Hammer of God (Kirov Series Book 14) Page 4

  “Oh? Then why did you not say so? Explain.”

  “Our fighters could not range far enough over England to protect the bombers. This is why I believed the issue of air superiority should have been decided over the English Channel, during the actual invasion operation, and not over London, or god forbid, Birmingham.”

  “They bombed Berlin,” said Hitler hotly. “I had to return the favor over London.”

  “And we have seen the results. By that same logic we should be trying to bomb Novosibirsk to punish the Siberians, but we can both see how impractical that would be.” Manstein knew he was skirting a sore spot with the Führer now, but he was determined to speak his mind.

  “All that said, the issue is moot. We lost our chance to eliminate Britain in 1940, and now the possibility of another front opening against us in the West remains a real possibility.”

  “From the British? They have done nothing more than seize a few useless islands in the Atlantic. They have not even moved to try and put troops into Portugal, because they know I would crush them in a heartbeat if they tried.”

  “Oh? With what, my Führer? It is my understanding that you have moved the heart of the Gibraltar garrison to North Africa, or that you are planning to do so.”

  “16th Motorized Division remains there, along with the 76th Infantry division.”

  “And if the British do land troops in Portugal? Would they be enough to stop them before they got established there? I think not. Why have you sent all these forces to North Africa?”

  “Ask Raeder, and when you are done with him, you can then hear the same story from Paulus, Keitel, Jodl and even Halder. Raeder’s Mediterranean strategy has infected the thinking of everyone at OKW, even Halder. They insist I must deal with the British before I open a new front against Soviet Russia. Do you agree?”

  “You will not knock Great Britain out of the war in North Africa. Look what happened to Rommel! The British were much stronger there than he thought, and now he is right back where he started from, at Agheila and Mersa Brega. The man is a good officer, bold, aggressive, but he is often rash. He did not have the strength to move east with the forces he had. He should have waited.”

  “He was ordered to do exactly that,” said Hitler with a wag of his finger, “but ran off half-cocked on his own. Paulus reports he has finally talked some sense into Rommel. Yes, he was inadequately supplied, so I have sent him more troops.”

  “A waste of time and resources,” said Manstein. “Yes, they will present a growing threat in the Western Desert of Libya, but a threat that is still a thousand kilometers from the Suez Canal.”

  “I have considered this,” said Hitler, “But it was not mere a supply problem that led to this recent setback. Have you heard the reports about these new British tanks?”

  “I cannot say that I have, my Führer.”

  “That was the shock Rommel got when he moved east. I am told the British have new heavy armor, better than anything we have—a tank twice the size of their old Matildas, and my panzer commanders tell me even that old tank was difficult to kill. Very well, we will get new tanks soon enough, but in the meantime Rommel will be doing little more than trucking in fuel and supplies for the next two months. In the meantime, OKW is urging me to eliminate the British outpost on Crete.” Hitler pointed at the map. “Do you agree?”

  Manstein considered this for a time, then began pointing with his baton. “You could take Crete easily enough. Student’s troops showed what they could do at Malta. But it would be weeks mopping up there before the Fliegerkorps was ready to operate again. In the meantime, what will the British do? They are watching Rommel in Libya, but must also look over their shoulder at the trouble stirring in Iraq. Frankly, I am amazed that they have not moved against the French in Syria yet, but this is most likely because they do not have the troops in hand to do so.”

  “This is what Ivan Volkov tells me,” said Hitler.

  “Volkov? I was not aware that you have met with the man.”

  “He communicates with me regularly, as he is very fond of making predictions about this war—a self styled prophet, or so I am told. OKW is set to attack Crete, but Volkov tells me this is useless. In fact, he has gone so far as to warn me it will likely result in very heavy casualties. Do you believe this?”

  “I have not seen the intelligence on the British defenses on Crete, but every airborne operation is inherently risky.”

  “Then what to do, Manstein?”

  Manstein had a quick answer. “Why does the southern axis for Barbarossa offer us the real prize? The answer to that is simple—oil. Once we push through to join with Orenburg, then we have everything we need to end this war favorably. Yet how do we get those resources home to Germany? We cannot ship anything across the Black Sea until we control it, and it seems Raeder’s little plan for Hindenburg and Bismarck has met a recent setback.”

  The look on Hitler’s face told Manstein that he had hit a nerve with that. “He tried to cover up the damage to Hindenburg and explain it all away,” Hitler said hotly. “It seems the British have more than new tanks! They also deployed some kind of new naval rocket bomb that was able to strike our ships from well over the horizon.”

  “Oh? I have heard nothing of this.”

  “You have been up north with your Panzer Korps.”

  “It hardly matters,” said Manstein. “Raeder will not be able to move ships into the Black Sea. The Turks will not permit it, yet that is of no concern. If Barbarossa does take the southern axis, we can eliminate all the bases the Soviet Fleet must use to contest the Black Sea. Orenburg already controls everything from Novorossiysk to Batumi on the eastern shore, and with Barbarossa we will take Odessa, Nikolayev, and Sevastopol in the Crimea. After that, the only place the Black Sea Fleet can go is Istanbul.

  “That is a neutral state,” Hitler cautioned.

  “Well enough, but do not worry about the Black Sea Fleet. Frankly, I believe we can neutralize it with our air power, even if the Turks open their arms and invite them to Istanbul. It should not be a concern. That failing, we can simply take Istanbul, and the Dardanelles and Bosporus with it. We already have troops on the Turkish frontier. That is a scant 230 kilometers to Istanbul. Terrain favors the defense there, but an aggressive an imaginative plan could prevail. The Turkish Army is no match for us, and once we link up with the Orenburg Federation, Volkov’s forces in the Caucasus can be moved to the Turkish border. That will give them more than enough reason to shun Sergei Kirov. They may even be persuaded to join with us, and no further campaign would be necessary.”

  “The British would do everything in their power to prevent that. What should we do about them, Manstein? Should I take Crete as OKW suggests?”

  “Those are defensive measures more than anything else. Quite frankly, I believe the British will move against the Vichy French in Syria as soon as they can—that, and the issue of Iraq, will soon be uppermost in their minds. If I were the British commander, I would use Cyrenaica as a defensive buffer, and move as many troops against Syria as possible. Once I eliminate the French there, I secure my right flank, effect a conjunction with Turkey, protect the oil in Iraq and Iran, and open all those lines of communication even into Persia. Where is the largest oil field in the world? Right there in Iraq at Baba Gurgur near Kirkuk. That is what the British wish to hold, or at the very least deny us access. Where else can Britain operate? They certainly won’t invade Portugal any time soon, or attempt any campaign against French West Africa. Your buildup in Libya will prevent them from entering Tripolitania. So they will have no choice but to operate as I describe, and seize Syria and Iraq before the notion to do so enters our minds.”

  “You propose I send German troops to stop them? How would I get them there?”

  “There are only two ways,” said Manstein. “You can either wait for Rommel to build up enough strength to move again on land, or go there by air and sea. The former will take months, the latter is complicated by the fact that we cannot f
ly troops from airfields in Greece, because Tripoli in Lebanon is beyond the range of our Ju-52 transports. This means we must seize a new outpost first, to become a staging zone within range of Palestine and Syria.”

  “This is why OKW suggests this plan against Crete.”

  “Well enough, but it will take time, and will most likely hand the British Syria, Lebanon and Iraq—possibly even Iran. If OKW is really serious about this axis of attack on Egypt, then they should see the bird they already have in hand! We already have Rhodes, or at least the Italians occupy that place. That is well within the range of our JU-52s from bases around Athens. Move Student’s troops there, and use that as your springboard to land anywhere you choose—Crete, Cyprus, even Lebanon or Syria. Yes, it is over 700 kilometers to the Levant from Rhodes, but remember, the planes do not have to return. They can land at Vichy held air bases, all within range of our Ju-52s.”

  “Yet only Student’s troops?”

  “They might do in the short run to bolster the French, particularly if Rommel builds up and rattles his sword in Libya to keep the British preoccupied there. Another infantry division might be added. Yet two or three divisions isn’t much, no matter how good the troops are. Don’t expect the Fallschirmjagers to march on Alexandria. And moving anything more substantial through the Eastern Med by sea is risky, even if we could find the ships to do so. The Royal Navy demonstrated that in these recent engagements, and Raeder has not been able to guarantee naval supremacy yet. That may change, these rocket weapons the British have aside, but then again it may not come to pass. This means anything you send to Syria will have to be supplied by the French. Don’t you see, my Führer? The problem of attacking the British in Egypt is simply a matter of logistics. Neither axis of attack is promising in that regard. We cannot adequately supply and sustain the forces necessary to defeat the British there, as they will make it their major war effort, and send everything they have to the Middle East—unless…”

  Hitler’s dark eyes were on him now, waiting, the question obvious on his face.

  “Unless you tackle the question of Turkey, my Führer. Barbarossa will join hands with Ivan Volkov. Or will it? If Halder gets his way we will be off chasing the Russians through the streets of Moscow. But if we pursue the southern strategy, with the principle aim of securing the oil in the Caucasus, then only Old Man Turkey stands between the Wehrmacht and the British position in the Middle East.”

  “You advise I attack Turkey?”

  “That may be a difficult campaign. The terrain is very rugged, the road network impossible, but so was Greece and the Balkans, and you have seen what we accomplished there in little time. So I lay my baton upon Istanbul because if you ever really want to drive the British from the Middle East, you will need secure lines of communications to do so, by land, and not simply air or sea. A move as I have suggested here would see German and Axis allied forces encircling Turkey on every border. We may not have to lift another finger there. This alone could compel the Turks to submit, or at the very least sign a treaty of non-aggression with us. Careful negotiations could even secure passage for German troops and supplies through that country. That said, the Turkish rail system is not modernized. It may, at best, support no more than one or two Korps, perhaps five or six divisions, but the right divisions might just do the job. Don’t forget Baba Gurgur! If you continue to pursue your Mediterranean strategy without Turkey, the only other way to get at the British in Egypt is through the Western Desert. But that will take time we do not have, unless Barbarossa is delayed.”

  Hitler’s eyes were a well of thought now, with a light slowly kindling there as these thoughts fed the fires of his determination. Manstein smiled, tucking his baton beneath his arm, the lesson in strategy now over. He left the Führer with one last note of caution.

  “This is a bold and imaginative plan,” he said. “It would augment the southern emphasis for Barbarossa very well. Yet would even this knock Great Britain out of the war? I do not believe so. It may knock them out of the Middle East, but they will continue to fight on. The British Empire would still have strong outposts in India and the far east. Taking Egypt would be a severe setback, but they will fight on no matter what, and wait for the Americans to get involved. Then we will be moving troops west again, because instead of us planning to invade England as we should have last year, they will be planning to invade French colonies in West Africa, or even France itself. You see, my Führer, Ivan Volkov is not the only man who can make predictions.”

  Chapter 5

  They were some time discussing all the ramifications of what Fedorov had told them—that Ivan Volkov was not a man of their own world, but a dark angel from another. What he had whispered in Hitler’s ear, no man knew, but Fedorov stressed that, at key junctures in the war thus far, the Germans had taken decisions that they never made in the old history, and that they were slowly but surely leading them to victory. It was clear to all present that Volkov was now acting as a source of intelligence for Hitler and his regime, using his knowledge of future events to shape the present as best he could. It was therefore necessary for Fedorov to stand in opposition to Volkov, and be light where the other man cast his shadow.

  He had discussed all this with Admiral Volsky and Kamenski before he was sent to this meeting, and they had expressed their confidence in his judgment.

  “I can think of no other man with more respect for the history, Mister Fedorov, or so dedicated to preserving its integrity,” the Admiral had told him. “But realize that anything you reveal to the men of this era may have unforeseen consequences, no matter how well meaning your advice may be. You might warn them of operations doomed to failure, for example, like the ill fated landing at Dieppe by the Canadians. Yet that defeat taught the Allies valuable lessons that they put to good use at Normandy, and remember, we cannot foresee every possible outcome of these events, or of the changes we may cause here. That said, you must use your best judgment.”

  So Fedorov was here, standing in this discussion with Generals and Admirals and heads of state that were glowing figures in the history he so loved, at once in awe of them, and amazed that he should have the temerity to speak as an equal.

  Yes, he could not predict what might come of the decisions they would now make, but he had to try. Things had gone too far, and he and his ship were now too deeply enmeshed in the weave of this terrible tapestry of war. Now, with the arrival of Kinlan’s brigade, the necessity to act in a way that could guide the power they possessed was more essential than ever before. And so he made the difficult decision to use the knowledge he had, the store of all the many hours he had spent with his nose in the history books, come what may. He knew the campaigns that were now on the near horizon, and spent long hours reading from his library before he departed for this conference.

  So they talked for many hours, deciding what must now be done to further their interests in this war. They spoke of Crete and Iraq and Syria, and the prospects ahead for them in the Western Desert. Where might Kinlan’s force be best employed? Should it remain together as one unit, or might it be better to saturate other British forces with a hard core of these resolute and terrible new warriors from the future. In the end, the need for secrecy guided their thinking as much as anything else, and for the moment it was decided that the Desert Rats would stay where they were, in the southern desert, the deadly foil on Rommel’s flank.

  Yet the impending demands of those other battlefronts would delay any real British offensive against Rommel. The British needed time, and they had been given a brief measure of that in the victory lately won. Now they had to use that time to their best advantage. After the meeting it was Churchill who caught Fedorov’s elbow, asking if he might join Wavell for a quiet chat later that evening.

  The darkness came, with stars crowding bright in the sky, and a crisp chill on the air. Fedorov was outside the mud walled meeting room, smelling the smoke from a wood fire and listening to the distant calls of wild things in the desert. The night seemed
to weigh on him, a leaden feeling that darkened his mood with a sense of foreboding. The weight of all he had studied, and all he knew about what might happen next, was also heavy on his mind. And over it all hung the enormous girth of the war itself, a world war that was still in its adolescence in early 1941. It would go on for years, and so many would die before it ended.

  He had read about them, from generals and statesmen, down to corporals in sergeants in small unit actions that were now lost in the stream of events. Yet for the men who fought them, they were the hard edge of life and death itself, moments of supreme personal effort, heroism and courage, cowering and fear, and all soiled with the soot of battle and blood. In those little lost actions of the war, groups of men, comrades all, struggled and fought for places that seemed insignificant in the general scheme of things—a bridge, a hill, an enemy redoubt that had to be taken by storm. They saw their friends die, lost brave officers, rose to the hour and did things they never thought they could, and all that remained of those desperate hours they fought was now but a few lines in an old history book. Yet here he was now, walking along those lines, seeing it all in the finest detail, smelling it, breathing it in…

  That thought mated with the distinctive scent of tobacco, and he knew that someone had lit up a cigar. There was a movement behind him, and General Wavell came out from the sitting room to find him. He turned to see the tall, stalwart figure, weathered by the long years in Egypt, but still strong, his cap on, eyes catching the light of the stars.

  “Captain Fedorov, would you care to join us now?” Wavell said in perfect Russian.

  “Certainly, “ said Fedorov, and he followed the General past the two standing guards and into the shadowed room beyond. There he was thrilled to see one of the great pillars of the war years, one of the truly great men the century had given birth to, Churchill himself, sitting quietly in an chair by the fireplace with a brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. Fedorov soon found himself under the heavy gaze of the Prime Minister, and he had an inner sense of dread as to what he might now be asked.