England Expects (Empires Lost)

by Jackson, Charles S.

  “The one at the rear… it carries cargo also?”

  “Cargo and fuel: it can refuel aircraft in flight from the boom beneath its tail, or from pods under its wings. The fuel it carries could take it and a fighter escort around with world.”

  “Again, I see American insignia! How can this be? This is more than we could ever have expected was possible across the Atlantic!”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much just yet,” Thorne gave a grin and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, regaining his full attention. “Come on… there’s much more to see…”

  The Luftwaffe pilot’s face was a mask of awe, his eyes snapping this way and that as he followed Thorne up the Galaxy’s forward loading ramp and on into to the cargo bay past another pair of armed guards. The forward section of the aircraft was stacked almost floor-to-ceiling with crates and metal boxes of varying sizes that gave little indication as to their contents, while strip lighting stretched all the way along the ceiling of the cargo bay, bathing everything in its stark illumination. Thorne led the man to a flight of stairs just inside the ramp that took them up to the Galaxy’s flight deck, behind which was the seating for Hindsight personnel, and beyond that Thorne’s small ‘office’ with the PC and media storage racks. The computer itself was already running in stand-by mode, with a Windows screensaver floating here and there across the LCD screen.

  “Have a seat, Herr Oberstleutnant,” Thorne offered with an extended hand, finding it difficult to keep the sharpness of his accent from increasing as his own nervousness and tension began to build substantially. His German probably wouldn’t prove fluent enough for him to completely explain some of the concepts he wanted to discuss, and the task at hand was going to be difficult enough without him having to repeat things because Ritter couldn’t understand an overly nasal, Australian ‘twang’.

  “I somehow have the feeling I shall need one,” Ritter inclined his head in acknowledgement as he stepped forward and seated himself. “This will be a long interview?”

  “Not necessarily,” Thorne replied with a grimace, “but it’s probably not gonna to be an easy one… for either of us… particularly you, I’m afraid.” He leaned one hip against the desk as the pilot swivelled to face him with a sharp expression. Thorne took a deep breath before continuing. “Let’s get something straight for a start: my name’s Max Thorne, but I’m not an officer… not really. This rank I’m wearing is kind of an honorary thing that enables me to get my job done easier.”

  “I’d suspected as much,” Ritter mused, nodding thoughtfully. “You do not move or act with the regimen or pomposity of an officer of such high rank. You were an officer once, I think… you have the bearing required… but I think that was a long time ago, yes…?”

  “Got it in one,” Thorne admitted, a little surprised by the man’s acuity. “That’s a pretty sharp assessment there… what gave me away?”

  “The role of ‘Commanding Officer’ doesn’t sit easily on your shoulders,” Ritter explained his observations after a little thought. “You maintain the façade well when surrounded by your men, but quickly revert to a more natural, relaxed persona when among equals, as we are now.”

  “That obvious, huh…?” Thorne grinned, inwardly pleased the German considered him an ‘equal’: that in itself was an important statement. “I was an officer once, as you guessed: many years ago, I was a squadron leader with the Royal Australian Air Force.”

  “I knew it… a pilot!” Ritter smiled also, pleased his suspicions had been vindicated. “You’ve shown nothing other than honour and integrity so far, and this seems fitting for an officer of the Australian Luftwaffe...!” His use of the word ‘Luftwaffe’ instead of ‘air force’ caused Thorne to wince a little, and drew a wry smile. “You flew fighters, yes?”

  The Australian nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  “Hah! This is a man I can trust, here!” The pilot actually laughed: something was falling into place exactly in accordance with Ritter’s deductions, and that pleased him greatly. It never for a moment entered his head that Thorne might be lying in order to get him ‘on side’… he was far too shrewd a judge of character to think the man mightn’t be telling the truth. That last statement, light-hearted as it was, also made Thorne feel a good deal better. Above and beyond his intention to put the German pilot to use in their plans, he was also warming to the man as an individual, and was reassured by the man’s willingness to trust him in return.

  “The problem isn’t so much what I used to do,” Thorne changed the subject, deciding it was time to get on with what he’d brought Ritter to Alternate for. “It’s more about when I used to do it…”

  The play on words slipped past Ritter’s comprehension of English, and he shrugged and shook his head almost apologetically, causing Thorne to repeat the statement as best he could in German.

  “I… I still don’t understand what you’re implying,” Ritter was forced to admit, almost feeling embarrassment, as if the meaning of the Australian’s words should be perfectly obvious to anyone else.

  “Over the last two days, you’ve seen the kind of technology we have here, yes...?” He paused for a moment, allowing the man to nod silently in agreement. “All quite impressive no doubt… although you’ve already proven it to be quite vulnerable. Let me tell you something of the aircraft you shot down…” Thorne continued, adjusting his stance as he began to speak in earnest. “The Americans call it a Lockheed-Martin F-22A Raptor, although you’ll not find it listed anywhere on the books of the Lockheed or Martin corporations at the present time. Its role was that of ‘air superiority’ fighter – you might call it an ‘interceptor’ – and it could perform that role admirably. That Raptor was able to fly around three thousand kilometres on internal fuel alone, and was capable of travelling at almost twice the speed of sound – almost two thousand kilometres per hour at high altitude. It was also invisible to radar to all intents and purposes.

  “The aircraft was armed with a twenty-millimetre, ‘Gatling’-type cannon capable of firing six thousand rounds per minute, and also carried a number of the air-to-air missiles: the ‘guided-rockets’ you’ve already seen in action. Those missiles are guided by radar, can fly twice as fast as the F-22, and can destroy an enemy aircraft many kilometres away.” Thorne took a short breath before adding: “What do you think about what I’ve just told you?”

  “The specifications you’ve given me are amazing… almost incredible,” Ritter replied with a shrug, “but having seen the aircraft you’re referring to, I’m almost inclined to accept they might be true.”

  “How might you have reacted, had someone told you six months ago that you’d be in combat against an aircraft like that before the end of the year?”

  Ritter considered that question carefully before answering, quite rightly perceiving that the question was extremely important in some way.

  “I should think I’d have thought that person either mad, or that they were trying to make a joke of me. Had I not seen undeniable evidence to the contrary, I’d think it unlikely any aircraft like that could be built… or the others I’ve seen here, for that matter.”

  Bingo! Thorne thought in that moment. Like Trumbull several months before, Ritter had seized upon an understanding of temporal existence that Thorne could work with. He steeled himself and forged ahead.

  “What would you think, if I told you the F-35E fighter out there and the F-22A you shot down last Saturday were both manufactured at the beginning of the Twenty-First Century… more than sixty years in your future?”

  “You’re serious… that I can tell from the look on your face,” Ritter replied, choosing his words carefully as his eyes narrowed sharply. His first reaction had been to scoff at the idea, but the intent expression on Thorne’s face had given him cause to think twice. “I’ll allow you to go on… rather than to simply laugh at such a ridiculous idea.”

  “This cargo plane and the tanker beside it were both built in the mid-1980s… over forty years from now. Almost everyo
ne working at the part of the base here that was destroyed in that same air raid… myself included… are also from your future. We’ve returned from the year Two Thousand and Ten AD to make sure Germany loses the Second World War.”

  “I don’t think that you can manage that, friend… not unless you have an entire geschwader of those ‘Raptors,” Ritter observed impassively. Although he mightn’t always agree with the activities carried out in the name of the Wehrmacht, he was nevertheless well aware of the his country’s incredible military might.

  “As things stand at the moment, the Allies have no chance of defeating Germany any time soon, but that’s largely irrelevant at the moment. My unit – we call it ‘Hindsight’ – wasn’t the first to travel back to your time from 2010… there’s a group that’s been in Germany for some time already, helping to develop her industry and her military to the point that both are unbeatable.” He successfully hid his nervousness over asking his next question. “You’ve met Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters perhaps…?”

  “We’ve met on two occasions,” Ritter admitted with a shrug. “He seemed a brilliant, if somewhat eccentric man.”

  “Wouldn’t blame him for displaying some level of eccentricity,” Thorne grinned wryly. “We’ve all gone a bit loopy with culture shock after the jump. As for his brilliance… well I’m sure, as an experienced officer, you’d understand the ‘brilliance’ of hindsight as well as any.”

  “You are saying the Reichsmarschall is using knowledge of past events to ensure a German victory?” Ritter quickly picked up the direction the conversation was taking. “You’re saying Reichsmarschall Reuters is also from the future?”

  In spite of the incredible nature of the Australian’s story, something indeed struck a chord within Ritter’s memory as he recalled the distinctly strange feeling that’d come over him during his first meeting with Reuters. He suddenly remembered the ‘spark’ that’d shocked them both as they had shaken hands. Did it mean something? Yet he’d also shaken hands with Max Thorne and had experienced nothing… what might the significance of that be… if anything? Another far more chilling thought suddenly came to him.

  “You say this man came from the future to help Germany win the war?” He snapped sharply. “You’ve all returned after the fact to prevent this from happening…” The ramifications of it all began to truly sink in as Thorne recognised the conclusions Ritter was about to reach and again nodded silently. “None of you would be here in the first place, had Germany been the original victor… are you saying that Germany lost this war… should lose this war?”

  That was a question Thorne had been preparing for, and he took it in his stride. “Not just ‘should’ lose… they bloody-well did lose! That’s a historical ‘fact’ of my era that’s now been turned completely upside down.” He saw a dozen questions immediately rise in the pilot’s eyes, but raised a hand to silence the man before he could speak. “Before you ask me anything else, I want to show you something that will answer some of your questions and probably raise a lot more… I promise you there’ll be plenty of time for answers afterward.”

  Ritter took a deep breath and grudgingly obliged the request to remain silent. What Thorne was telling him was incredible – almost beyond belief, perhaps – but the sincerity the man displayed was seriously weakening his incredulity when backed up by the existence of the aircraft there at Eday.

  “Are you aware of a concentration camp in Eastern Germany known as Dachau?” Thorne asked softly, a notable level of discomfort creeping back into his voice.

  “I… I’ve heard vague stories,” Ritter answered with a slight falter. There’d been some rumours floating about regarding the true nature of the camp, but none had been confirmed, and it didn’t pay to go about believing such unpleasant claims without proof.

  “Yes,” Thorne murmured dubiously, regarding Ritter’s suddenly-guarded expression with interest. “We spoke on that first day about things going on within Germany. Remember, I said that I might have a better idea than you regarding the true state of your country, but refused not explain? I think that it’s time I showed you what I was talking about… let me show you something that may open your eyes a little…” Thorne turned to the PC and moved the mouse on the desk beside it, causing the screensaver to disappear. He started the DVD already in the drive with a single click, and images began to flicker.

  Ritter sat back in his chair, intrigued and mesmerised as the LCD screen came to life. A pale-coloured scene appeared that seemed almost black and white, depicting a large pair of gates set into an equally imposing, tower-like building while a single set of railway tracks ran through beneath those closed gates from the front of screen. The air was foggy, and it seemed as if it were a winter’s morning. The view shifted to images of guard towers and barbed wire, all overgrown and derelict, and of more abandoned railway tracks as a man’s voice began a sombre voiceover.

  The video’s title sequence began as stirring violins set the mood. The title ‘THE WORLD AT WAR’ appeared across the screen, and successive black and white images of forlorn and devastated faces were burned away by roaring flames. Already ill at ease, Ritter was suddenly struck by a cold and irrational fear, although he couldn’t explain why.

  The title sequence had been intended to strike an emotional chord in those of a time when the war was long past, and where television was an accepted norm: the effect upon someone unaccustomed to audio-visual imagery of such standards of production was inevitably far greater. The episode’s title appeared in stark, white lettering that was superimposed over the continuing images: ‘GENOCIDE’; and Ritter was gripped with an instinctive feeling that he desperately didn’t want to see what was to come from this strange motion picture displayed on that equally-strange television screen… yet something within compelled him to keep watching.

  The documentary began innocuously enough with some stock history of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler that Ritter suspected he may have already seen… and with an interview with Karl Wolff, who would become Himmler’s SS adjutant. The black and white footage possessed an eerie quality that matched the strange tone of Laurence Olivier’s rich narration. Included in it were excerpts of newsreels that Ritter actually remembered, yet things that had seemed ‘normal’ as they’d been presented at the cinemas suddenly acquired a feeling of incredibly abnormality: the ideas of a Nazi ‘superman’ and pure Aryan race somehow suddenly appeared almost laughable, and at the same time quite unsettling.

  The camp at Dachau was mentioned, as was the motto over its gates: ‘arbeit macht frei’ (‘work makes you free’). It was a phrase that suddenly seemed insidious and very frightening. So were the developing, underlying themes of the Nazis ideals… their hatred of the Jews. Ritter couldn’t understand how he’d not seen the injustice of it all as the video brought the memories of those times flooding back, and he now recalled it all quite clearly. November 1938 - Kristallnacht – and Ritter remembered that too… remembered the Jewish males being marched away in the days that followed from the areas around his home in Köln.

  The video commenced with a brief history of the opening stages of the war, but the images shown were of events quite different to Ritter’s recollections of the Polish Campaign, although that was hardly surprising. It would’ve been unlikely for front line combat pilots to encounter what was occurring below on the ground, and his stomach churned at the recounted tales of beatings and persecutions of Jews and other ‘undesirables’ behind the lines in Occupied Poland.

  ‘The Jews started the war...” Those familiar words were spoken, and Ritter remembered many he knew saying the same thing in the early days.

  What army did the Jews have? What air force? Yet why had he never before questioned such a preposterous idea? He knew nothing of the Warsaw Ghetto where thousands of Jews were herded and imprisoned during 1940 and forced to live in terrible, squalid conditions. Narration by witnesses of the times gave more weight to the powerful scenes as someone lay starving in the street, perhaps already dead
, and the sight of skin drawn taut over fragile bones that were far too visible made the pilot’s stomach turn.

  As the recounting of ‘history’ passed the present day, Ritter was astounded by the possibility of war with the Soviet Union. He was at a loss to understand how this could happen, when all the newsreels continued to declare to all and sundry that Germany and Russia were allies. Once again, a common theme was present: an obsession with the Jews. Three million in Poland, the narrator said, and another five million in Russia following this unbelievable invasion. The SS officer who’d spoken earlier asked the rhetoric question of how they should deal with ‘all these Jews’. The simplicity of it all chilled the German pilot to the core as Olivier suddenly revealed the final answer: ‘kill them all...’

  Einsatzgruppen… where had Ritter heard that title… had he heard it before? They were ‘Special groups’, created for the sole purpose of disposing of the Jews, and from that point on the story became more and more horrific. Accounts of Jews rounded up and pleading with their captors as they were shot and dumped in open graves… often falling on the bodies of those who had preceded them… friends… relatives… family. ‘A pit full of blood...’ one survivor recounted, and footage of the mass graves and the executions went on and on.

  Ritter could almost believe the so ludicrously German pragmatism of it all as a witness told how Himmler decided shooting just wasn’t fast enough or economical enough: that another, more efficient method should be devised to carry out this ‘Final Solution’. Reinhard Heydrich, Himmler’s insidious and widely-feared subordinate was mentioned, and at a conference at Wansee in 1942, they decided to instead use a deadly gas called Zyklon-B.

  The horrific stories continued of the transportation of prisoners in railway cattle cars to these camps, where they were forced into ‘shower’ blocks by the thousand under the pretence of ‘delousing’ and stand huddled together, terrified, until the gas would come on and the screaming began. Silent tears began to roll slowly down Ritter’s face as a witness told of the removal the bodies – of ‘pyramid’-like piles clustered at the centre of the rooms, where hysterical, terrified victims had screamed and clawed for escape that would never come. His body was racked by an uncontrollable shudder, tense fingers clutching nervously at the arms of the chair, and his mind could barely conceive of the magnitude of such atrocities… yet there was no recourse other than to believe it all. The footage was too real – he couldn’t imagine that it could possibly be false.