Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “I hope for your sakes this expensive little experiment does work, mein herr…” Those soft, faintly chilling words came from close by Schiller’s left shoulder, the sentiment behind them no less dangerous or unsettling than the man who’d uttered them.

  At little better than 165 centimetres tall, Paul Joseph Goebbels’ penetrating dark eyes were barely level with Schiller’s shoulder. Severe features combined with a small, thin frame to create an appearance of physical frailty that was exacerbated by the distinct limp that hindered the man’s movement as he struggled to keep pace with the generaloberst.

  A lifelong reminder of having suffered from osteomyelitis as a child (along with a failed operation to correct it), he’d been left with a right leg that was five centimetres shorter than the left. The situation had precluded any service during the First World War – something that had at the time left the young man devastated – and the disability had certainly affected him psychologically as well as physically in the many years that followed.

  “No need to concern yourself, Herr Doktor,” Schiller replied sourly, making no effort to conceal his distaste at the man’s presence. “We’ll soon have an amazing new example of Aryan science and power to reveal to the world… you’ll find it money well-spent, I can assure you.” The emphasis he’d used in the sentence had made it plain that is use of the word ‘Aryan’ was one that had intentionally been less than complimentary.

  “It had better be!” Goebbels snarled back, openly displaying his own dislike for the man beside him in return. “The amount of resources The Party has poured into this little ‘sinkhole’ of research over the last four years would’ve been enough to fund several divisions of armoured vehicles or several aircraft carriers and enough aircraft to fill them... both of which the Wehrmacht badly needs…!”

  “No one has appreciated your unwavering support of the Wehrmacht more than I over the last nine years, Herr Doktor” Reichsmarschall Reuters observed from behind both of them, his own sarcasm painfully plain, “however in this matter you may rest assured I’m well aware of the sacrifices that have been necessary in order to finance our operations here and the resources it has drained from our land, air and sea forces.”

  “Of course, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Goebbels demurred, his expertise at ‘the game’ of internal politics ensuring his tone and expressions were instantly calm and pleasant. “I’ve no doubt you have everything completely under control.”

  Both men had momentarily forgotten the Reichsmarschall’s presence, something he’d decided it might’ve been opportune to remind them of before anything degenerated into outright dispute while in The Führer’s presence. By nature of his position – and that of Goebbels himself – Reuters was required to at least accord the man a modicum of respect that was becoming of his position as Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. Schiller worked under no such onerous requirement and that fact allowed him some latitude with regard to his behaviour while in the minister’s presence.

  It was only a little more latitude however and it would ultimately be detrimental to both his career and (probably) his long term survival should the generaloberst go too far in trading insults. The pair’s dislike for each other was already well-known and were it not for the fact that the generaloberst operated beneath the umbrella of Reuters’ protection, it was very likely that Schiller might already have ‘disappeared’ or met with some untimely ‘accident’.

  Goebbels’ influence and power within Nazi Germany had been waning for some years prior to the outbreak of war. Following the NSDAP’s final rise to complete power during the early 1930s he’d found his own position almost marginalised as he’d been pushed aside by other, more powerful factions. All that had changed two years ago with the unexpected deaths-by-misadventure of three of the most powerful men in the NSDAP hierarchy – Field Marshal Hermann Göring, Deputy Führer Rudolf Hess and Nazi Party Chief Martin Bormann.

  Reported as a murder-suicide at Bormann’s hand following an argument between all three and ‘Direktor’ Oswald Zeigler, the vacuum their deaths had left had created an opportunity for several lesser identities within the NSDAP to form new cliques and power factions within the political circles functioning directly beneath The Führer himself. Goebbels had been quick to make the most of the changed situation and save for Reichsführer-SS Himmler and Reuters himself, few men now enjoyed as much regular access to Adolf Hitler as the Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.

  “I do think the choice of venue is something of a shame, however,” Goebbels continued in a more conversational tone, this time directing his words toward the Reichsmarschall himself.

  “That’s something over which I’ll most certainly agree with you, Herr Doktor,” Reuters replied with honest feeling, his own opinions regarding the desolate nature of their surroundings well-documented. “You can thank our esteemed Abwehr on that score!”

  “A real shame about the lack of facilities and also because of the distance involved!” Goebbels continued, giving a grimace as they drew near the bunker entrance. “Had we been closer to Continental Europe – or even some of the larger population centres of Grossbritannien for that matter – there might also have been the opportunity to test this device against some live subjects. We could’ve drawn any number of ‘volunteers’ from our vernichtungslager for such purposes.”

  “A fine idea under different circumstances,” Reuters countered diplomatically, hiding the grimace of distaste that Schiller openly displayed as he turned away so as to not show his face. “It would’ve been worth it to make some use out of that Jüdisch filth, I admit,” he continued, adding the last line for outward appearances and hating himself for it all the same. “The danger of after-effects on nearby civilian centres would be too great however,” he added quickly, the explanation carrying added weight in that it was perfectly true. “There would also be the added difficulty of logistics in shipping such subjects to a site so remote as this, were we to think of trying the idea the other way around.”

  “You have a forced labour gang here on the island, do you not?”

  “We do, and we have evacuated them all from Soay the same as we have our own personnel,” Reuters snapped bluntly, frustration seeping into his tone. “Those men are prisoners of war, not Jews, Herr Doktor. Those men have worked continuously and worked well for the Reich these last two years. That particular gang has been involved in construction work that has contributed greatly to our conquest of Britain and in numerous other Wehrmacht infrastructure projects since.”

  They’d come to a halt a few steps behind The Führer as the Chancellor paused at the bunker entrance, speaking for a moment with some of the guards. As he turned to face Goebbels fully for the first time, he was in real danger of losing what was left of his temper. At the very least, the Reichsmarschall was no longer prepared to conceal the fact that he had no interesting in being told how to do his job by a civilian regardless of the man’s position within the NSDAP or his personal connections with Hitler.

  “The longer we carry on this conversation, the longer we’re keeping The Führer from a comfortable chair and a hot breakfast…” That last sentence was far louder than those that had preceded it – purposefully so – and it attracted Hitler’s attention exactly as Reuters had intended. “With your permission, Mein Herr, I’ll respectfully request that we now got on with this test we’ve all been waiting far too long for…”

  “…Of… Of course, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Goebbels responded sharply, ice in his words as he nervously glanced over Reuters’ shoulder and noted that The Führer had indeed caught the exchange. “I’ve no doubt we’d all be happy to have this over with and instead be enjoying a hearty breakfast.”

  “I believe we’re ready to begin, Meine Herren,” Hitler observed in his own dark, cold tones, the words putting paid to any further discussion from either side. Inside please, if you would…?”

  They filed into the bunker without another word, a pistol-armed guard holding open t
he thick steel door and ushering them through. The structure’s interior was remarkably spacious in area although most were forced to keep their heads permanently bowed to avoid making contact with the low ceiling. Basically a simple rectangle in shape, there were no windows whatsoever save for one single viewing slot approximately thirty centimetres wide and positioned roughly at head height that ran almost the entire length of the north-western wall, facing out toward Soay in the darkness. The opening was lined with a thick metal frame, into which was fitted several equally-thick slabs of tinted glass.

  Work benches and instrument consoles lay along that same wall while several movie cameras stood upon tripods there also, their large, emotionless lenses staring out into darkness through the same glassed windows. Masses of cables ran the length and breadth of the floor in all directions threatening to trip the unwary, while wire-guarded fluorescent light battens secured to the ceiling at regular intervals provided more opportunities for bruised heads as they moved about the area.

  In a far corner, Direktor Wilhelm Hegel stood alone at the opposite end of that large room, the titular head of the RFR stiffening visibly as he noted the arrival of The Führer and the attendant entourage. Dressed in a plain but expensive grey suit and an ankle-length black overcoat to match, he seemed particularly uncomfortable with Reuters’ presence, as important and necessary as the Reichsmarschall’s attendance was.

  The group known colloquially as the ‘Board of Directors’, of which Hegel was a member, had maintained a long association with Kurt Reuters that reached back into their own pasts much further than the NSDAP’s rise to power in 1933. While mutually beneficial for the most part, that association had been a rocky one at best with both sides barely tolerant of one another most of the time.

  Hegel was also currently a major instigator in a covert operation of national importance of which Reuters had no knowledge – a situation the head of the RFR wished to keep secret for reasons of his own long-term survival as much as to maintain the integrity of the project itself. All-in-all, were it not for the fact that his own presence that morning was mandatory, Wilhelm Hegel would’ve readily admitted he’d have been happier to have been somewhere else entirely.

  “Finally ready for our little test here, Wilhelm,” Reuters began with what was at least partially an honest attempt at giving a conciliatory tone as he drew near. “There’s been a lot of hard work done to get us to this point, a good deal of that by yourself and your team…”

  “Fair praise… and hard come by too, no doubt,” Hegel answered with a faint but genuine nod of recognition, no insult intended in the reply. “We’ve not always seen eye to eye, Kurt, and I’m well aware you’ve no great love for any of us,” he noted, both knowing full well whom he was referring to, before adding: “…any more than we’ve had any great fondness for you or your team.” The words were frank but cordial, and Reuters accepted them in the same fashion. Of all the Directors, Hegel had always been the least intolerable to work with and had caused Reuters the least trouble. “You’ve always been an honest man though – sometimes painfully so – and I’ve always respected that despite our differences.”

  “…And you’ve always given one hundred per cent in everything you’ve put your mind to, Wilhelm,” Reuters also nodded in recognition, willing to concede a bit of his own ground in light of the test that morning that was the culmination of years of hard work they’d both contributed to. “Nice to see we can still work together to produce something of worth every now and then.” He made a show of looking about. “Gerhard’s not with us today? I can’t believe he’d miss this…”

  “Ah, the poor fellow had an illness in the family – one of his children, I’m afraid,” Hegel lied without missing a beat, his smile genuine and widening as the conversation moved back toward the well-travelled comfort of falsehood rather than a rather awkward sensation of semi-forced camaraderie. “It devastated him to have stayed behind but family comes first, after all.”

  “Of course,” Reuters nodded solemnly with complete acceptance. “A real shame – this was his ‘baby’ more than anyone’s – but as you say: family…”

  They stood together a few more seconds in awkward silence before the Reichsmarschall finally made the first move and took his leave. It took all of Hegel’s strength and will power to not release a deep sigh of nervous relief as he watched the man walk away and forced his shaking hands deep into his pockets.

  Wisch, Schmidt and Böhm also stood to one side near the rear of the room, ostensibly minding their own business as they chatted softly among themselves and also fighting to remain awake after having spent a similarly-long night waiting for something to happen. They were present as guests of the Reichsmarschall himself – something that was a great honour – but all three would much rather have been curled up in their own beds aboard ship right at that moment, had they been given the choice.

  “It’s been a long night for the three of you, Meine Herren,” Reuters observed with a smile as he walked over to the group, completely in tune with the feelings of ordinary troops as if somehow able to read their minds much in the same way that good commanders throughout history had always been able. “This was intended to be a treat but it’s turned into something of a trial for all of us.”

  “We’ll be happy to find our beds again, Herr Reichsmarschall, and that’s the truth,” Schmidt nodded quickly, “but I’m intrigued by this ‘secret’ device of yours all the same and I think we’re all looking forward to seeing whatever show it’s about to put on.”

  “You’ll find it well worth the wait, gentlemen,” Reuters assured with a knowing grin as he turned to stare off into the darkness outside the bunker’s viewing slot. “Have no fear on that score!”

  Sturmbannführer Klaus Brenner stood close by as the official party clustered together near the closed door. There were perhaps another half-dozen scientists working with him, tending to their instruments and taking notes as they moved between various pieces of equipment. There’d been many lesser technicians and other workers crowded within that bunker over the last few weeks as preparations continued however all non-essential staff had been evacuated down to Am Baile the evening before.

  “I see you’ve been deserted, Herr Brenner...?” Hitler asked with a faint, dry smile. “Has Herr Fuchs left you to look after the ‘shop’ while he gets some beauty sleep ‘down below’…?” There was little real humour in the man’s tone but to his credit, the German Chancellor knew exactly who the man was all the same. The Führer had made sure he’d learned all there was to know about the project prior to his arrival for the test: the research had consumed a huge proportion of the RFR’s budget over the last three years to the point where heads would most definitely roll should it prove a failure, and Adolf Hitler intended to be right there on the spot whichever way things went.

  “The – the Standartenführer has been called away due to an illness in the family, Mein Führer,” Brenner replied nervously, visibly intimidated. He at least believed what he was saying, having been given the same fabricated story to explain away Fuchs’ absence. “It is unfortunate but unavoidable. Nevertheless, we shall provide you with a fine show here this morning.”

  “Let us hope so for everyone’s sake,” The Führer replied quickly, allowing a little more acid creep into his tone than was comfortable for anyone within earshot who valued their safety. “How soon can we get this over with? I should very much like to head back to the village camp myself for breakfast.”

  “Of course, Mein Führer,” Brenner nodded immediately. “Everything is prepared, as I said: all I need is final confirmation the test area is clear and we can go straight to a ten-second count down.”

  “I should think there’s been ample warning already to evacuate the island, Herr Sturmbannführer...” The grim smile that accompanied those words was anything but warm or friendly. “If anyone’s still over there now after almost an entire night of delays, I’d say it probably serves them right…” The directive in those simple wo
rds was implicit: no more waiting – get on with it.

  “I understand, Mein Führer…” Brenner answered, knowing better than to argue or disagree. “We’ll commence forthwith…”

  With a simple nod of approval from the German Chancellor, he turned stiffly on his heels and took a few steps forward, moving toward the middle of the room as he addressed the rest of his team.

  “Anton…! Leon…! We’re switching to final countdown now… arm the device if you would be so kind.”

  That single command brought on a flurry of activity from the two technicians in question, both instantly leaping across several meters of space to arrive together at a large console positioned in the centre of the western wall, directly below the thick glass of the main observation window. At the same time, another man moved toward the brace of tripod-mounted cameras, activating each one in turn and taking the time to ensure each was operating correctly.

  “…Auxiliary generator coming online…” One of them responded within a few seconds as deft hands glided quickly across the panel, turning knobs and switches with the speed of a confidence trickster working a shell game. “Power levels all stable and within optimum levels…”

  “Telemetry indicates device is armed and ready for test…” the other man added immediately afterward, eyes never leaving the console before him. “All instruments display as ‘green’ – ready to begin countdown.”

  “Mein Führer… Meine Herren...” Brenner moved among the official party, handing out pairs of dark-tinted goggles from a bag he’d taken from a table near the door. “It would be advisable to use this protective eyewear at this point…”

  Hitler and Goebbels looked about with dubious expressions as if suspicious of being made the victim of some silly prank however the calm certainty Ritter and Schiller displayed in their immediate compliance with Brenner’s recommendation allayed their misgivings as everyone else inside the bunker, guards and technicians alike, donned their own protective glasses.