Deaths on the Nile

by Scott Palter

Rommel started to argue, and von Manstein just raised a hand. “This is not a negotiation. Four battalions. Write them down before leaving this room, or I choose them. The rest of you know what the plan calls for. Dismissed.” Von Manstein resolved to send a staff officer along to observe this Strauss in action. The man might prove useful.

  1400 hours CET

  5 September 1940

  Conference Room of SS Headquarters, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, Berlin

  With Defense Production Minister Todt conducting an inspection of Hungary and Romania following the recent fighting, Deputy Four Year Plan Administrator (and SS Standartenführer by the grace of Heydrich) Albert Speer found himself chairing a meeting on electric power – or, to be more precise, lack thereof. Total war was complicated even for an ace bureaucrat such as Speer. Every decision had endless contradictory ripple effects. Plus, Speer was never certain his reprieve from the death cells was not revocable. The old Heydrich may have been his friend. This new Reichsführer SS had subordinates, minions but not friends.

  As was normal, General der Infantry Thomas of the Heer, Air Marshal Wolfram von Richthofen of the Luftwaffe and Vice Admiral Werner Fuchs of the Kriegsmarine represented their three services. Von Richthofen made clear he also represented the new Führer Göring personally. Thomas found it hard to do the same as regards Generals Beck and Halder, as all were aware that Heydrich had moved Thomas out from under them with Göring’s blessings. Thomas was now part of OKW, nominally Führer Göring’s planning staff. None of the assembled worthies were in any doubt whose plans OKW did, not after Malta.

  Fuchs during the first few meetings had sulked. His service had been effectively castrated. In the last few meetings he had begun to exhibit signs of life. Fuchs had focused on tactical objectives for his service. If the campaign was to be in the Mediterranean, small ships would be needed, more so as no one in Berlin trusted the Italian Navy. Getting funding for improved diesel engines for U-Boats and small surface ships had been his achievable goal. Getting interim funding for now, for improved U-Boat designs on the basis of long-term strategic needs, was Fuch’s hoped -for second victory. So far progress on that had been quite provisional. The Navy felt that Germany would need progress in these areas if Britain declined to make peace after Iraq fell. Heydrich, speaking through OKW, had disagreed, preferring further advances in Arabia and Africa should Iraq not be the key to peace. Either way, Germany’s leaders weren’t interested in a battle fleet. Work on Bismarck and Tirpitz was put aside. Cheaper weapons like destroyers and U-Boats were possible to get funded, if assembled in Trieste for ease of deployment. Speer had been working on plans to send pre-fabricated sections of U-Boats and destroyers for final assembly by Cantieri Riuniti dell'Adriatico (CRDA) (United Shipbuilders of the Adriatic).

  Von Richthofen spent a great deal of his time at these meetings sparring with Thomas over resources – with Todt (or in this case, Speer) casting the deciding vote while Fuchs either kept quiet or offered suggestions from the sides. Indeed, Fuchs had used these bureaucratic battles to get the AAA defense of the key ports handed to his service. After all, with the battle fleet not needed, they had surplus gunnery officers and technicians.

  This meeting’s current argument was over electrical power. Any type of production needed electrical power at some point during the manufacturing process, and most likely at multiple points. The worst hog in terms of need for electrical power was the chemical industry, which needed it for the manufacture of artificial nitrates, and the synthetic oil programs. As those programs ramped up, energy demand would get even higher for the chemical industry and for the war economy as a whole.

  Dr. Richard Fischer the Reichslastverteiler (Load Administrator) head of the Reichsstelle für die Elektrizitätswirtschaft (Central Office of Electrical Supply) was tasked with attempting to meet these various and never-ending demands for electricity. He was at this meeting to explain why he couldn’t.

  “Gentlemen, with the summer months over, our supply of hydro-power is going to begin to drop – and with it, what little safety margin we have in the power grid.” Fischer wasn’t going to attempt to sugar-coat the bitter pill he was handing these men to swallow. “Soon we will have to start to make choices as to what facility does and does not get power.”

  Von Richthofen shrugged. “Take it from the civilians.”

  On his side of the table, Thomas smiled. Having been involved in the war economy for roughly the past decade, he knew that von Richthofen’s suggestion wasn’t practical. But he let the good doctor explain the facts of life.

  “Air Marshal, the load on the grid from houses and public buildings is just over 6% of the grid’s demands. We have plans in place to do rolling blackouts, but that simply will not cover emergencies such as one of the major plants going down or transmission lines being disrupted.”

  The Luftwaffe officer was an engineer himself, and tended to view problems as a question of application of resources. “What about the occupied nations … ”

  “I am sorry, Marshal, but each nation’s grid tends to be a self-contained unit. It’s really not possible to take capacity from, say, the Netherlands or France.”

  Not wanting the meeting to bog down, Speer tapped the table. “Marshal, I believe the good doctor has a suggestion.” Speer’s face was an easy read to those familiar with him. He had briefed Heydrich and already had his backing. So they looked impatiently to Fischer for a miracle.

  Doctor Fischer frowned. He wanted to have some magical solution to the problem, but there wasn’t one. If this displeased Speer and therefore Heydrich … his will was in order; and besides, he was safer being shot for saying no, than telling lies to the Reichsführer-SS. At least the truth would save his family and co-workers from execution. “We are adding primary capacity at roughly 5% per year, but growth in demand continues to outstrip supply. The electrical parts manufacturers AEG, Siemens, and Brown-Boveri are working as hard as they can with current resources; and we are keeping old plants running past shut-down dates, but there isn’t any magical pill to this problem. I need a priority list from you gentlemen, as to what keeps going when we can no longer meet demand.”

  The uniformed officers were not pleased to hear this, but Fuchs and Thomas had been expecting it. Von Richthofen still wanted to find a solution. His service desperately needed more aluminum, and producing it required gobs of electric power. “No way to increase production of plants faster?”

  Thomas chuckled, “It’s the old story, my dear Marshal, to build A means taking resources from B. What Luftwaffe project gets short-changed to allow for Siemens to build more generators?” Thinking it over, Thomas laughed again, “We are robbing Peter to pay Paul, and have been for some time. So, short of Professor Diebner’s project turning up wonders, we are limited to coal-fired plants.”

  Everyone was confused at the apparent non sequitur. Thomas caught himself and clarified. “A physicist, in charge of the Uranium Project. That is under Army control.”

  Speer vaguely recalled the project. It wasn’t very large, “They are investigating the potential of atomic fission for military applications.” The other two nodded uncertainly. Von Richthofen made a mental note to have Göring’s staff chase this down The Führer didn’t do detail work, but some good young men had been seconded from the Air Ministry to the Chancellery staff. They had some technical knowledge, blazing ambition, and the energy of youth. Ah, to again be that young and clueless.

  “Not having much to show for it either,” grumbled Thomas. But seeing the continued baffled looks, he elaborated: “One of the possibilities is for creating some type of power plant using splitting of atoms , instead of coal. You would have to talk to Professor Diebner or perhaps Doktor Heisenberg for more details.”

  Dr. Fischer interjected, “Replacing coal could save energy, as a lot of coal is such poor quality that having to haul it any distance makes it uneconomical as a power source.”

  Speer saw it as saving manpower and railway capacity. Everything was in short
supply, and anything you gave less to managed to screw up the things you were trying to prioritize. He morbidly recalled being in an Air Force supply bunker a few months ago waiting to be liquidated. Dealing with endless shortages as a senior official, was far better than awaiting liquidation as a minor architect whose patron had just died.

  Speer made a note. “Perhaps it’s time for an update on their efforts. In the meantime, as to Doctor Fischer’s problem. Berlin … ” An obvious place marker to the rest, for his patron Heydrich “ … has dictated that we consider long-term implications. So I want you three to evaluate programs in terms of where you can come up with resource cuts.” Then, turning back to Dr. Fisher: “Draw up various program scenarios for expansion of the grid, depending on different levels of additional resources. Also start to look into the lack of integration with the rest of Europe. If electrical power is a bottle-neck on production, then we should address that sooner rather than later.”

  2000 hours Eastern Daylight time, 5 September 1940

  0400 hours CET, 6 September 1940

  Yankee Stadium, Bronx, New York

  The stadium was packed to the rafters for the America First Rally. It had been booked on roughly a day’s notice. As in most major cities, money can move mountains. Permits had been expedited, fire marshals paid off to ignore limits on occupancy, and massive publicity used to assemble the crowd. Of course, the publicity had also assembled the mob outside attempting to storm the gates and occupy the stage. There was a deafening roar outside, as the mass of leftists and Jews fought the mostly Irish NYC police, aided by ‘loyal Irish volunteers’ recruited out of parish churches by the promise of a good night’s pay in cash – plus an opportunity to stick it to the British.

  Lucky Lindy had never been a coward. Cowards don’t fly the Atlantic solo. If the mob made it to the speaker’s platform, he would go down fighting. Father Coughlin was warming up the crowd. Lindy found the level of Jew- and banker-baiting unseemly, but this was a crusade to save his beloved nation, not a lady’s garden party. Lindy wasn’t socially fond of the Hebrews, but his real objection was their dual loyalties, prioritizing their European brethren over their supposed nation. Coughlin seemed to physically loathe the Jews. They were all communist bankers ready to impoverish decent Christians. Lindy knew the origins of the Depression were far more complex than gutter theories of Jewish cabals. Lindbergh was also aware that Willkie was, at best, a fair-weather friend. At heart he was as Anglophile and internationalist as that fiend Roosevelt. Lindy had heard some of the Irish followers of Coughlin refer to the president as Roosenfelt. Absurd. The man was a Hudson Valley Dutch patrician, a follower of that idiot Wilson, not some half-assimilated refugee from a Ukrainian shtetl.

  Lindbergh was also aware that Roosevelt had traded near-useless planes for air bases. That part was fine. He’d never admit it in public, but the planes were worthless, years behind what was needed. The problem was that Franklin knew nothing of aviation technology. He’d be likely to bargain away good planes, planes that could sink invading fleets, next. Lindy was prepared to make multiple pacts with demons, if that was the price of saving America from this nest of traitors and idiots.

  1200 hours local time; 0500 hours CET

  6 September, 1940

  Just south of the middle Yalu, Japanese-occupied Korea

  Provisional Second Lieutenant Takagi Magao examined the hill path cautiously. He had been ‘graduated’ ahead of schedule from Changchan Military Academy by the outbreak of the war. Now here he was, commanding a platoon of Manchurian police plus a dozen Korean volunteer scouts against the red guerrillas of the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army. There had been reports of Soviet air drops into the hills south of the river last night. Soviet regulars? Chinese or Korean partisans returned from training in the Soviet Union? Spies? Saboteurs? Supplies? For all Lieutenant Takagi knew, this was fantasy from overexcited local peasants.

  The various Japanese forces had been waging a large ‘anti-bandit’ campaign in these steep hills for the better part of a year. The mixed Chinese and Korean force had proven to be formidable foes. Takagi had hoped the war would have brought him service with the Imperial Japanese forces. Instead here he was chasing political rural bandits. Rationally he understood the need. The rear had to be kept clear so the Emperor’s forces could be supplied from the Home Islands. As a Korean-born subject of the Son of Heaven, his language skills would be put to best use here instead of directly at the front.

  One of the scouts, a teenage volunteer, was running back. They had found two poorly-buried parachutes. So the reports were real. Time to chase Reds. The lieutenant got his men moving, heading deeper into the trackless mountain wilds of far northern Korea.

  0800 hours local; 0700 hours CET

  6 September 1940

  HQ Western Desert Force, Mersa Matruh, Egypt

  Major General Richard O’Connor had his staff up before dawn. He had small scout groups out. The RN had landed small scouting parties where they could monitor the coast road. The armored cars prowled the desert interior ahead of his lines. All three sets of reports told the same story. The enemy army was stirring. The few photo recon flights that survived to return home confirmed this. The encampments were full of the sort of last-minute activity that foretold a major movement. Units were being prepped for combat.

  He faced a strong Italo-German army. To oppose it he had a weak Empire corps. The first brigade of the partially trained 6th Australian Division had arrived, as had two South African armored car regiments. All that he could expect to follow was another brigade of Australians, plus the divisional support units. The deployments had to be done under cover of darkness. Axis planes ruled the coast highway from dawn to dusk.

  O’Connor didn’t blame Wavell. London had its head so far up its ass, it needed a glass stomach. He was the one left with the sticky wicket. He had two brigades up front in the Mersa Matruh fortified area, including the Charon Cross strongpoint. He had light forces forward from the sea to the northern fringes of the deep desert. He had an entrenched camp at Bagush for the rest, not the Maginot Line. When the Australians all arrived, he would have four divisions with the artillery firepower of three and a half. The Axis force looked to be between four and six corps. Granted that most of that was Italian, who had not exactly shone with glory in the Alps against the French back in June. The Germans weren’t yet acclimated to the weather, the sand, the dust, the local diseases. However, it was still a fully mechanized army. It was still backed by a huge air armada that totally ruled the skies.

  The only edge he had was the training level of his core units, especially the Indians and the armor. These were professionals, not conscripts and recalled reservists. That in turn provided the core of an idea. His men had the skills to fight at night. The enemy air force was helpless in the dark. The coast road would not allow the whole enemy force to deploy at once, and the plateaus were terrain his men knew far better than these invaders. An attack force on the lower plateau south of the Charing Cross strongpoint … of two Indian brigades backed by the Matilda's of the heavy brigade, used in an army support role with companies or platoons supporting Indian battalions, had possibilities. It meant trusting his captains and majors to improvise. Perhaps it would work. If it didn’t, the repulse might provide the justification for a retreat on Alamein – where his force should have been in the first place.

  1030 hours local; 0930 hours CET

  6 September 1940

  Camp Gorlov, outside Tobruk, Italian colony of Libya

  Joey Bats was in shock. He had never in his mind joined an army. He saw what he had done in Naples as having joined a gangland crew of the kind he knew from Brooklyn. Gunter was the capo and dealt with the big bosses. This fit Joey’s sense of his place in the universe. He was no one’s pantywaist, but he’d never been a seriously violent man in a street sense. The bosses were stone killers with quick brains, people like Gunter. Gunter was unusual only in having huge physical strength as well. Usually the muscle guys h
ad a rock to hold their ears apart. Gunter was scary smart, as well as strong enough to break a guy like Joey in two.

  The idea that the big bosses like this guy Heydrich, were assigning him a girlfriend just didn’t fit Joey’s concept of how real life worked. A big shot giving him use of a joy girl for a night or two was within Joey’s frame of reference. That wasn’t what was happening. This Clara was to be his sort of wife as well as his language teacher. Wife? She was a personal friend of Gunter’s. The huge guy saw himself as her protector. Joey was to treat her right or else.

  Joey had sort of envied Klaus having Greta to do the mattress polka with. Same for the Betar boyfriends of the Betar girls. Joey had not been tempted by them. He had nothing against Jew broads … in New York. Armed Jewish warrior women from Romania were a turnoff to him. Joey liked to see himself as a hepcat, but he was still quite traditional on sex roles, even if he just saw it as not being some European weirdo.

  Joey had seen to those needs on his trip back to Italy. He’d been prepared to do without till Egypt. This Alexandria was supposed to be a big city. Joey had planned on seeing if he could get lucky there. Now he was being offered the sort of every night Klaus got. Sounded good but … but wife! When his dad had pushed the idea on him on the boat over from the States, Joey had laughed it off. Now he wasn’t laughing. If he told this lady no, he’d need a reason that didn’t lead to Gunter punching his lights out. Shit!

  1200 hours local; 1100 hours CET

  6 September 1940

  Meeting Room, Headquarters Strauss Brigade, Camp Gorlov, Italian Colony of Libya

  Major Klaus Steiner was fiercely concentrating as Gunter and the other seniors broke down the results of the von Manstein meeting for the brigade. Klaus understood that he was a hero officer. He had no problem with the hero part. So far physical courage under fire had not been a problem for him. The problem was the officer part. He had never really been in command of anything in Romania or Hungary. On Malta, his ‘command’ was normally leading a counterattack platoon in skirmishes, while first Gunter Strauss and then General Ramcke had been in actual command of the airfield. His one foray at ‘independent command’ had been leading such a platoon, plus an attached mountain company that he hadn’t even realized was his to command until halfway through the fighting. Even then, Gunter had recalled him before he did something stupid at Hal Far.