Transition Plan Chapter 137 - The Battle of Greystoke Part 2

…Berlin. 1940…

Vice Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, Chief of the Wehrmacht's Military Intelligence organization called the Abwehr steepled his fingers in front of him at his desk. He was very troubled. The Abwehr had many embarrassments and missteps in the past and Canaris had been put there by Adolf Hitler himself in 1937 to fix the problems and reestablish the Service as a respected and powerful organization in support of the restored German Armed Forces - in full defiance of the Treaty of Versailles. The Schutzstaffel – the increasingly distrusted and feared SS - thought they were invincible and that the military didn't need their own intelligence group. The Admiral needed to prove otherwise, to have a counter to the sinister organization growing within the National Socialist Party of the Third Reich.

Because of Canaris' leadership and quick actions, the Abwehr had gained Hitler's trust and admiration. Canaris' seeded subversive elements into Germany's neighboring countries' governments and militaries, leading to the successful, almost bloodless annexation of Austria and the Sudetenland, including the Czechs. Because of his success, Canaris was sent as a special envoy to Spain to help forge a lasting alliance with that equally fascist country. Rather than satisfy Hitler's thirst for power, those early victories had emboldened Hitler to further his military conquests. Wilhelm was troubled that he'd actually instilled the confidence to further the conquests of the Nazis he served, even though he wasn't one of them officially, nor any of his officers.

The Blitzkrieg campaigns running since the beginning of Hitler's military campaigns against the rest of Europe had been far too easy victories. All the countries around Germany had fallen into the Nazi's clutches. Poland had fallen nearly immediately, followed by Norway and the Netherlands. He knew France would soon capitulate.

But Britain was another matter.

Everyone underestimated the English, no matter how hard Canaris warned Nazi leadership. Once the island nation began fighting in earnest, it would mean the destruction of his beloved Germany. Canaris spent enough time living among the British and in the embassy staff earlier in his career to know that these were a people of great resolve. While appearing loyal to the Nazis, he quietly tried to work against their expansionist goals. But to curry favor with the Nazi High Command, especially Heinrich Himmler, and especially to keep that evil man from looking too far into Abwehr operations, Canaris continued a steady set of disruptions and assassinations in targeted countries. The operation he had planned next would be the most bold, but if successful, it would hopefully avoid setting all of Europe ablaze.

The Admiral turned to his handpicked and most trusted Deputy Hans Oster, "Are you sure our contacts in Tanganyika will provide the operatives we need?"

"That's why we went to Africa, sir. These people are good, according to our staff in-country. They've done other ops for us there. They're a bit… um… unconventional though, Wilhelm."

Canaris rolled his eyes, "We don't need unconventional, Hans. We need people who will follow orders. Especially now. We're already at war with the British in the Sudan, and we fought them in France before they retreated. They aren't afraid of us. They simply didn't have enough infantry and armor to turn the tide in France. What made it worse was the ineptitude of the French Army military commanders there against General Rommel so that the the French High Command misused their British allies' power. The Scots penetrated 200 klicks into our lines almost immediately after landing in France, and nearly cut our troops off from the main force. They were kicking our butts. We could have lost France."

"But we didn't sir. It's seen as a great victory."

Wilhelm was skeptical, "But for how long, Hans? We can barely turn around without the Brits knowing what we're doing in Tanganyika or in any other colony. Being discreet about the movement of operatives will be very hard. Getting anyone out of the country will be harder. Why can't we find special operations people in the Fatherland in the Black Forest or Bavaria or the other rural parts of old colonies?"

Hans tried to explain, "Sir, you know how inexperienced we are. Way before you and I got here, almost everyone with any talent transferred to the SS, and for years the Wehrmacht had no intelligence group at all. We have no spy networks remaining in Togoland and Kamerun and no operatives. The rest are dead or jailed. The British have been vigilant against us all over Africa and wiped us out. They've shot or imprisoned or hung everyone we co-opted so far. In Tanganyika, the people are much more sympathetic to us. The German population there far outnumbers the British. We've had people there monitoring the Brits since the Great War, and some have learned jungle skills that are nearly inhuman. They've never been discovered."

Canaris lectured, "You don't have to remind me of all the problems we inherited, Hans. What's so special about those jungle skills?"

"For this op, these people will have to be as stealthy as the rats in London as well as be able to survive undiscovered in the wilderness for weeks. I don't know anyone in Germany with both sets of skills. Or who could be trained in time. We know these people are good. We just have to locate them."

The Admiral fretted, "Well I hope you're right about that, Hans. Plus, we need to act fast. The Luftwaffe is hell-bent on starting the air bombardment of England this summer while the weather over the Channel is good. I think Goring is out of his mind. Air power alone will never break the British. Blitzkrieg won't work with the Brits. They have to be pounded into submission with tanks and artillery and boots on the ground - burning every inch of their homeland. We need ships and an invasion force. British spirit is too strong and their new Prime Minister Churchill is too good. But I can't make those decisions and that's why I've been ordered to provide a back-up plan if Goring fails."

The Admiral remembered all the failures of the Abwehr in the 1920s and early 1930s, and his explicit orders from Hitler to make the German Military Intelligence Service viable again. It would be a nearly impossible task of rebuilding the organization, with its poor reputation from the past preventing good people from joining, even though many trusted the Admiral. Wilhelm had been being using every angle he could to get instant results to give him some breathing room. He'd only enticed a few of his best people who'd been with him before to come back from the SS or outright retirement, and wasn't so sure they were there to spy on him. It was a hell of a new world order working for the Nazis, and wondered if this was a dead end job for him. Literally. But being loyal to the Fatherland demanded his commitment, no matter who was running Germany now.

Wilhelm asked simply, "Are they Germans?"

Hans answered, "They are loyal Germans in Tanganyika, but operate independently of the military. They are aligned toward our goals. Every time we've used them, they've come through. They're part of a community of German nationals all over Africa that strongly resent our former colonies being taken over by the British. They've been oppressed and mistreated for decades since the Great War. They are plenty motivated to help us. They get results, but they are expensive. They've done work in all the former colonies. Togoland. Kamerun. Southwest Africa. East Africa. And lately in Sudan. Of all the small groups out there that help us, these guys are the best. But their military discipline is sadly… lacking."

The Admiral complained, "I can't stand groups who are undisciplined. I hate to rest our hopes on a bunch of greedy mercenary thugs wandering the jungles of former German East Africa committing acts of terror on our behalf."

"At the risk of sounding trite, sir, these are desperate times – it's not like the old days."

Wilhelm sighed, "I know, I know. It's time for desperate measures. But Hans, every move must be calculated. And not so desperate that we take the entire organization down. Lack of discipline gets people – our people – killed."

"Yes sir, I understand. Do you have any alternatives?"

The exchanged looks in silence said everything.

Canaris asked, "Who's the new guy in Dar es Salaam?"

"Helmut."

Wilhelm nodded in recollection, "I remember his father. He comes from a good military family. A 'no nonsense' kind of guy. He'll figure out if these people are any good. Make the call. In code. Helmut must find them."

"Of course Admiral," the Deputy gave a slight bow, smiled with respect, and left the office.

Hans walked away toward the clandestine communications room. If anyone could restore honor to the Abwehr it was Canaris. He liked the man, and served under him for years before he retired from the military and became a government employee. His reputation was that he was tough, but honest, and accepted advice from subordinates. More important, he was not a political hack for the Nazis, and was a true patriot of Germany. Hans' only fear was if an old-school, honest, dedicated, principled military man could last in heavy-handed politics of the Nazi regime.

…Dar es Salaam…

"Open up!" demanded a very Teutonic looking man with a chiseled frame with close-cropped blond hair in a rumpled business suit. It was clear that the man would be much more comfortable in a uniform, not a suit.

The proprietor peaked out the restaurant window from a single blind, "Sorry my friend. We're closed. Come back at lunch. Can't you read the sign?"

The man ignored the restaurant owner's objections, "We don't need schnapps or sauerbraten. We need information."

The restaurateur just shook his head, "I know who you are. Just a moment."

The late middle-aged shop owner unlocked to door, invited the men inside, took them to his largest table, and turned on a couple of dim lamps. At least the electricity was working tonight.

Five men accompanied the large man, and were equally tough looking. Nonetheless, the overweight restaurant owner didn't seem intimidated. He noticed a crack in the door inch open from the family residence behind the store. She was listening.

He poured the men them a drink, and one for himself. He asked calmly, "What do you want that you couldn't get when we were open earlier?"

"Information that can't be talked about over a weinersnitzel and accordion music."

The older man's eyebrow arched, "Oh. That kind of information. Again? It seems I'm helping you guys nearly all the time these days. Got a spare uniform? I should start wearing it."

The disguised military man spit, "Don't be joking about something you don't really want us to ask you to do, old man. We just might need you to do that too."

He owner observed that these people had absolutely no sense of humor. This was not the man he'd dealt with for years.

"Who are you, sir? You're new."

"Helmut. You'll have to deal with me now."

"Where's Dieter?"

"Called to Berlin to help the new guy in charge."

The owner blinked, "Oh. You mean Canary? Cannabis? Oh, yes. Canaris. The Great War Admiral hero. I admired that guy. What the heck is a navy man doing running a spy organization?"

"That's our business. You have people who can help us that come here often to eat. We need them."

"Oh? So you're looking for 'them' again? Haven't they done enough for you already? You guys don't know anyone else in Tanganyika?"

Helmut growled, "You're not the judge of that. If you and they are loyal to the Fatherland, you – and they – will just do what you're all told. Like all of us. Heil Hitler!"

The restaurant owner did not return the salutation or the sign, but complained, "You're not paying me enough for that kind of loyalty."

"Be careful of traitorous words like that, barkeeper. Be grateful that we do pay you rather than force it out of you. At least a Deutschmark is worth something again."

That was clearly a threat. The mostly gray haired man just stared blankly doing nothing.

The military man grimaced, shook his head, and reached into his pocket. The restaurant owner winced thinking it was a luger. It was a huge roll of Deutschmarks, and the disguised soldier handed to him.

The restaurateur flipped through the thick wad of currency, noticing it was bigger than his usual fee, and smiled, "Now we're talking."

Helmut asked impatiently, "So talk, then. It's late. Tell us what we want to know. Despite what you think of us, we do sleep."

The middle aged man inquired, "Another special operation in the Sudan? Or up to North Africa? I hear that's heating up."

Helmut replied, "There? No. All I can tell you that it's something against the English. They need to be able to travel."

"Whatever you're doing don't make it so bad that the Brits here close me down just because I'm a German running a German restaurant. The Brits here love my food. And especially my beer. It's a lot tastier than their bitters."

Helmut nearly shouted, "This isn't about food and your insane profits taking British money. This is about making the British slaves to the Reich."

The shopkeeper was surprised they were sharing so much with him, but then again, he noted with pride that he as the best of the barkeepers in town at keeping secrets, which was why Dieter had always come to him in confidence. The man's disappearance was sudden, and wondered if his new assignment was as Helmut had said. These were clearly a new breed of ruthless men.

The older man assured them, "Then these guys are the right people for you again. They all hate the English with a passion, especially the Scottish and the likes of them. They'll be very motivated to help you. Whatever it is you're doing. A couple of them know London."

The burly young man warned, "They're going to have to know it a lot better. We hear these people can't take orders well. We'll teach them a thing or two about how to really operate incognito, and do what they're told without getting killed. Or the people they'll work with."

The men swigged back their third shot of liquor and wiped their mouths, "Enough talk. We hire you to make connections. You're too fat, old man, to fight for the Fatherland. We'll be back in two more nights. Same time. Make sure they're here."

The older man cautioned, "That might be an issue. They're hard to reach, and they go into the deep jungle a lot. Sometimes for weeks."

Helmut got up from his chair, leaned over and grabbed the middle-aged man by the collar, and demanded angrily, "Siegfried, let's be perfectly clear. I don't care what you have to do, just get them here in two days. No tricks or excuses. Make them come. Or we get our money back. With interest."

Siegfried spoke weakly, "I… I understand. I will do as you wish."

His arm still hurt from receiving the 'interest payment' the last time he didn't deliver.

Siegfried said farewell to the unwelcome late night guests, locked the door, wiped the table, put all their dirty glasses in the sink in the kitchen to clean in the morning, turned and headed back to his bedroom.

He sighed, and got quietly back into bed. He knew his wife was awake and had listened, and he contemplated what he could tell her. The woman in her 30s surprised him by being undressed completely and she snuggled up against him, showing him her normal amazing smile to comfort him. That particular look that was always a promise that something nice would happen between them.

"Who was that? I didn't recognize anyone," Rita asked, older, more buxom and heavier after a couple of children and a steady diet of beer and good German food, but her more mature body was still shapely and pretty to her husband.

"Abwehr. Their new guy. He's all business. He's not a fun date to drink with before doing business."

Rita was very worried, "Abwehr again? Those people will be the death of you, sweetheart. The British are going to find out someday, dear, that you're an informer. I thought our dream was to just run a restaurant and bar again. We have plenty of money now thanks to Jeanne, and we've made much more since we opened this place. We don't need those people or their payoff money. They're always trouble. No matter how nice they are. We're at war again Siegfried, because of the Nazis. Don't bring the war to our restaurant. The boys need their father."

Siegfried complained, "What choice do I have? This war's much bigger and far more violent this time, and we need to be on the right side of it. Poland, Austria, the Czechs, the lower countries, and France: they're all part of the Reich now. Once we defeat England, we'll be living in German East Africa again, and it won't matter who's in charge of Germany again. We're too far away from Berlin for them to care. We'll be entertaining at the Mayor's parties like we did a long time ago."

Rita shook her head in doubt, "I'm not so sure it's going to go as well this time, liebchen. With radios and airplanes, the world is a lot smaller. Forget about taking their 'snitch money'. Please tell them your price of doing business with them is keeping our boys out of this fight."

Siegfried answered sadly, "I'm not sure if I can, sweetheart. The Wehrmacht needs conscripts everywhere. Once North Africa is won, it will spread to the British and French colonies here."

"I'm frightened, Siegfried. But we won't solve this tonight. Forget about them for awhile. Come to me. Hold me. Make me feel better," she said suggestively with a mood change, "I'm never afraid when I'm with you."

Siegfried cuddled Rita, not wanting to break their special moment of romance, and so he said nothing further, but he thought, "You need to be."

Instead, he tried to comfort her, "There, there, Rita. Let me make you forget those people for awhile, sweetheart."

Rita pulled him on top of her and drew him close as she wrapped her legs around his wide girth. They weren't young any more, and he was nearly ten years her senior, but the pair was just as much in love as their early, sultry, breathless days during the glory days of his burlesque hall. She flashed back to the electrifying first time Siegfried took her virginity willingly in his back office, when they realized just how much they wanted each other. Caressing him in their marriage bed was just as intense now as then, and she was lost in the sweet, exciting memory of being picked as 'his' from among all the cocktail waitresses, the much more sexually-attractive burlesque dancers, and 'ladies of the night' there. Until Siegfried's still-wonderful kisses drowned Rita in his affection for her once again, she reflected for a moment where all those people had gone, and wondered if Jeanne was sharing a similar night of ecstasy with her Jack. She missed her younger friend, and would forever be grateful for the French woman's generosity that that had made their restaurant a reality and kept them both alive and together and a family.

At least for now.