by Scott Palter
Deaths on the Nile
The Reich without Hitler Book 2
Scott Palter
Markus Baur
Mike Rohde
The Reich Without Hitler
Volume 2
Deaths on the Nile
©Final Sword Productions LLC, 2019
By Scott Palter with Mike Rohde and Markus Baur
Major Content Assistance from: Markus Baur, Marco Pertoni, Mike Rohde
Content Assistance: Jason Long
Soviet, Israeli, Zionist and Russian content assistance: Igor Bunimovich
German and Nazi background for initial ATL creation: Erik Fischer
Coming up with Coxita’s full Catalan name plus a bit of Mexico City geography: Kier Salmon
Other Assistance: Fred McCann, Duane Oldsen, Don Hoban, Richard Moncure, Tony Zbaraschuk
Editing: Richard Moncure
Layout and Cover: Sam Pray
All errors remain mine: Scott Palter
Capitalizations and terms: German and English have different conventions for what nouns to capitalize when. We have mostly German and English speaking POV characters and have tried to be faithful to the two grammatical traditions depending on whether we are seeing the world through German or Anglophone eyes. We have tried to do the same with pounds versus kilograms, the two systems of temperature and miles versus kilometers. I am sure I slipped up multiple someplaces but that is the logic.
Isaac v Isaak: Same man but Isaac Cohen is for obvious reasons Isaak Schwabe. Which is used is a matter of social context.
Fan Group: The Reich Without Hitler at groups.io
Facebook Fan Group: The Falcons of Malta. (Yes, in Book 1 it says the Facebook Group is The Reich Without Hitler. Facebook canceled that group for violating community standards, reinstated it after I explained that we were not Nazi groupies, and then canceled it again without explaining why or answering any of my requests to discuss the matter. The magic word Hitler was enough. Hence the great renaming.)
The fan groups have general WW2 material, some in-greater-depth discussion of this ATL, and advance chapters on the next book in production, which will be Volume 3: Jerusalem of Gold. I plan to have that book out for first quarter of 2020. I planned to have this book, #2, out early December of 2018 and will be at least nine months late. I am optimistic on how fast I can write books this long with this much complex plot and characterization.
Historical notes – In the first volume, Falcons of Malta, the historic July 19th promotion list has moved up to June 22nd. The original date was misstated in Book 1: The Falcons of Malta as July 17th.
Soviet moves into Romania and the Baltic states are also somewhat altered.
In this book, it will be revealed that an order regarding airships was in fact not carried out.
I screwed up Jodl's rank in Book 1. In OTL he didn't become a Colonel General until 1944. So he should have been a General from the promotion list we moved up from the historic July 19th to June 22nd.
CET = Central European Time, which is summer time in this season. Time zones and when/if various places have daylight time were researched, but the results are often contradictory. We did our best, but your mileage may vary.
Chapter 1
0700 local time; 0600 CET
28 August 1940
Harbor, Tobruk, Libya
Hauptsturmführer Jochen Peiper stood on the dock watching his vehicles being unloaded. The Libyan heat was oppressive, and the ever-present flies were an even worse affliction. He was not inclined to complain about either. It had been a most strange, stressful two months. As Himmler’s adjutant, he should have been liquidated during the coup. His patron, Reichsführer Himmler, had been shot out of hand; and his official family had died with him. Peiper had not been with the boss or at SS HQ that crazy night. He’d been on a three-day leave with his wife. The Gestapo had still found him by midday of the rebellion, which is how Peiper saw what had happened. Heydrich and Göring had allied with the Army to assassinate the Führer and elevate themselves.
Peiper kept that opinion to himself. He’d been in the death cells twice over a ten-day period. There had been lists. He was marked for death, removed to the detention cells, returned to the death cells, and then sent home. Arriving home, he had to first comfort his hysterical wife Sigi. He’d been gone with no word. Her best friend Hedwig, Himmler’s mistress, had been arrested. Sigi had been terrified. Fortunately, her other dear friend, Lina Heydrich, had gotten Hedwig released. Peiper was unsure if that fairy godmother had also preserved his own life. There was no polite way to ask, so he just sent her a thank-you note on general principles.
He'd no sooner seen to that when a messenger arrived for him. He was to report to Oberführer Felix Steiner for combat duty. Combat duty? Peiper had served honorably with LAH during the French campaign, but why now and why Steiner? Peiper had never really been given detailed answers to either question. Heydrich now ruled the SS (and rumor said all of Germany with Göring just a figurehead). Peiper knew he should be thinking of him as Reichsführer Heydrich, but that would take getting used to. Reichsführer Heydrich, however, was giving him a chance at redemption. Because of Peiper’s small combat history? Because Lina Heydrich wished it? No way to know. Steiner was no help. He was forming an ad hoc division of some new militia called the NL. His recruits were middle-aged SA men, mid-teenage HJ, and a bunch of semi-foreigners from the Baltic who claimed German nationality although many could barely speak the language.
This light Panzer Grenadier division, whatever that was, seemed to consist of a French brigade no one had seen, that was already in Libya, and various field-expedient units. The Army was ‘contributing’ the 288th Sonderverband, men combed from all over the Army for desert and similar-terrain experience. Felix Steiner had been an Army officer. He fully expected these ‘terrain experts’ to turn out to be the sweepings of every guardhouse in the German Army. Given a choice, a commander sent warm bodies, not his best. The only way to get quality was to send your own teams to root people out, something the Army would never allow. Steiner also expected this unit to be late. The second major formation, the 361st Panzer Grenadier regiment, was being created by recruiting out of the French and Polish POW camps for Volksdeutsche, Alsatians, and similar Aryan elements. For cadres this unit would get Aryans from the French Foreign Legion returned to their proper home in the Reich. Steiner felt they would be lucky to get a battalion this way, but needs must. That left making bricks without straw. The NL recruits were a mix of SA and HJ. The SA were mostly WW1 vets who hadn’t seem a crew served-weapon since the Freikorps had been disbanded in the early 20’s. His HJ were kids who knew nothing beyond marching and saluting. They needed exercises at every level from squad upwards to regiment. Instead they were being formed into ad hoc units of roughly company size, and told to train themselves while in transit. Nominally these companies were to be assembled into the 200th and 255th Light Afrika motorized regiments. Regiments? Right now they were company-sized march units scattered everywhere from Austria to Libya. Steiner felt this would only end poorly. Peiper agreed.
Steiner saw Peiper as a combat veteran. Peiper was also Waffen SS, the same service as Steiner. Steiner had been candid that he was surprised to see Peiper still alive, but glad to get him. Right now the ‘division’ was being formed around a shell left over from the demobilized Army 197th Infantry Division. Enough men had been kept with the colors to form the core of a division HQ and administrative services. Steiner had a few officers out raiding the overmanned rear area establishments of SS and Air Force for paymasters, engineers, bakers, butchers, and all the other specialties needed to make the administrative services work. He was getting transfers fro
m the Navy to begin forming his artillery units. That left the 347th regiment. It had three real battalions. One each of Latvians, Lithuanians, and Estonians. Steiner spoke not a word of their languages, but their field officers all spoke German. Real soldiers and formed units, but how eager would they be to fight for Germany? This unit was already deployed to Libya. Time would tell if it was worth the bother.
The Afrika Division was supposed to have a Panzer reconnaissance battalion, the 580th. Someday it would. Right now it had a company of fifteen French AMR 35’s. Also a Mercedes touring car with two radios as Peiper’s command vehicle, and a dozen motorcycles for dispatch riders. The French had called the AMR a cavalry tank. Peiper thought armored reconnaissance vehicle was more accurate. He’d been promised one of the command variants, the one with actual radios, eventually. Peiper wasn’t holding his breath. He had had nine days to train his HJ’s till they could sort of drive their vehicles. They managed this mostly on roads in daylight. He had no support services. For now he had written orders to report to 7th Panzer Division, where something called KG Strauss would see to his needs. The vehicles had already shown themselves to be mechanically cranky, so he hoped those services included skilled mechanics. In the meantime, he’d sent his least clueless HJ to the harbor-master’s office with instructions to find out where this KG Strauss was - and hopefully to get a guide. The port was a madhouse. Peiper had little doubt he could get lost, and first impressions mattered. The death cells still lurked if he got a bad report.
0800 local time; 0700 CET
28 August 1940
Camp Gorlov/advance camp KG Strauss Southeast of Tobruk, Libya
Oberst Gunter Strauss was tired. He’d spent two whirlwind days on Sicily, plus the bumpy flights back and forth. He’d had to throw Heydrich’s name around a lot to get passage plus the use of a car in Sicily. He hoped this wouldn’t get back to Berlin. However, it had been necessary. Now he was in a staff meeting. Given that the KG ran more along the lines of a freikorps or a mercenary band from bygone centuries, it was less a formalized staff meeting than a gathering of his main deputies. Major Ivan Gorlov, originally of Baron Wrangel’s White Army and now his advance force commander, was the nominal host. Major by the grace of Rommel’s whimsy Isaak Schwabe, Gorlov’s civilian boss and patron at the Ploeisti oil fields, had by now gained entrée into the inner circle. Majors Adolph Wrede and Gregor Voss were both still back with the main body at Bari. That left Hauptmann Joey Bats, mechanical wizard and full time hustler, plus the Romeo and Juliet pair, Major by the grace of chaotic misunderstandings Klaus Steiner and Leutnant by elevation in Libya Greta Schwabe, although for all practical purposes it was Greta Steiner by now whatever the formalities said. Greta had found the jewel-encrusted statues and was the only person who recalled the two nondescript British officers whose luggage the birds had been in. Including Greta without Klaus wouldn’t work; and besides, she told him everything anyway.
The meeting room was a decrepit one-room wooden shack with a rickety table, a few mismatched ancient chairs, and an electric light that sometimes worked. The windows lacked actual glass. Instead, they had fine-mesh wire that allowed for what little breeze there was while keeping out some of the endless swarms of flying insects. None of these Europeans was enjoying the climate or fauna of their African ‘vacation’, but this was war. You went where you were ordered, and hoped to survive. So far they were all still alive, but the war showed no sign of ending soon.
“They never arrived in Sicily per the paper work.” Strauss was disgusted by this turn of events. He had hoped to reacquire the prisoners, and ‘persuade’ them to supply details of the history and origins of these golden falcons. “Our records show them taking off, but nothing shows them checked-in on landing. Not on that flight. Not on any flight.” Gunter paused again to catch his breath. This heat was going to take time to get used to. “It is obvious what happened. Whoever patted them down missed some coins, or gold, or wads of bank notes. Someone got well paid to let them vanish. Probably several someones. Gerbini was full-on chaos. No one was precisely making prisoner check-in a command priority. However, without telling the Reichsführer what happened, we are at a dead end … ”
“And if we tell Berlin, they will take all the loot.” Joey was a courtesy Volksdeutsche. In fact he was an Italian-American semi-gangster from Brooklyn. “So we wing it. Find a fence in Egypt, and just sell it based on gold and jewels. Yeah, we get screwed on the real value, but we still get a major haul. There’s got to be a story that makes it valuable beyond the basic components - but we don’t know it, so let it be. We’ll still get enough. In wartime chaos, moveable wealth goes at a premium. Egypt will be full of guys looking for wealth that fits into a carry bag. That’s the way it would be if someone invaded New York.” Joey had been more a vehicle mechanic for gangsters than a hood himself, but he knew the logic patterns. When things went bad, you couldn’t go on the lam with real estate or businesses. You needed cash, or the sort-of-near-cash that gold and jewels were.
Greta was hesitant to speak up. The last time she had taken an initiative, she had gotten her parents and siblings murdered back in Romania. She was aware that her being a ‘Lieutenant ’ was just a way of formalizing that her orders were to be obeyed for some reason beyond her being the Lieutenant turned Major’s woman. She was his mistress and the HQ cook. So far all being an officer had done, was ratify her recruitment of an actual cook because she was pathetic in a kitchen. She carefully phrased her comment as a diffident question, “Uncle Isaak, don’t we have a relative in Egypt who could help?”
Isaak shook his head. He would love to have beaten his niece for opening this can of worms. However, her boyfriend could execute him out of hand and no one would care. Klaus was too unworldly to understand this. Strauss was not unworldly, and Heydrich even less so. Steiner was a lucky totem for them both; and his niece completed the propaganda package of the German Romeo and Juliet off to subdue King Tut. Fortune smiles on the clueless. “He’s a fourth cousin by marriage. In Transylvania he was Hymie. He was a fence, a counterfeiter, a swindler; and he escaped one step ahead of the prison gates. He’s been a few places since, but now claims to be a Canadian, Henry Morgan. Runs an ‘import/export’ business in Alexandria.” Isaak paused for Gunter and Joey’s peals of laughter. They understood the phrase, as meaning a fence who would buy or sell anything. Just the man to find a buyer. Just the man to try to swindle them out of the proceeds. Both had dealt with the type in their earlier lives. Both felt that between the power of their uniforms and the number of guns they had under their command, they could keep a fence honest enough on one deal. Besides, no one had a better answer. It neatly put the problem off till after the conquest of Egypt.
0900 local time; 0800 CET
28 August 1940
British military HQ, Cairo
The discussion had been going on since just after an early breakfast. It was not going well. General Archibald Wavell knew he was handing Major General Richard O’Connor, the commander of the Western Desert Force, a sticky wicket. O’Connor’s position near Mersa Matrah was fortified. It was no Maginot Line, but it was a strong position. He had two good professional divisions, 7th Armored and 4th Indian, with brigade and smaller forces amounting to a third division. He lacked the heavy guns and support forces that would go with a standard corps, but Britain was overstretched in this second summer of a war undertaken from Chamberlain’s fatal promise to Poland. A promise the British were years from having mobilized the force to properly honor. Haig had an army group in 1916 while Britain fielded whole additional armies in Egypt, Iraq, Salonika, and East Africa. Now, 1940, senior generals argued about battalions and batteries, about allotments of machine-gun ammunition. Other than rations and gasoline, the Empire was short of everything in this vast theater that stretched from Basra to Nairobi.
“I know you are promising me 6th Australian Division, even if it is incomplete. Doesn’t matter. My southern flank is open to the desert. The Axis doesn’t hav
e to directly attack me. Just swing wide. They have the forces to do it. The Italian 10th Army may have lacked the trucks before the German reinforcements, but they are getting Panzers, whole divisions of them. RAF hasn’t got the strength to contest the skies, but their photo recon lads are getting through. Paying a hell of a price, but we have the pictures. You’ve seen them. Let me pull back to Alamein. That line has a southern anchor, the Depression. We’ll still be massively outnumbered, but our people know how to do a trench fight. We can form two more divisions between what got off Malta, and Winston finally allowing us to recruit Palestinian Jews without having to find matching Arabs. The Nazis hate Jews. The Jews will fight.” O’Connor paused for breath, for a hope his commander would see reason.
“London insists. No retreats. Morale, the opinion of the US and the neutrals. The usual.” Wavell didn’t like defending London’s decisions. He didn’t like a lot of things, but would do his duty to King and Empire. “Best I can let you do is set the staff work for a run back to Alamein once it looks dark enough. Have to be nighttime or sand-storm. They will dominate the skies same as Malta. We finally have enough planes but they are all back home. We’re supposed to start getting fresh squadrons ferried across Africa. This Gaullist thing in Chad should help. We have to buy time. As is, expect your officers to have to do extra work on morale. Fleet’s leaving. The cripples already passed through the Canal, bound for Durban or Singapore. The rest follow over the next few days. They’ll be taking the bulk of the port people with them. Technicians, headquarters, etc. The submarines and a destroyer squadron stay. Winston wanted more but War Cabinet seems to be growing a spine after Malta. Cunningham’s death is a cudgel with which to beat his British lion act.”
