The Berghof
Berchtesgaden, Germany
A bare hint of cloud glistened above jagged mountain tops on the western horizon as the summer sun set that afternoon over the Berchtesgaden Alps. Part of the greater Northern Limestone Alps, the mountain range was bordered by the Salzach and Salaach Rivers to the east and west respectively and was home to both the Konigsee, Germany’s third deepest lake, and the Watzmann, the country’s third-highest peak, standing at 2,713 metres. Rocky summits rose from fir-covered mountainsides all around to tower above deep, sweeping valleys as far as the eye could see.
Just 120 kilometres south-east of Munich, holidaying Germans had visited Obersalzberg in both summer and winter since the 1800s, and in 1916, a businessman from Hamburg by the name of Otto Winter built the small Haus Wachenfeld at nearby Berchtesgaden. The chalet might well have passed unknown into history had it not been for Herr Winter’s widow renting it in 1928to a man named Adolf Hitler. So taken with the beauty of the place was Hitler that in 1933 he purchased it outright with funds raised from the sale of his political manifesto, Mein Kampf.
Renamed the Berghof by Hitler, a massive refurbishment and reconstruction followed in several stages between 1935 and 1939, and what had once been a simple holiday chalet grew to become a huge complex of estates for high-ranking Nazis such as Göring and Bormann, along with a large landing strip and security barracks, tunnels and bunkers for a large contingent of the 1st SS Shock Division, the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler (Hitler’s Bodyguard).
Many guests visited the Berghof in the decade leading up to the outbreak of war, including such notable figures as former British Prime Minister David Lloyd George, the Aga Khan, Chancellor of Austria Kurt von Schuschnigg, and the then current British PM, Neville Chamberlain. All had graced the great halls and surrounding countryside at one time or another, although these facts gave little solace to Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters as he and Albert Schiller accompanied The Führer on a walk through the mountain countryside that day between the main buildings and the Mooslahnerkopf Teehaus, just a kilometre or so away across a small valley.
The afternoon stroll was an almost daily event for the Chancellor as part of his fitness regime whenever staying at Berchtesgaden, and the man had no intention of letting Reuters’ arrival gets in the way of his enjoyment of it. It was under those circumstances that the Reichsmarschall and his aide found themselves sitting with The Führer on a wooden bench, part way along the walk at a scenic point overlooking the entire valley.
Numerous political discussions had been held at that lookout over the years, and today was no exception as a quartet of heavily-armed SS guards watched the entire proceedings from barely out of earshot. First and foremost on the agenda that evening was of course the unexpected the arrival of the Hindsight group at Scapa Flow, along with the resultant loss of the majority of the New Eagles’ jet aircraft.
It was painfully obvious to both that The Führer was mightily unimpressed, and they were well aware of the reasons why: the Wehrmacht — Reuters’ Wehrmacht — had been presented with its first outright defeat. Admittedly, the setbacks were minor in terms of the progress of an entire war, but they’d been the first nevertheless, and there was now a look in The Führer’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Trustworthy and able as Reichsmarschall Reuters was, he’d now also been shown to be fallible.
Adolf Hitler was characteristically a man of unshakeable faith in himself and extremely little faith in others, one of the reasons behind his failure during the latter part of the Realtime war to place any significant trust in his subordinates. It’d taken Reuters all seven of the years since their arrival and a spate of uncontested victories in Poland and in the West to obtain the Führer’s complete trust, and that’d only been accomplished in the face of heavy opposition from Hess, Göring, Göbbels and Bormann.
It was also true that the Chancellor’s trust in others could be unpredictably fickle, particularly in the face of even the smallest of failures, and that problem was often exacerbated when the situation in question that had gone awry hadn’t been a plan of his own devising. Many ideas and projects Reuters had wanted pressed forward had already been forced ‘underground’ by the Führer’s prejudices and apprehensions.
In his hands, Hitler held a folder filled with black and white photographs of the airfield at Scapa Flow. All four aircraft — the F-35E, F-22, Galaxy and KC-10A — were clearly visible, and the fact that the F-35 Lightning and F-22 Raptor were the only two dedicated air combat jets in existence on the planet hadn’t slipped past the German Chancellor.
“You say, then, Herr Reichsmarschall, that this will not alter the strategic situation?” His voice carried an almost nervous tone.
“Mein Führer, this alters nothing…” Reuters lied outright. “They have only two combat aircraft. Although it’s true these aircraft could outfight the remaining jets we possess or any other fighters we might throw against them in a fair fight, we still need to keep in mind that no matter what their incredible capabilities, they are just two aircraft and we will not provide them with any opportunity for a ‘fair fight’. Should they be used in regular offensive operations against us, they’ll eventually be shot down — that’s a certainty — and I doubt that they’ll ever be risked for that reason.”
“Exactly what and who are we up against?” The Chancellor found personalities important in leadership — something he’d used to immense effect in his own rise to fame and power — and he placed a lot of stock in what kind of people he was up against as an enemy, even if they were ‘of course’ ultimately inferior.
“Mein Führer, it appears we’re faced with a task force sent from our future much as the New Eagles were,” Reuters began, reaching out to draw a particular picture from the collection inside the folder and producing an extremely grainy, many-times-enlarged shot that was still obviously of Max Thorne’s head and upper torso. “I’d hazard a guess the unit’s commanded by this man — Maxwell Thorne. Once a pilot of the Royal Australian Air Force, and also a member of the British Secret Service from my time, he was also involved in attempts to prevent us from carrying out our original mission to return to this era. He’s a dogged and resourceful man; extremely capable in his duties and vehemently opposed to National Socialism.” Reuters was no true Nazi himself, but he was happy to use any tool to sway the support of the Chancellor.
“This is the man who represents the most danger to us?”
“There’s no direct danger, Mein Führer: their forces are much smaller than ours were originally, and we’ve also had six years of relative peace in which to prepare for this war. These new enemies will have none of these advantages. Their historical knowledge may assist them initially, but consider how history has already changed: reality and their understanding of the ‘old’ past grow further apart with each passing day. After Seelöwe, they’ll be stranded and left without a safe haven in the Atlantic, and I guarantee you they’ll not reach America, or anywhere else!”
“On that note, Herr Reichsmarschall, what further information do you have for me concerning plans for Seelöwe?” This was another matter that left Hitler feeling a great deal of apprehension. Although initially almost certain in his own mind that Britain would sue for peace following the demise of France and the Low Countries, he’d finally been convinced otherwise by Reuters and by the continued aggressive stance of Great Britain herself. There was also reluctance on his part regarding the dangers of an amphibious operation against the British, and as Reuters had now been shown to be fallible, what was there preventing this idea from failure also?
“Most of the planning has been underway on a theoretical level for a very long time as you know, Mein Führer. The conversion of dozens of merchantmen and seaworthy barges into landing ships is well underway already, along with the construction of specialised assault craft for the initial attack waves. Our thoughts are that mid-to-late September would be the optimum time for an invasion.”
“The exact date…?”
“This will be a difficult operation?” A foot soldier during the First War, The Chancellor was largely ignorant of naval matters.
“Not particularly difficult, Mein Führer, in terms of seaborne operations… although no seaborne invasion is truly simple: most of our forces are required to cross less than forty kilometres of Channel, although some bound for the Portsmouth area and The Solent will have a bit further to go. All of that will be under the cover of naval guns and air power: both Bismarck and Tirpitz are already operational, as will be Derfflinger and Von der Tann by then. With the capital ships we already have, their added firepower should be more than sufficient to create havoc on the defending beaches. We also have attack aircraft from the carriers Graf Zeppelin, Seydlitz and Hindenburg available to strike where land-based aircraft cannot effectively reach.
“There are more than one hundred thousand men available for the initial assault, including twenty thousand fallschirmjäger to take key defensive positions such as bridges and airfields in Kent and Sussex. Two complete panzer divisions will also have been completely re-equipped with Panther tanks for the invasion, along with the 1st and 3rd SS Shock Divisions. Our kampfgruppen will be hitting their supply bases, railheads and fuel dumps in rear echelon areas and all over Britain, and we can bring England completely to her knees within a few days once the full power of the Wehrmacht is unleashed. The moment that Britain is ours, Mein Führer, the security of Grossdeutschland will be truly assured for a thousand years!”
Hitler nodded slowly, still vaguely dubious but somewhat mollified…perhaps the loss of these few jet aircraft was really not so bad after all. “Very well, then,” he said finally as he closed the folder in his hands. “Barring accidents or unforeseen problems, we shall set the date for Seelöwe as September Seventeen.” He nodded sagely at his own final decision. “Begin final build-ups and planning for that date.”
“With regard to these newcomers, I leave things to you for the time being, Herr Reichsmarschall.” He added darkly with a deadly serious gaze. “I’m sure you can see as well as I, the necessity of destroying this enemy completely… I trust that you’ll take to that with requisite endeavour and remove this minor problem from my mind…” That statement chilled both men present to the core: it was a very thinly-veiled warning that The Chancellor didn’t expect to need to hear about the problem again.
8. Reality Checks
Luftwaffe airfield near The Berghof
Berchtesgaden, Germany
Tuesday
July 2, 1940
A small, private room was fitted into Reuters’ converted T-1A transport between the cockpit and the Reichsmarschall’s ‘office’, and inside that room were four folding cots, a small refrigerator and basic cooking facilities for the preparation of tea and coffee and simple meals. It was upon two of those cots that Reuters and Schiller reclined later that evening, preferring the privacy of their own aircraft to the more comfortable quarters (and obligatory political machinations) on offer nearby at the Berghof.
“He’s very unimpressed,” Schiller observed softly in the faint illumination of a single, low-powered lamp fitted above the bulkhead door to the cockpit. He picked his words carefully despite their relative privacy… it never paid to assume other ears weren’t listening this close to The Führer: one never knew who might be listening, after all.
“I expected no better,” Reuters admitted sourly, “could’ve been a good deal worse in fact. The important thing now is that we make sure Thorne and his cronies are no longer problem.”
“The remaining Flankers…?” Schiller theorised, thinking as he spoke. “They could lob-toss some thousand kilogram bombs in from low-level before their point-defence weapons could react…”
“No,” The Reichsmarschall replied quickly, cutting off his train of thought. “We’re not going to risk the rest of the jets just yet… with any luck we won’t have to… and any air attack would be a very bloody affair regardless of whether we go with conventional aircraft or the jets — or both, for that matter. In any case, a lob-toss attack might not be accurate enough.”
“‘Not accurate enough.’?” Schiller repeated the words with mild disbelief as a question. “You do remember what a tonne of high explosive can do, don’t you? Remember those poor old army beginnings and those nasty old live-fire exercises?” The light sarcasm in the so-called ‘questions’ raised a broad and somewhat exasperated grin from his friend and superior officer.
“Yes, Albert, I know what a thousand kilogram bomb can do to a target… and yes… we could probably drop them onto the correct end of that runway without a great deal of difficulty. Getting the Flankers out afterward might be more of a problem however,” he added pointedly, “and if the targets we want aren’t there at the time…?” He left that question hanging for a few moments as it hit home. “We know what they have there now — the aircraft and some of their air defences at least — but when we do spring our next attack we’ll also need to know exactly what’s going on there on the ground at the time.”
“And how do you suggest we manage that?” Schiller enquired with a smile. “Scapa Flow’s the Home Fleet’s home base, and thanks to our ‘friends’ at Hindsight, it isn’t the easy pickings it should’ve been this early into the war. There are regular anti-submarine patrols by air and sea, and the Royal Navy’s use of sonar is a damned sight better and more frequent than it should be, too! Even with one of the new Type-Tens, we’d be lucky to get a U-boat within visual range of anything on that base, and I wouldn’t fancy being a member of the aircrew on any reconnaissance aircraft trying to get within range either — not for the five seconds they lasted, anyway…”
“Then we have to get someone in there on the ground,” Reuters replied simply.
“That’s easy to say, but not quite so easy to do.” Schiller pointed out, shaking his head as much at the audacity of the idea as any negative opinion. “It’d be easier to get at Churchill than get someone through the security they’ll have there!”
“Maybe we could get some inspiration from Jack Higgins, Albert?” Reuters chuckled softly, alluding to the author of one of his favourite novels (The Eagle Has Landed) about a WW2 plot to kidnap or kill Winston Churchill.
“Yes, they’ll have top class security…” he conceded, becoming serious again in an instant “…and we’ve had seven years. You both know how much effort we put into building the strength of the Abwehr right from the start… and there are other things I also recall from my younger days with the Bundeswehr: the rather nasty lessons that our new-friends who used to be Soviets taught us in the ‘bad old days’ regarding deep-cover intelligence operatives for example. I think perhaps it’s time to activate an asset or two.” The other man’s faces lit with understanding as he caught what Reuters was alluding to — assets Schiller had completely forgotten existed.
“Oh, that’s nasty, Kurt,” Schiller almost chuckled at the thought. “That’s really nasty…!”
Any further chance of conversation was interrupted by an unexpected knock at the bulkhead doorway that led to Reuters’ travelling office and the rear of the plane. Both men immediately rose to their feet, and the Reichsmarschall took a few seconds to straighten his uniform before bidding entry with a single word.
“Come…” he called in a serious voice, and the hatch opened inward to reveal one of the Wehrmacht grenadier guards that travelled in Reuters’ entourage.
“My apologies for the interruption at so late an hour, Herr Reichsmarschall, but I have two men from The Party waiting to see you: Herre
n Zeigler and Strauss.” It was implicitly understood that the soldier meant the NSDAP when referring to ‘The Party’, and the two men mentioned were high enough in the Nazi Party hierarchy for the guard to recognise them and accord them a reasonable level of fear and respect accordingly.
“It’s quite all right, Rudi: let them through,” Reuters directed with a wave of his hand and a resigned sigh. The pair weren’t exactly what he would’ve classed as welcome guests at the best of times, however he also wasn’t exactly surprised by their presence.
The pair that entered the small room a moment or two later were as disparate a pair as one might be likely to see. Both were men in their early sixties, and both were well-dressed in dark grey tailored suits, and at that point any similarity ceased completely. Oswald Zeigler was a thin, frail-looking man with hawkish features who stood well over 180cm tall, while his companion, Dieter Strauss stood at least a full head shorter, was stocky to the point of being quite rotund, and had a full, round face that falsely promised open friendliness and belied the cold and calculating intellect Reuters personally knew lurked behind the man’s smallish brown eyes.
“Herr Reichsmarschall,” Zeigler began with an obviously false familiarity. “How kind of you to take time out of your busy schedule to see us…”
“A pleasure of course, Herr Zeigler, as always,” Reuters countered with an equal lack of sincerity as he accepted the offered handshake. He gestured to the empty cots with an outstretched arm. “Please… take a seat…” He almost smiled. “I’ve no alcohol here, but I can offer tea or coffee…”
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