British of an attempted landing in the south of England,” Kesselring said. “I don’t know for sure if the British are taking the threat of a landing seriously, but under the circumstances, they have little choice but to move units north to confront us in the invasion lodgement. Churchill will have to decide what he wants to do quickly, under threat of us opening a second front.”

  Hitler studied the map. “Why can’t your forces jump across the Channel?”

  Kesselring and Speer shared a look. “The issue at hand, Mein Fuhrer, is that we do not have the ability to get them all over that part of the Channel without the British being able to tear them to ribbons from fixed positions,” he said. “It would be like the death ride of the 3rd Shock Army in Russia, without even the advantage of tanks like the Russians had; the British would be able to beat us, maybe even before we landed. At the moment, it remains better as
a threat than as a real military operation.”

  “Very well,” Hitler said. “I may add my own refinements to your future plans, but on the whole, I agree with them in principle.” Himmler smiled as the military men let out a collective sigh of relief. “I expect to see the British lines broken as soon as possible and the remains of the British Army shattered, do you understand?”

  Kesselring nodded. “Yes, Mein Fuhrer,” he said.

  Hitler looked over at Goebbels. “You will broadcast, tonight, an appeal to reason. You will inform the British public of their losses and make them an offer, a peace deal that I will design. If they choose to accept it and remove the arch-criminal from office, then we will have the grounds for a honourable peace with Britain, and then…”

  Himmler listened with half an ear. Thanks to Philby and the others, he had a far greater insight into the strange world of British politics than anyone else, even Canaris and the Abwher. He doubted, somehow, that the British would accept Hitler’s offer, not after the Germans had launched their surprise attack. They hadn’t yet been convinced that they were actually beaten…and, as Himmler knew full well, without that internal surrender and submission, Britain would never give up the fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Felixstowe, England

  The building had once been a school before the Germans arrived, and it had been converted into one of their reception centres where they registered everyone who lived in Felixstowe and the surrounding area. A police officer had told Gregory Davall that everyone in the area had been ordered to register within a week or face possible arrest and detention. The entire town had seen a handful of young men that were caught breaking curfew, marched off to the docks to assist with clearing up the rubble caused by the fighting. The message was clear. For the moment, the Germans were too strong to interfere with, so it was better to cooperate until times changed.

  Davall listened to the BBC, although the SS had warned everyone that listening to them was a punishable offence; the Germans would have preferred them to be listening to Radio Berlin, which had an English language channel. Radio Berlin didn’t have much in the way of interesting news, reporting endless German victories, thousands of surrendering British soldiers, and even a report that Churchill himself had scuttled away under fire, abandoning his men just before the Germans captured them. The BBC was more inclined to report on the progress of the invasion, although it was long on heroic stories such as a young sailor who had torpedoed a German submarine, and short on actual details.

  Davall had access to one of the hidden telephone cables, but he hadn’t wanted to risk using it until after the manhunt for the killer of PC Johnston had died down. The Germans didn’t seem to care, if they’d even noticed. They certainly weren't tearing down Felixstowe to find the killer.

  “I don’t want to go to school,” James said, struggling slightly. Davall remembered being that age and walking up the same steps, separated from his sisters by the strict rule that girls and boys were to enter separately and be educated separately. Kate might have gone to the same school, but they hadn’t met until after they had entered the working world.

  “Don’t worry,” Davall said, hoping his son wouldn’t say anything stupid as they passed the German sentry standing guard on the steps. “I don’t think you’ll be coming back here for a long time.”

  Inside, he was suddenly struck by a sense of dizziness. The scene was almost surreal; German soldiers were everywhere, while lines of British citizens wound into classrooms and even the headmaster’s office. Davall wondered what had happened to the headmaster before dismissing the thought. It hardly mattered at the moment. A German guard pointed them towards one of the queues, and they waited in line, watching as their friends and neighbours advanced toward a classroom. They never saw them re-emerge

  A sense of hopelessness welled up within him, and he fought it down savagely. The Germans were tightening the noose around their necks, and it wasn't even a noose that most of their friends and neighbours could see. The German procedure was always the same. First, they would register, then they would put people to work, and finally they would achieve complete control of the area.

  The signs that had been hastily tacked up reinforced the sense of having stepped into a different world. the crying children, the mothers trying to shush them, the fathers watching helplessly…all had no place in Britain. He felt Kate’s hand squeezing his, hard, as the line advanced towards the door, each family beckoned inside…and then, presently, they were called into the room.

  He’d been in the classroom before, studying geography under a teacher who had marched off with many of Davall’s classmates and fallen at Dunkirk, but it looked very different now. The child-sized desks had been pushed to one wall, while the teacher’s desk had been pushed into the middle of the room, with a SS officer standing beside it. Davall's eyes went wide for a moment. The German was a woman, wearing a uniform that showed off her figure…and cold, dispassionate eyes. He almost didn’t notice the soldiers at the rear of the room as the woman pointed them towards the seats in front of her desk.

  “Name, please?” Her voice, cold and unaccented, almost made him tremble.

  “Gregory Davall,” he replied, and produced his British identification card for her. She took it, made a series of notes on a sheaf of paper in front of her, and then placed it to one side. She fired off a series of questions at him, ranging from innocent ones like when he and Kate had married to stranger ones such as who they were related to in the city, what relatives they had outside the area, and to his non-existent military service.

  “You were spared from armed service because you were a skilled engineer,” she said, after a moment. “Good; we will be able to find you work fairly soon. Do you have Jewish blood in you?”

  Her tone, the hint of disgust and contempt, made Davall shake. “None,” he said truthfully. He’d only met one Jew in his life, back when he’d been working in an electronics shed. “My family have always been Christians.”

  “I must warn you that giving false information is a crime punishable by death,” she said, her voice politely crisp. “Do you have Jewish blood?”

  “No,” Davall said shortly, trying to keep the anger out of his tone. He’d thought that some of the teachers he had known were bad, but this woman was worse than any of them…and, he guessed, she could have them all shot on a whim. “There’s no Jewish blood in my family.”

  She made a few more notes and then held their eyes. “You have been registered as a citizen of Occupied Britain under the jurisdiction of the Greater German Reich,” she said, formally. It was the first time he heard a hint of emotion in her voice. “As of now, you are subject to the laws and regulations of the Reich and any breakages will be handled in accordance with German law. You will be expected to be loyal to the Reich and work towards its interests at all times; any attempt to impede those interests will be treated as treason and punished accordingly.”

  She nodded towards the rear entrance. “Take this slip,” she said, passing them the sheet of paper she’d been writing on. It was covered in German words that even Davall couldn’t read. “Present it to the soldiers there and they will give you a new ID card and some rations for the week, as well as a booklet of Occupation Regulations and Laws. Ignorance of the law does not constitute an excuse.”

  Davall led his family out of the room and down into the side room where a pair of Germans took the slip, read it quickly, and worked a small device that Davall didn’t recognise. One of them held up a camera and quickly snapped shots of all three of them; the other took their fingerprints, before waving them into a corner and passing him a copy of the booklet to read.

  Davall skimmed it quickly, finding the pamphlet to be almost as he had imagined; the Germans intended to supervise them in almost every detail of their lives. No large gatherings, no parties without German permission, workers to report for work with the Germans if they had no other work to do, German currency to be the only legitimate currency…
the list went on and on, with dire warnings of heavy punishment if they were caught doing anything against the rules. The overall tone was all-too-clear; anything not specifically permitted was forbidden.

  “Davall,” one of the Germans said. He passed Davall a set of three ID cards; one for him, one for Kate and one for James. Davall examined them quickly, noting the picture of himself, a terrible image that was nonetheless easy to recognise. “These are your cards; keep them with you and present them whenever they are demanded by a German patrol. If you are caught without the card, you will be detained and perhaps sentenced to serve in a work gang.”

  He passed them a small box of rations and pointed them out of the school; Davall left quickly before he vomited The fresh air cleared his head, but he knew the Germans had made certain that everyone would be registered, which just added another problem to the Grey Wolves’ growing list. They would all be registered, which meant that if they left fingerprints anywhere, the Germans would be able to identify them and come after them and their families. The female SS officer and those like her was building up a composite picture of who was who in the village, something that would make hiding a stranger very difficult indeed. He thought about it as they walked home slowly, passing some of their neighbours on the way; the Germans would have to be shown that there was still fight in the British, but how?