Chapter 10
...
"You seem distracted. Is everything all right?"
Halid'Zorah looked up from the floor of the hospital that Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel was staying in and found Admiral Utala'Falan hovering close to him, her expression unreadable as she took in Zorah's broodiness.
"Except for a few men we work with, I'm finding it hard not to order an orbital bombardment right here, right now," Halid muttered, his head shaking.
Falan nodded silently. She had just heard what was happening; she and Rommel learned together that Zorah had found dozens of camps spread out across the Eastern occupied territories, all of them meant to kill the racially impure, the politically unreliable and the developmentally disabled.
She could appreciate the anger surging in the younger Admiral. It reminded her of Rommel's anger and disgust when Halid had told him. Rommel however was still very much on the fence about the insurrection. He wanted to speak to the Führer. He would not reveal the plot; he just needed to know if the Führer was aware of the madness that the SS were committing.
"What about you? How are you feeling?" Halid'Zorah inquired his voice somewhat lighter than his mood was showing. "I heard that you were ill for a while."
"Much better now, thank you." Falan returned, grateful that the thoughts of genocide could be shoved aside for a few seconds.
Halid nodded his head as Utala turned her focus away from him.
"I couldn't help but notice that Rommel was ill as well."
"Yes, he's sick and wasn't showing it," Falan explained to the junior Admiral. "I have been in much too close proximity with him. I got a rather nasty infection."
The door to the hospital waiting room opened up. In stepped two uniformed Germans', one short and thin, the other looming over his comrade, he was limping slightly. The men ceased their conversation as they looked up to the other occupants of the room. What little colour in Halid's face paled as the near-skeletal giant narrowed his eyes on him.
It was Reinhard Heydrich, next to him stood Heinrich Himmler, both of whom knew exactly what they were standing in Rommel's waiting room.
Himmler tilted his head slightly.
"What are you doing here? I do not believe we have met."
"Admirals Utala'Falan and Halid'Zorah," Falan introduced the two of them, hoping beyond hope that the two men did not notice Zorah shaking with rage. "We work in conjunction with Generalfeldmarschall Rommel. We have a vested interest in ensuring German victory in North Africa."
The lie appeared to have worked on one of them. Himmler simply offered the two quarians a slight smile and a glance to his subordinate. Heydrich, who was glaring down at Zorah, knew that something was happening. He did not seem willing to tell his boss about it, however.
"Ah, the Admirals we have not had the pleasure of meeting," The Reichsführer greeted them. "Speaking of which, Heydrich, why don't you entertain the admirals? Rommel and I have a few things to discuss."
Smiling at the two quarians, Himmler stepped past Falan, who was nearly standing in front of Rommel's room, as though protecting it from the Reichsführer she did, however, step out of the way allowing Himmler entry. The door closed behind him, leaving the room compressed with insurmountable tension as Heydrich and Zorah stared at one another.
"We know what you are doing across Europe." Zorah finally spoke, his voice quivering with rage. "Did you think we were blind?"
Heydrich stood there, unimpressed by Zorah's discovery of his death camps.
"You had, according to Hoch's reports a decade to see this," Heydrich answered him, his voice strangely off. "You had a decade to watch how humanity behaves to one another. You had a chance to watch the Soviet actions in Ukraine and Poland and two years of terrible war. You want all of our strengths but fear the blood that will inevitably be on our hands. The policy of Jewish relocation and terror campaign should have been one of the first things you noticed. I am not the man who enacted these policies, I am simply the man finishing these policies."
Halid nearly lost control right there. This man had to be a sociopath of some sort. It was the only possible explanation.
"We could not pay attention to everything. We could not draw attention." Halid explained as the Hangman of Prague approached him. "Besides... in the early years, Admiral Calis was the one devoted to watching you... you were her project. She was old and idealistic. She saw and reported only the things we wanted to see."
Heydrich quirked his mouth open slightly.
"Old and desperate are a terrible combination."
Halid nodded in agreement with Heydrich's assessment. He looked close to snapping, close to attacking the taller human.
"Yes... yes, it was. She did not see what I saw," Zorah tried to speak without stuttering. "Vast camps stretched across this continent, killing political enemies and impurities by the tens of thousands every day? Working them to death in your factories?"
Heydrich was now only several feet from him. He stood there looking down at the quarian, His expression smiling confidently at the quarian in the Heer uniform.
"What do you plan to do about this?" he challenged the quarian. "Look, you need us. Give me 3 years and a Jewish presence in Europe will be just a rumour. Then we can plan your war. Deal?"
Heydrich extended his hand to the quarian and smiled confidently. Doing his utmost to retain control, Zorah swallowed his pride and disgust and shook the hand of the mass murderer. All Halid could do was bide his time and wait for when all the pieces fell into place.
...
...
This was getting to be tedious, which was an understatement in itself... He was spending more time in the Ministry of Armaments than he was at Oberkommando der Marine.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Großadmiral Erich Raeder exhaled slowly, billowing the last of the cigarette smoke from his nose. This was all his underling's fault that he had to fight so furiously. Saluting several Heer soldiers as he turned the corner and continued down another hall, he pondered this gathering with The Minister of Armaments, Albert Speer.
Speer was a pragmatist; he seemed to appreciate both arguments in the Kriegsmarine. It meant that Raeder still had a chance to sway the Minister to his side in the matter. He was no fool; he knew that the Royal Navy and now the American Navy would spell trouble for the surface fleet, but to simply scrap them in favour of U-boats? It was madness.
Reaching the offices, he froze. He was here. Why in the hell was he here? Speer had assured him that both sides of the conflict would never meet together in his offices.
"What are you doing here?" Raeder demanded to know finally, his voice hiding the rage he held for the man's presence.
The younger Admiral snapped his head up. Sitting there waiting to meet with what Raeder assumed to be Speer was Admiral Karl Dönitz. Raeder could not believe his ill luck. He had no time to school this fool.
Dönitz was a man obsessed with the U-Boat Fleet. So much so that Dönitz had considered that he was the man in charge of the fleets. He was outspoken, boastful and arrogant beyond all other men he had ever served with. More importantly, he had been after Raeder's rank since the outbreak of the war. Little bastard, there was no honour left in this navy, especially when it came to the surface fleet being sidelined because Dönitz was better at whispering in Hitler's ear than he.
Personally, Raeder would be happy to give the bastard a U-boat with explicit orders to hug the English coast, surfaced and exposed. It would make his life exponentially easier.
"I was summoned; I don't see why Speer has any need for your presence here," Dönitz stated nastily to the elder Grand Admiral with very little respect for the rank. "The last thing we need is more goddamn surface ships and I have good authority that Speer will be in concurrence."
Before Raeder could storm over and throttle Dönitz until the man stopped breathing, the doors to the office opened and out stepped Albert Speer, his eyes darted between the two men that were in a state of perpetual conflict with each other.
"Grand Admiral Raeder, Admiral Dönitz." Speer greeted the two men with as much charisma as he could summon. "Sorry to keep you both waiting, come in, can I get you something to drink before we begin."
"Something strong, Herr Speer," Dönitz spoke politely to the Minister of Armaments; "I'll need it once the esteemed Grand Admiral starts blabbering about his dinosaur Surface fleet."
From where Speer stood, he could hear Raeder grinding his teeth. Once again, before Raeder could trade fire with the U-Boat captain, Speer held up his hand.
"Please, Admirals. Fighting is unbecoming," Speer attempted to soothe their ruffled feathers. "Come in, we'll talk instead."
Raeder and Dönitz glared at each other hard. It took a slight cough from Speer to convince the two men to cease their hostility and oblige the man responsible for building their ships. Raeder and Dönitz followed, doing their best to push their conflicts to one side so that each of them could advocate their cause to the man in front of them.
"If you don't mind, I have someone who wanted to derail our discussion," Speer spoke, gesturing to the corner of the room.
The two Admirals froze as they noticed the thin old man sitting in the corner of Speer's office, wearing the uniform of a Heer Generalfeldmarschall. His eyes were hard as he returned their stare with a glare of his own. Speer glanced between the two parties, amused by what he was seeing. Inter-service rivalry appeared to be somewhat amusing to him. Dönitz turned briefly to Raeder, his brow cocked in confusion. Standing from his seat Gerd von Rundstedt took a step forward to the younger men
"Speer... what is he doing here," Raeder demanded to know, his voice high with a rage that Dönitz could agree with.
Speer glanced to the drinking Rundstedt and simply smiled silently at the scandalized looks of the two Navy men to the presence of the Heer officer who sat there as though he was a judge presiding over them.
"Rundstedt is my guest, Admirals," Speer spoke plainly to the two men. "Today I wanted to show him an ounce of the things I am forced to endure daily."
Rundstedt's eyes turned to each of the two sailors in front of him. He appeared to be assessing the two men before he finally leaned back into his seat. He turned away and focused on the Minister of Armaments, who still had a friendly smile on his face.
"It appears I owe you an apology, Herr Minister," Rundstedt spoke up at last, his words and apology directed to Speer. "Here I thought you were overestimating your complaints. I had expected more from these old sailors. I do not think I would be able to handle two Admirals crying over surface ships and U-boats like my grandchildren over their toys."
All the anger directed between the two Kriegsmarine Admirals stopped in an instant. How dare this Heer bastard sit there and tell them off!
"Well I am so sorry you feel our complaints are childish, Herr Rundstedt," the Grand Admiral of the Kriegsmarine hissed sarcastically at the Generalfeldmarschall. "The thing is, our efforts have been sloppily dealt with. The Führer is far too enamoured by the land war that he forgets that the Kriegsmarine is and will continue to be the most important factor in winning this godforsaken war!"
Rundstedt's lips quirked.
"I see... and you don't think that the Heer has our problems? The Waffen-SS have started getting special preference to the latest equipment; they reallocate every available train for their own... activities. My men were not provided with the most basic of snowsuits to survive a Soviet winter." Rundstedt informed the sailors, his voice remaining calm. "While you two have a pissing contest over how much tonnage your respective factions sink, my men are dying, your men are dying. They fight with more tenacity than we have ever seen."
Rundstedt paused, his eyes darting between the two men.
"If the sailors of the Kriegsmarine could see their leaders squabble like a couple of faggots in the SA over whose Brownshirt is better pressed, they would be disgusted and defect to the Royal Navy," he concluded as he glared at the Admirals.
His words done, Rundstedt instead simply scowled at the two men and finished his drink, reaching for a cigarette to smoke, despite his Doctor and wife telling him not to do so anymore. His words rattled the two sailors. For in that moment, the two men realized just how childish they were behaving, moving their fleets around like child toys, screaming at Speer for resources and the Führer's favour. Why did it take an old soldier to remind them that in the ships and U-boats, they scrabble over were men dying for the nation they sought to protect?
"He's right." Dönitz finally admitted to the group.
Speer could only chuckle at the two men finally finding common ground.
"Both of you have a middle ground, you know," he reflected, catching the two sailor's attention. "A deep-seated and righteous hatred of Göring, A man who will profit off the downsizing and death of the Kriegsmarine. With no Kriegsmarine, his Luftwaffe will get your steel, fighters and bombers are nice, but not when he's essentially throwing them into the English Channel or London."
The two Admirals glanced at one another. Their eyes hardened at the mention of the air marshal's actions in undermining the naval forces of Germany.
"Speer is right." Grand Admiral Raeder growled suddenly. "That bastard has been pitting us against each other since the first day of the war... Perhaps longer," pausing, he turned to Dönitz and added. "I do appreciate the value of the U-Boat, but to focus solely on one aspect of the navy is doomed to eventual stagnation. The Kriegsmarine must be diverse."
Dönitz simply stared at his superior officer. He was not happy with the answer, but nor did he deny that Raeder had been wrong about his opinion.
"I still think surface ships are antiquated, that the U-Boat will be the only future for most, if not all navies." Dönitz, the ever stubborn submariner grumbled to no one in particular. Raeder shook his head, he looked very restrained by the junior officer's lack of respect for the traditional navy he advocated for.
"Not true... if I am allowed to finish the construction of the Graf Zeppelin and the other three aircraft carriers in development, it would change the face of naval combat for the Kriegsmarine. Japan and America's carrier forces are a new naval doctrine we must make our own." The older Grand Admiral argued. He paused and added lowly, "Perhaps then, I will admit that the era of the battleship is over."
The two admirals fell silent, neither of them paying any mind to Rundstedt, who appeared rather disgusted by their sentimentality. Naval officers were always the oddballs. Rifles and tanks broke, only the enlisted man put any sentimental value in them. Planes were shot down, but the officers in the Luftwaffe were impersonal, or at least tried to limit their nostalgia about the first war professionally. Naval men were and would always be stuck in the mindset of being a lowly petty officer. It did not matter if they held the rank of Grand Admiral, sea dogs never changed.
Speer gestured to the two seats in front of his desk, which the Admirals took. The Minister of Armaments turned away and poured the two men a drink. The two men did so, clinking their glasses together and took a drink.
"I will admit this," Dönitz finally spoke as he set down his glass and addressed the Grand Admiral. "If you ever have the chance to take the Scharnhorst or the Tripitz up to the cost during one of Göring's many coastal vacations and ordered the ship to fire a full volley on him, I would soften my view on your dinosaur ships."
The two Kriegsmarine men laughed heartily. Rundstedt could not help it. He too cracked a mild grin. Heer and Kriegsmarine, regardless of their political and doctrinal differences, always hated the Luftwaffe.
They drank until the four men were good and drunk. There would be no discussion of Rundstedt's plot. It was one thing to convince members of your own, military branch, it was quite another to approach men that the Führer had forced the three branches of the Wehrmacht into vicious rivalry.
...
...
This was madness, sheer madness. Betraying the Reich, this was the ultimate goal of the quarian's presence on Earth?
Sure, Rommel was the first to admit that the Führer had his faults. The Führer however was a good man, a great leader. The thought that Rundstedt and the rest of his Prussian elite intended to spearhead this coup against the political and paramilitary men in Berlin was unimaginable.
Honestly, he did not think it was in the old man who had it in him. He was a clever fence sitter. Teetering between loyalty to Germany and his grudging respect for Hitler for everything he had done for the army. From rearming the county to destroying the SA the moment they began planning a revolt against the army. It was impressive to see him vigorously plotting considering his health condition not being top-notch anymore.
Still, he had to wonder about everything Utala'Falan had done for him. Was it all just a means to an end? It was rare to find comradely these days. To find a soldier's spirit in a woman was even rarer. It certainly brought forth a whole level of respect for that SS man who wandered into his operations, having to handle a strong-willed woman who wasn't afraid to shed some blood when the situation had called for it.
So to have her pull him aside and tell him that the quarians had intended that the party that saved Germany from the abyss was only months away from being openly revolted against came as a shock and some sense of betrayal. He did not like being kept in the dark. It was one thing for the quarians to have a stake in the campaign he was fighting, it was quite another thing to find all of this out in the span of perhaps an hour's conversation where Rommel was much too drowsy to get a word in edgewise.
"Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, how are you feeling?"
Rommel turned away from his folder and found the scrawny head of the SS standing the in an attempt to project his power over the ailing Generalfeldmarschall. Rommel wasn't impressed in the slightest. Yes, he was quite possibly the second most powerful man in the Reich, for Rommel
"Reichsführer, how can I help you?" Rommel found his voice, haggard and neutral as he stared at the SS leader.
Rommel could not believe this, he was supposed to be in recovery, recuperating from his prolonged illness. Here he was getting visits from the likes of Heinrich Himmler.
"No, my dear Generalfeldmarschall. I have come to help you tonight, Herr Rommel," Himmler sighed as he closed the door. "Why don't you relax and pretend this Heer/SS rivalry can be pushed aside for Germany's sake."
The remark was curious, to say the least. Himmler was usually very upfront about how he felt about the Wehrmacht, going so far as to openly feud with the Wehrmacht high command. To have him suddenly polite was a sight to say the least. Rommel chose against offering any words to reply to, it was all the incentive Himmler required to continue.
"Unternehmen Herkules is on the verge of being sunk by the Führer, much to the Reichsmarschall's glee," Himmler spoke once again, his face twisted in disgust. "Göring fears a repeat of the invasion of Greece, and not without good measure. He did not properly prepare for the campaign. You, however, are not Göring. You will have placed some thought into the attack."
Wiping his eyes and trying not to moan, the Desert Fox leaned on his arm. Herkules was already on the verge of collapse? How in the hell could these idiots crash a credible plan? He needed to recover soon, he needed the Führer to understand that the operation was vital to the eventual crossing of the Suez at least until the Eastern front got their act together, conquered the Caucasus' and hit through Persia.
"The workload will be spread out. I can have the Regia Marina bombarding the gun positions, The U-boats in the Mediterranean keeping English reinforcements at bay, and the Luftwaffe controlling the skies. I just need boots to hit the soil and not the Italians, but German boots as well. I need Fallschirmjäger's to hold the ports so we can land conventional forces," he wheezed to the unblinking head of the SS, who stared down upon him like a judge. "I do not have to be in charge of the operation if that is what he fears. Kesselring has shown an interest in taking a command role in the operation. He can keep the operation purely Luftwaffe-led. I need that island under our control or else it will hinder any efforts we make into Egypt."
Himmler stared, blinked and suddenly was chuckling at the remark, as though Rommel was a naive schoolboy. Rommel wanted nothing better than to reach up and wrap his hand around the bastard's throat.
"Once more you only think of soldiering and pay no mind to the politics and personalities you're trying to play with. What you do is not a concern to him. Malta could be taken if done properly, the thing that holds back the attack is Göring's pride." Himmler spoke as he took yet another step closer, now next to the bed. "He failed in Greece, he failed in Britain and he's beginning to fail in Stalingrad. One more serious failure and that incompetent addict will lose his place at the Führer's side; and either your friend Kesselring or Erhard Milch will be his most likely of replacements."
Himmler smiled politely at the staring Rommel.
"This is where I come in," Himmler continued. "The Führer will take Göring's word over yours; the Führer will take my word of Göring's. One word from me in an official capacity and I can have your operation underway whenever you see fit."
Rommel coughed and looked up to Himmler, his face impassive as Rommel wiped the sweat from off of his brow. Looking weary, he pulled himself up and rested his back against the metal post of the bed. He could not believe he was listening to this, he could not believe that for once in his life Rommel found himself seriously contemplating what the Reichsführer was offering to him. Like Satan making over him a deal to save his campaign, to seal his reputation as the one man in the desert who did.
"What's your price?" He wondered aloud to the man hovering over him.
Himmler could only smile as took a seat on the seat next to the Generalfeldmarschall, his hat coming off his head as his hand pushed any frayed hair to the side.
"1st SS Panzer Division Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler has been refitted as a panzergrenadier division. They are rested and ready to be reactivated for combat services. Obergruppenführer Sepp Dietrich has requested that his unit be deployed into soft combat until they are properly prepared for the east." The Reichsführer spoke plainly to the ailing Desert Fox. "I want them deployed on your front with your blessing. I want you teaching them to fight."
Rommel's eyes narrowed furiously at the slimy-looking bespectacled Reichsführer staring at him, waiting for an answer that would not come quickly. Himmler wanted him to take in what was considered the Praetorian Guard of the Führer into his ranks. Had he not made it clear with the SS that there was to be no compromise on the matter? Besides, the division could be deployed to protect the supply lines to the East. Stopping partisan attacks, the sort of thing a glorified police army was most talented in doing. He remembered Poland, and how quick they were to die for the Führer for the first days of the conflict. No wonder the SS was now conscripting.
"I won't have SS boots in Africa," Rommel refused without hesitation. "I have told this to you and the rest of your compatriots many times now. I practice war, not racial superiority against the British, or the inhabitants of the countries I fight across. I won't make this front political. I won't let you coerce me into it either."
Himmler could only smile politely.
"I can assure you, any policies you think are in place will not be practised in Africa, it's much too mongrel and messy to be dealt with and we are only there to train," Himmler assured Rommel, his voice somewhat lighter now. "If you want your campaign to be successful, you will stop being so cankerous and start working together with those who only wish to help. The British have to be completely obliterated before the Americans are confronted in the West. This, I hear, you said it yourself to the Führer. Once they arrive and the British are not handled, you will lose control of this momentum."
Rommel remained silent as he took in Himmler's offer wearily. It was growing more and more logical to the man who could have to face the onslaught of fresh American soldiers, willing and eager to make Rommel's efforts into a nightmare. Yes, he had at least two, maybe three months before America turned her tremendous strength to face him.
"You can be in charge of them if you so wish, keep them under the tightest supervision of your subordinates, but SS boots in Africa are the only ways Unternehmen Herkules will survive and keep Panzer Army Afrika from being starved by the growing resistance of Malta." Himmler tacked on "You will need all the help you can get once you pass the Suez."
He had to concede to Himmler's shrewd observation. He looked so dull, and unimaginative, but it was all just a ruse. Behind the image of helpful reminders laid a mind that had mastered logic and manipulation. He knew how to exploit the fears of men. Exhaling slowly, reluctant to do so, the Desert Fox simply nodded, accepting the SS division joining his fight.
Rommel was a man, not the legend he wanted to be, nor was perceived by his enemies. He was quite capable of making mistakes. Allowing the SS into his front would become the one act that would forever tarnish his carefully crafted image.
...
...
Closing the door behind him, Himmler turned back and found Heydrich staring wearily at the quarians. Whatever conversation they were having was over and had ended in a staring match between the two men. The woman, on the other hand, looked ashen-faced; she was sitting down, her eyes flickering to the door. Rommel's room.
As though she was itching to go and check on him but did not want to do it in the presence of the SS leadership. Himmler wrinkled his nose. The implication was unpleasant. The fact that Joachim Hoch, one of his own had taken an interest in them was perverse, bordering on being no better than buggery in his opinion.
"Herr Reichsführer," was all the female quarian could say to him as he turned his attention from Heydrich.
Himmler inclined his head only slightly to the alien.
"Admirals, I wish you nothing but success for your African adventures," Himmler spoke to the two aliens. He did his best to remain polite to the two of them. He gestured to Heydrich, who glared hard at the two aliens and followed his Reichsführer out of the room.
Before they left, out of the corner of his eye, the woman admiral had stood up and nearly stormed into Rommel's s room. Heinrich could only snort,
"How did it go?" Heydrich spoke to Himmler, making the Reichsführer turn his attention back to the sick-looking man. He seemed off... almost worried even. Himmler paid it no mind, whatever had happened was not his concern.
"He went for it, or at the very least, he will consider it. He's not going to turn down twenty-five thousand heavily armed shock troops." Himmler spoke to the emaciated blonde beast as he closed the door behind the two of them. "Tell Eichmann he is to be attached to Dietrich. I want him to make notes of the populations under Afrika Korps control for population statistics are fed into our system. Our priorities remain in Europe... but it never hurts to start a count."
Himmler paused and turned back to Heydrich, eyes earnest as he pulled off his glasses to clean the delicate lenses. Heydrich nodded, and he accepted the answer. Still, he sighed resignedly.
"The quarians know about the special program."
Himmler turned back, surprised at the blatant remark made by the emaciated student. They knew about what they were doing? The extermination of entire peoples, What did they plan to do with that knowledge? Would they try to stop them? Who told them about it? There were only two SS men that were close to the quarians. Joachim Hoch and Gerald Langer. Langer, however, was nowhere near as connected to them as Hoch was.
Taking a deep controlled breath, Himmler turned to Heydrich.
"Tell Kaltenbrunner to pick up Obersturmbannführer Hoch the next time he shows his face in Vienna," he ordered. "He had better have some answers."