"And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters; And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter."
(Revelation 8:10, 11)
Welthauptstadt Germania, 1964
The Fuhrer was dead. And a world mourned.
Reinhard Heydrich, however, did not. Looking out over the spires and domes of the Welthauptstadt, he felt elated, invigorated. The time was now. After eight years of waiting, the time was most defiantly now. He smiled, his gaze sweeping the early morning gloom, across the Pantheon of the Army, the Square of the People and the great Triumphal Arch before settling on the monumental dome of the Volkeshall. Black banners, each bearing the embossed face of the much lamented and dearly missed Fuhrer, had quickly appeared to drape its marble flanks.
Reinhard's smile faded. Josef's sledgehammer subtle touch at work, no doubt. He dearly wished the little cripple would hurry up and join Goering and the rest of the old men in the Palace Necropolis. The fates had been kind enough to remove 'Herr Fuhrer' from his way, and he had dealt with Heinrich himself, but he dared not push his luck further with a second assassination. There were only so many dead Party Officials one could blame on Communist insurgents without making one's own Schutzstaffel look especially incompetent.
Reinhard turned away from the window. 'Of course, this doesn't really benefit us, does it Reichsfuhrer?'. Gauliter Hanke looked from Steiner to Kempf and then back to Reinhard, waiting for an answer.
'Immediately, no, of course it doesn't, we will simply have to accelerate our plans' Reinhard answered as he returned to his desk. He was beginning to regret inviting the Gauliter to this meeting, the man asked such infuriatingly pointless questions. Perhaps that was why he'd remained a Gauliter for the last twenty years, twiddling his thumbs in Silesia, or whatever it was he did to entertain himself.
Reinhard decided he would have him shot and replaced sometime in the near future.
He added a mental emphasis on the near element as Hanke took out one of his obnoxious American cigarettes. A withering glare from Fredrich Kruger who was seated to his left, however, convinced him quickly that to continue was not a wise idea. He sheepishly returned it to the carton in his breast pocket, with a muttered apology. Heydrich took a deep breath as the six men in his office fell silent. This was the point of no return.
'Obergruppenfuhrers', Reinhard began. Felix Steiner, Jurgen Kempf and Kurt Meyer, seated to the right of Hanke in front of Reinhard's desk instantly snapped to attention. Kempf was leaning forward precariously, his anticipation for the orders which they all knew were to come plain for all to see. 'First, gentlemen, what is the status of your units?'.
Meyer quickly answered for all three of them; 'Third SS-Panzer Army has moved into the last stages of mobilization, although the 'Nordland' division is yet to receive the last batch of Leopard II main battle tanks you have allocated'.
Meyer paused and looked up at Reinhard, who waved him onwards; 'you'll get your tanks before zero hour, Meyer, I guarantee it'. The Obergruppenfuhrer nodded assent and continued.
'Second SS-Panzer Army arrived in Bohemia to join them for the 'training exercises' you have arranged, although it will be at least a week before they're entirely combat ready. Further units will have moved into position on the outskirts of Frankfurt, Munich and Hitlerstrass within three days'.
'Good', nodded Henrich, 'step up your deployment of units around Munich, I want a Corps ten kilometres from the home of National Socialism, the entire point of these opening moves is to make it obvious that we are planning to make our strike against the Party, we want to scare them into action'. Meyer again nodded agreement.
'Of course Herr Reichsfuhrer'.
'Secondly.' With some reluctance Henrich returned his attention to the Hanke. 'I would hope you have completed your preparations, Gauliter?'
'Of course Herr Reichsfuhrer. Oberstgruppenfuhrer Nebe has been especially helpful I must add. Our intelligence elements will be able to trigger a widespread slave rebellion across Silesia with only a few days notice, it's really quite ingenious how Artur has orga-' Reinhard cut him off with a wave of his hand. He hated having to entrust such a crucial element of his plan to someone as dimwitted as Gauliter Hanke, but it had been most difficult to recruit any senior administrator in a district close enough to Germania to his cause. The very fact that he had accomplished this, even if the result was only Hanke, was testament to the extent of his influence across the Reich. His appointment of Nebe to supervise the operation, however, was reassuring. Nebe was a man who got things done.
'Thirdly, Gruppenfuhrer Reiter', Reinhard continued.
The last Waffen-SS man in the room stepped away from the bust he'd been examining in the shadowed alcove by the door. At six foot four, he cut an imposing figure, handsome, solidly built and with the Knights Cross with swords and oak leaves fastened about his collar – it could have been his face on the SS recruitment posters or television broadcasts Reinhard had taken to organizing over the last few years. Except for his eyes. Although the phrase 'swam with madness' might seem a cliché, there was no other way to describe them – they were positively disturbing, like Rasputin's eyes in the old Tsarist court photographs. They communicated blank horror and vindictive hatred in equal parts, a result no doubt of his extended service in the Einsatzgruppen.
Reinhard knew all of the stories they told about Gruppenfuhrer Reiter. He was one of Otto Skorzeny's most fanatical disciples. He had gone rogue for six months fighting partisans along the mouth of the Volga, setting himself up as some kind of chieftain over roving local bands of Cossacks. He had taken to impaling captured Communists. He collected the right ear of every man he killed. Of course, Reinhard knew that most of them were merely foolish soldiers tales. Most of them.
Reiter may have been a madman, but he was a useful madman, and a legendary commander in addition. Just the sight of his division, the 1st SS Airborne 'Aurvandil', was said to strike mortal terror into the hearts of the Reich's enemies. Reinhard would be most appreciative if, the moment that his helicopters descended on Germania, the NSDAP leadership uniformly keeled over of heart failure. But that would be perhaps presuming a little too much.
Reiter answered Reinhard's next question before the half formed sentence had even passed his lips.
'They are ready Herr Fuhrer, five hundred helicopters and five thousand paratroopers await but your signal, the very instant the Heer lackies move southwards towards Herr Meyer, shitting their breaches as they drive, my men will seize the capital and give you the head of Ernst Kaltenbrunner'.
Reinhard could almost certainly assume that Reiter was speaking literally.
'Speaking of whom', Steiner cut in. 'Are we certain that he will be nominated as the next Fuhrer? The old man has only been dead six hours, and someone else may be having a very similar meeting'.
'Not without my knowledge', Reinhard answered. 'And Kaltenbrunner is the only real choice for the Party, the old man dying a few weeks earlier than expected won't change anything'.
'So', Reinhard continued, 'six days from now, a slave rebellion will sweep across lower Silesia, Slav slave labourers supported by Communists and Soviet agents seeking to take advantage of the death of the Fuhrer will be the catalyst. Oberstgruppenfuhrer Nebe will ensure that the correct forms of atrocities are committed against upstanding, Aryan citizens and quickly broadcast on Radio Germany and Reich Television. Righteously outraged by the actions of the subhuman barbarians, second and third SS panzer armies – currently on training exercises in Bohemia – upon their own initiative will strike northwards to put down the rebellion. Kaltenbrunner proceeds to -'
'Shit his marvellously tailored breeches' interjected Reiter.
'Yes, something to that effect, and sees the rebellion for what it is – an excuse to move SS panzer units towards the capital', Reinhard finished. 'But that is precisely what we want him to do. Within hours he will have stripped Germainia of its defences and launched every Heer soldier he can find south to beat our forces into Silesia'.
'At which point the Gods shall enter Valhalla'. Reiter again added. 'The code will reach my division and Aurvandil will descend on Germania with thunder in our hearts and Wagner in our ears'. He grinned his lopsided grin, which only added another dimension to his repulsive aura – Heydrich had only ever met one other man with a grin quite that...unique. 'And on our loud speakers'.
'To the detriment of the NSDAP leadership' Reinhard finished.
This time it was Meyer, ever the pragmatist, who interrupted. 'How can we be certain that the Wehrmacht won't turn inwards and crush us? Our units are formidable, but heavily outnumbered'.
'Generalfeldmarschal Hoth, of army group Scandinavia and Generalfeldmarschal von Luck, of army group Africa are committed to our cause Obergruppenfuhrer, and my good friend Erhard effectively runs the Luftwaffe, you have nothing to fear'.
'It's not Hoth or von Luck or even Erhard we need to worry about Reinhard, it's von Manstein, it's Guderian and von Manteuffel, it's army group East. They have three times the resources of any of the other four army groups – they could crush us'.
'The luminaries of Army group East will accept me as Fuhrer when they see two other army groups and the entire damn Luftwaffe swear allegiance to me. They will accept me as Fuhrer when the German people rejoice to see me in the Palace that Adolf built, I was his chosen successor. Me. Not Martin Borman and certainly not Ernst-fucking-Kaltenbrunner! Me!' Reinhard took another deep breath and calmed himself. 'I will not be passed over a second time'. He sat back in his chair and smoothed his suddenly ruffled hair with one hand.
Steiner had paled visibly at Heydrich's outburst. 'That is all gentlemen, you know your tasks – go to them'. Almost all, at least, Reinhard contemplated as they filed out of his office. But he wasn't willing to share the last dimension of his plan even with his closest confidants. It was too dangerous by far. Maddeningly so, almost.
Reinhard Heydrich, Reichsfuhrer-SS, and currently the second most powerful man in the Greater German Reich, suppressed a shudder and picked up his pen. There was still work to be done, after all.
Heydrich's intercom buzzed frustratingly. He shoved another pile of deportation orders to one side and slapped the button. He had been dreading this since the moment his men had filed out of his office two days ago; he knew he would get this call. He had invited him, after all. Nevertheless, he had still hoped to postpone the inevitable until the absolute last moment.
'A Sturmbannfuhrer has just arrived sir, he says you are expecting him', his secretary's almost painfully young voice crackled. Heydrich sighed, stood up and smoothed his dress uniform, slightly adjusting the Iron Cross around his neck.
He pressed the second button on the little intercom box 'Thank you, Magda'. Heydrich strode out of his office and into the lobby beyond, the two bodyguards on his door dropping into step a respectful distance behind him. He quickly left his private rooms and stepped out into one of the half-dozen cavernous reception halls of the Reich's Chancellery. Leaning on one of the twenty great marble pillars that supported the roof, a few meters to Heydrich's right, waited someone Reinhard had made a habit of avoiding for the last twenty years.
A fat little Sturmbannfuhrer, bespectacled and heading towards obesity, he couldn't have looked less disarming if he had consciously tried. Until he smiled. Like a wolf. Which was ironic, indeed, when Reinhard took into account the hulking Hauptman, all brooding silence and heavy storm coat, shadowing the little man. That smile suddenly reminded him of why he disliked this particular pet monster of his rather more than the others, Reiter included. He clapped him on the shoulder as he flashed his own smile back at him.
'Sturmbannfuhrer! It is so good to see you again! Sometimes I think we have lost you and that Doctor of yours entirely in the bowels of the Wewelsburg'.
The little man continued to grin as he too dropped into step with Heydrich, the two of them heading towards the Chancellery motor pool. 'We're not quite lost yet, Herr Reichsfuhrer' he answered.
'I'd hope not, we have a particularly sensitive assignment that you and your group of...unique... individuals are well suited to'.
'Oh? Really? A sensitive assignment, you say?' He exuded an almost childish glee at the news. 'Watching the Doctor experiment gets terribly dull, you know. There are only so many vivisections one can tolerate. Isn't that so Captain?' The Sturmbannfuhrer twisted to address his bodyguard, who, responded with a mask of stony silence.
'Well...erm, yes quite so Sturmbannfuhrer. And I would appreciate you addressing your staff with the correct SS titles, at least in my presence'.
'Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer, of course'. The five of them entered one of the private elevators at the far end of the reception hall and one of Reinhard's bodyguards thumbed the 'Motorpool' button. 'This wouldn't have something to do with your little coup, would it Herr Reichsfuhrer?'.
Heydrich twisted in surprise, his face shifting from shock, to horror and then finally to anger. 'How the hell-'
'Oh Herr Reichsfuhrer we all have our sources do we not? Political espionage is a hobby of mine, you might say. And no, of course I haven't told anyone, except Captain here and he won't be talking to Herr Kaltenbrunner, will you Captain?'.
The four other occupants of the elevator all turned to look at the huge SS officer. Who again responded with a blank face and total silence.
'See?' smiled the little Sturmbannfuhrer. 'Total secrecy'. He tapped the side of his nose with one gloved finger. 'Total'. The doors ground open and the group slipped out of the elevator, heading for the waiting motorcade. The Sturmbannfuhrer joined Heydrich in the waiting Mercedes limousine, whilst the three bodyguards rode in the armoured Volkswagen behind. The two of them sat in silence as the limousine and its escort vehicles, including four SS motorcycle outriders swung out from under the Chancellery and onto the streets of the Welthauptstadt. Streets that were almost entirely deserted. One hundred and fifty thousand carefully approved citizens were filling the Volkeshalle on the other side of the capital and millions more had been given the day off work to 'return to the family in this time of national tragedy', as Herr Goebels had put it. No doubt they would already be intently watching the first colour pictures from within the great hall on their television sets.
'It will be an impressive funeral, you think, Herr Reichsfuhrer?'
'Certainly, Kaltenbrunner loves his pomp and circumstance like an Englishman. He'll not let his mentor be interred next to Adolf without half the globe seeing it'.
The Sturmbannfuhrer snorted with laughter. 'Herr Borman would have hated it then, all that bunting is so expensive'. This managed to raise a smile from Reinhard, even after the events in the elevator. He turned to look out of the window as the cars swept gracefully into the Pantheon of the Army and under the Triumphal Arch. Its marble flanks were carved with the names of every soldier to have died in the Great War of German Destiny. At least that was what they said, although Heydrich firmly doubted it. As they passed under the gargantuan arch and back into the sunlight, he decided that it was time to begin talking of more important matters.
'I want you to go to England for me Sturmbannfuhrer, and bring me something back'.
'England? How disappointing. I was hoping you'd send me to Russia. I've a longing to see the great Soviet capital of Omsk before Comrade Secretary Beria purges everyone still foolish enough to live there'. He snickered again. Reinhard withdrew a painfully thin file from his jacket and dropped it into the Sturmbannfuhrer's lap.
'On the contrary, I'm sure you will be quite entertained'.
The wolfish grin the Sturmbannfuhrer had worn in the reception hall returned as he opened the file and began to flick through the papers and photographs within. 'We both know there is only one thing in England that ever interested you'.
'The Hellsing agency'.
'The Hellsing agency', Reinhard agreed. 'A new source in the British resistance has been quite helpful in relation to your target. Go to the Hellsing manor. He will meet you there'.
'The file doesn't state exactly what I'm looking for Herr Reichsfuhrer', the little man whined as he continued to skim over the few papers he had in front of him. 'How am I to retrieve my target if I don't know what my target is?'.
'You know very well what you're target is!' Heydrich snapped. 'This will be the fourth time we have sent you to England looking for it'. The Sturmbannfuhrer was snickering again. 'We lost it when we broke the agency in 1941. We've still no idea how they got it out of London, under our noses. English bastards. I'll have them strung up with the same damn piano wire we did for Arthur Hellsing with if we ever catch them'.
'May I ask what you intend to do with it Herr Reichsmarshall?'.
'You may not Sturmbannfuhrer'. Heinrich was not ready to reveal that to anyone yet, especially not a maniac like him. 'This time, find it, and take it back to Wewelsburg. I will meet you there'. The car rolled to a halt before the Volkeshalle. Esteemed representatives of the world's press, including a handful of closely monitored American journalists, attempted to mob the car as Reinhard stepped out, but a thin cordon of black shirted SS police officers held them back. Beyond them, vast crowds surrounded the Great Hall. Hundreds of thousands strong they pushed forward, desperate no doubt to feel a part of history. A part of the history of the Greater German Reich. To say, I was there, there when they buried Martin Borman, when they made Ernst Kaltenbrunner Fuhrer.
Who ruled shorter than any other.
Heydrich adopted a suitable expression of solemn grief and whispered into the Sturmbannfuhrer's ear as he came to stand next to him 'you have one week'.