The Invasion of 1950
Christopher G. Nuttall
The year is 1950, but not the 1950 we know. The Second World War ended in 1943. Hitler never declared war on the United States and is currently master of an empire that stretches from the Atlantic coastline of France to the Ural Mountains in Russia. Hundreds of millions are dead or enslaved as Hitler’s followers make his dreams real, but the Fuhrer is still not satisfied. To the west, Britain remains independent — and, beyond it, the United States of America.
Since 1943, the world has enjoyed an uneasy peace.
That is about to change…
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Christopher G. Nuttall
THE INVASION OF 1950
A Novel of Alternate History
Introduction
For those of us who are part of the Alternate History Community (and I certainly consider myself a member) Operation Sea Lion — the planned German invasion of Britain in 1940 — seems to hold a promise of a radical shift in the balance of European power. Had Hitler invaded, had Britain fallen, the Nazis would seem to hold supreme power. Hitler would have been able to go east in 1941 without having to worry about his rear, while Japan and Italy would rapidly have snapped up the remains of the British Empire. It would be a total geopolitical disaster.
Fortunately, the Nazis would have faced formidable problems in carrying out the invasion, to the point where most members of the AH Community dismiss it as a pipe dream. In my opinion, Sea Lion had about a one-in-six chance of success; Hitler, still a calculative gambler in 1940, decided that it was too big a risk to take.
But what if the invasion had been launched later?
It wasn’t, of course. Hitler’s forces bogged down in Russia, Hitler declared war on the United States in a fit of absentmindedness and Germany was crushed between the combined forces of America, Britain and Soviet Russia. The war ended in 1945.
But what if Hitler had won in Russia? What if America hadn’t entered the war?
Would they plan to invade Britain again?
Author’s Note
This book was written several years ago and has been heavily edited (no less than three people looked at it.) However, it may not be up to the standards of my current projects. As always, comments and editing notes are welcome.
In addition, I have tried to keep the use of German phrases down to the bare minimum, as they tend to annoy me when I see them in other books.
CGN.
Prologue
England, 1943
“No,” Winston Churchill said.
“Winston, be reasonable,” Anthony Eden said. The Leader of the House of Commons stared down at the Prime Minister. “We have been fighting for four years. The country is tired of fighting with no prospect of victory.”
Churchill felt a hot flash of anger. “Anthony, Hitler and his madmen must be stopped,” he said, remembering bitter disappointments when the Japanese had headed north into the Soviet Union and the United States had drifted back into isolation. “We’re the only people holding the line!”
“The Germans captured Stalingrad a month ago,” Lord Halifax said. Churchill nodded slowly, unsurprised that his old competitor had joined the delegation. “It won’t be long before they start to press into Iran, and as you know, we have had a most imprudent communication from the Shah. He said that unless we evacuate his country — the Russian forces having gone to die in the defence of Stalingrad already — his forces will turn on ours with German support.”
Churchill’s eyes drifted to the map he’d placed the wall. German forces, having taken Moscow back in 1941, had concentrated on securing their flanks before advancing down towards Stalingrad and the oil wells to the south of the city — and Iran. The Soviet Union — the remains of the Soviet Union, under Beria — wasn’t able to stop them. The Foreign Ministry was privately predicting that the remains of the USSR would fall apart all too soon. Churchill had met Beria, he’d dealt with the man and he had no illusions about his ally’s capabilities. Stalin’s death had taken the heart out of the Russian resistance.
He’d hoped that Wavell would produce victories in the Western Desert, but even that had turned sour in his mouth as Hitler sent more and more resources into the desert and then Rommel had taken them to create a new puppet state in Egypt, for the Italians. The British held the line at the Suez Canal, but both sides knew that it would only be a matter of time before Rommel tried to cross the waterway, or the Arab-Jewish fighting in Palestine rendered the British position untenable. They all knew, now, what fate Hitler had in mind for the Jews… and when the British position collapsed, the Jews would flee or try to fight.
“Beria has already declared his intention to attempt to reach a diplomatic solution with the Germans,” Halifax pressed. “If he settles for the status quo, he will surrender literally millions of souls, and unthinkable wealth in terms of land and resources. Hitler will be able to switch his forces back to the west, or he will be able to head into Iran and through Iran into Iraq or India.”
Churchill frowned at him. “The preservation of the Empire and the defeat of Adolph Hitler are my first priorities,” he said, coldly. “If Hitler wins in this war, the world will be plunged into barbarism.”
Clement Attlee, Leader of the Opposition and Deputy Prime Minister, coughed. “Winston, you have concentrated on winning, or at least fighting, the war, and we respect you for it,” he said. “However, our country is on the verge of internal collapse. The treasury is effectively bankrupt. The Empire is simply not supplying us with the resources we need to keep afloat. If it were not for the credit line the Americans have extended us, we would have been forced to seek terms before now.”
His voice darkened. “We sit here and talk about war on a global scale,” he continued. “Throughout England, the real victims of the war struggle to provide us with war materials and food, fearing only that their agonies will never end. As Germany brings the farmland in the Ukraine under their control, the German capability for continuing the war indefinitely will only expand, while our own ability to maintain even the current level of mobilisation will fall. I have heard of rumours of planned strikes, even riots, in protest at the recent cuts in rations. Frankly, Winston, Britain is on the verge of collapse.
“And even if we win, what have we gained? It will be a world without Hitler, but a world where we will have lost the Empire, a world where we cannot feed our children or even protect their interests,” he asked. “Can we, now, hope to defeat Germany on our own? The Soviet Union is a dead beast now and our armies are incapable of carrying the war to Germany. The war cannot be won. The best we can do is not lose.”
Churchill met his eyes. “When I became Prime Minister, there was no suggestion that we should seek a peace with that most untrustworthy little man,” he said, altering the facts slightly. There had been some secret discussions, which had come to nothing, between the Nazis and some of their British supporters. “If Hitler was a reasonable man, a man we could do business with, we could come to some arrangement. We cannot trust him to keep an agreement with us any longer than is convenient to him.”
“The war cannot be won,” Eden said flatly.
Churchill looked at him. “Is that the opinion of the House of Commons?”
“Yes,” Lord Halifax said.
“I will not seek a peace with Germany,” Churchill said. He allowed his voice to sharpen. This small delegation could only mean one thing. “Am I to assume that you intend to remove me if I refuse to seek a dishonourable p
eace?”
“The country is at stake,” Eden said, guilt written on his features. Churchill wasn’t surprised. Eden was a competent Foreign Secretary, but he had no spine. “There is no choice left but to seek a peace agreement with Hitler, at least to find out what he will let us keep.”
Churchill rose ponderously to his feet. “In that case, gentlemen, I will see the King immediately and offer my resignation,” he said. “In fact, as the great and the good of England have refused to allow me to continue my policy, I see no choice, but to insist on my immediate resignation from the post of Prime Minister.”
Oddly enough, for the first time in far too long, he felt free.
He smiled at their faces. “But mark my words, my friends,” he said. “We have not finished with Hitler, nor has he finished with us. This is not peace, but an armistice, to be broken when Herr Hitler decides that it is time to reopen the war.”
Chapter One
Near Felixstowe, England, 1950
“Here they come,” Captain Harry Jackson said, as the first noises could be heard down the road. He glanced once at his radio — noting the lack of a signal from the two men he’d deployed further down the road — and muttered a curse under his breath. The Germans had taken the two men out before they could get off a warning. “Prepare to engage the enemy.”
Jackson had deployed his company around the road, knowing that the enemy couldn’t get their tanks through the forest, but a smart enemy commander might try to slip infantry through the trees to catch Jackson’s unit before it could engage the target on their terms. The road leading down towards Felixstowe was wide enough to allow three tanks uninterrupted passage. Like many other roads in this part of the country, it had been renovated to allow for the swift passage of military vehicles. The Germans would prefer to take it, according to the briefing, in order to allow themselves time to get through the defenders. It was Jackson’s job to hold the road and slow the enemy as much as possible.
The tension rose as the sound of vehicles grew louder. The briefing had been clear. The enemy intended to push the better part of an armoured division through the area, and while Jackson didn’t have the firepower to stop it, he was expected to delay them for as long as possible. He’d deployed his antitank weapons — including, ironically, a direct copy of a German-made weapon — as best as he could, but he wasn’t expecting the position to hold for long. He’d already prepared a series of fall-back positions.
We’re only going to get one free shot, he thought coldly, as he glanced around the company’s hiding places. The weekend warriors of the Home Guard force had certain problems with discipline, but there was no doubting either their local knowledge or even their training. The original Home Guardsmen had been barely capable of resisting an unarmed bandit, but as training and equipment improved, the Home Guard had grown into a respectable fighting force.
He’d transferred from the regular army in order to share his experience with them, but stopping a German armoured division — a Panzer Division — was very different from counterinsurgency operations in India. The Indian insurgents had no tanks and rarely bothered to stand and fight.
He heard a whistle as the dark tank appeared at the end of the road, followed by two more, flanked by a group of motorcycles and patrolling infantry. Jackson bit down a curse as he took in their appearance and deployment; they were likely to trigger his mines before the main body of their force entered the range of his guns. He’d hoped to be able to hit their tanks while they were stalled, but… More tanks appeared, heading along the road at a respectable speed, and he forced himself to revise the plans quickly. If the Germans saw them, they would sweep his people from the road. They hadn’t been able to do much to block the road and prevent the Germans from using it. That hadn’t been in the briefing.
“Open fire as soon as the mines detonate,” he hissed. They’d been able to hide a small set of antitank mines down the road, at just the right location; the Germans would slow down at once and call for infantry to sweep the mines out the way. He’d prepared it — he hoped — so that the Germans would be caught in a trap, but German soldiers were trained to take the initiative as fast as they could; if they decided to gamble, they could still break through his position.
The explosion wasn’t very loud, but the puff of smoke under the tank was unmistakable. His men didn’t hesitate, or wait for orders; they fired as one, throwing a hail of antitank shells towards the enemy tank. Jackson winced as blinding white flashes of light covered the tanks, signalling that they were disabled or destroyed, and then cursed under his breath as a German truck appeared, infantry already spilling from the rear and advancing at the double. A German tank, attempting to get around the disabled tanks, ran into another mine and skidded to a halt, the crew cursing their misfortune as their part came to an end.
More shots rang out through the woods as the German infantry crashed into his men, with shouts and screams echoing out as the Germans attempted to dislodge the British from their position. Jackson lifted his own weapon as a German storm-trooper appeared, holding a grenade in one hand, and had the satisfaction of watching as the German fell to the ground, dead. He lifted his whistle to his lips and blew a single long blast, the signal for retreat. The remains of the company fled the battle, in seeming panic, right towards the next holding position. Jackson half-hoped that the Germans would pursue them directly — there was an infantry company dug in a short distance down the road — but they contented themselves with capturing the remains of the position and hunting for the mines.
“We caught them with their pants down,” Sergeant Henry Wilt said, as they reached the second position and stopped, puffing for breath. It was just in front of a bridge and that presented its own problems; the Germans might try to take the bridge, but at the same time, they would be expecting to meet an ambush there. It was the logical place to set a trap. “How many do you think we got?”
Jackson thought about it, replaying the engagement in his head. “At least four tanks,” he said, thoughtfully. They wouldn’t know how many German infantrymen they’d killed for hours yet. “What about our air support?”
“It’s been denied,” Wilt said. He was a short stocky man, every part of him devoted to muscle and determination, and he was old enough to remember serving in France and Egypt as a young soldier. Jackson privately admired him; Wilt’s impressive skills had kept him from making too many embarrassing mistakes during his first tour of duty with the Home Guard. “It’s something to do with a major air offensive…”
His voice cut off as three aircraft flew low overhead, the noise of their passage echoing over the trees and the small village just beyond the bridge. The population had already been evacuated, removing them from the path of the German advance, and the village had been converted into a strong-point The German aircraft attacked without mercy, targeting buildings with their bombs and scattering flammable oil over the village; the Germans had been known to use it in their own counterinsurgency campaigns in Russia to great success.
“So much for the village,” Wilt said, as the enemy aircraft retreated and the clamour of enemy tanks rose again. Jackson took up his binoculars as the German infantry advanced, heading towards the bridge, covered by their tanks. The antitank guns on the far side of the river opened fire, their shells falling wide of the targets, while the Germans returned fire with their own weapons. “Sir?”
“Destroy the bridge,” Jackson ordered sharply. The Germans had killed half of his company; he couldn’t hope to prevent them from taking the village, but if he could destroy the bridge, it would slow them down enough that the regulars, struggling to establish a defence line, could stop them dead in their tracks. The odds weren’t good; regular armies all around Europe had been trying to stop the Germans, and hadn’t even come close to succeeding. Jackson had been young when the German juggernaut had crashed into Poland, Norway, France, Russia… but even he remembered the dread days when everyone had known that a German invasion was imminent. Adolph ha
dn’t come to Britain, not then…
Wilt barked an order and a signalman pushed down hard on a plunger, just in time. The German infantry had reached the bridge. They would have tried to remove the explosive, but now, as the bridge blazed with white light, they knew that they had failed. Jackson had hoped that they would have tried to find another bridge, but instead, the lead German tank advanced slowly down to the river… and then into the water. Water splashed up all around it as it slowly ground across the river, before it came out of the river, firing it’s machine guns. Jackson shouted a command, calling forward the portable antitank gunners, before the tank’s weapons came right to point at him. He gave himself up to the inevitable and dropped down to the ground.
* * *
“Well, that was an interesting exercise,” Colonel Felton-Smith said an hour later. Jackson couldn’t really disagree; the ‘destroyed’ tanks and ‘killed’ men had been impressive, but the Germans — or, rather, the regular army units playing at being the Germans — had defeated the Home Guard and broken through the defence line. “Jackson, so you have any thoughts?”
Jackson, who would have preferred a hot bath and a good meal, closed his eyes to compose his thoughts. “We should have requested more portable antitank weapons,” he said, referring to the PIAT rocket launchers the Home Guard used against enemy tanks. “We moved up the field guns and used them as part of the ambush, but when we retreated, they forced us to abandon the weapons; they may even have used them against us.”
Colonel Felton-Smith shrugged. He was a career military officer, with a neatly trimmed moustache and a perfect uniform; Jackson privately wondered if he had ever actually seen any real combat in his life. The field guns had been equipped with flash-bang shells, rather than any real explosives; after all, the tanks and men advancing against them had been British. There had been some live-fire exercises, but no one sane would permit the soldiers to use real ammunition when they might kill their fellow soldiers. The fistfights were bad enough.
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