NOW 12

Chapter Twelve

Ministry of Defence denies Scapa Flow closure rumours (The Scotsman)

In a press release issued in London yesterday the Ministry of Defence denied 'once and for all' all rumours that the Fleet Base at Scapa Flow was to be drawn down and closed. However the Submarine Base at Holy Loch was deemed 'surplus to requirements' and that in the future all Royal Navy Submarines were to be based out of Faslane and Freetown...[1]

UAPR tests at least seven devices in Pacific Proofing Grounds (Singapore Times)

Seismographic stations in Northern Australia and western Canada detected the shock-waves originating in the Bikini-Atoll grounds where in the past the UAPR has already conducted extensive Nuclear testing. MoD Officials and representatives of the Torchwood Institute estimated at least seven devices, and Prime Minister Wilson called on the American Government to stop the destabilizing...

Space Command launches Hermes 9 on schedule (Frankfurter Allgemeine)

British Space Exploration efforts are back on schedule after last years Hermes 8 disaster that cost the lives of two Astronauts. Hermes 9 is the first flight after that disaster and the result of extensive redesigning of the capsule and the rocket. RAF Space Command has not yet officially stated the reason for the explosion and...

TELSAT 5 to be launched in January (British Telecom Memorandum)

The 5^th TELSAT Satellite is to be launched next January, weather and scheduling permitting. Gentlemen, we have to remember that we are as of yet dependant on Space Command being willing and able to launch our Sats with their rockets so I must stress that we need to have TELSAT 5 ready by the New Year at the latest. The Italians are on board but the French won't resume their participation so any suggestions?

~**---**~

The warehouse was a rundown structure that still filled Wachmann with a sense of forboding. Built back when Wilhelm Two had been the one to call the shots in this city and thus wasn't made out of concrete but instead the Red Bricks so common in the industrial architecture of the time.

Twenty Police Officers, one Homicide Detective and one Australian Military Police Officer were waiting about until.

“Let's get cracking.” Wachman said and nodded at the man with the bolt cutter in his hands and he stepped forward to release the gate around the grounds from the padlock that had denied them entry. The police streamed over the small open area between the gate and there was no gunfire coming at them, but they were still all armed, the Commissioner had even released the men that were qualified with the K98ks that the Municipal Police used only when very heavy resistance was expected.

Well, they wouldn't need them for the moment, and Wachmann was all the happier for it.

The side door to the warehouse was locked but the rusty metal quickly yielded to the bootheel of the same Officer who had cut away the pad lock and the Police filed in. The inside was spacious, but the floor was coffered with all manner of boxes of all sizes.

“Hey, who are you?” came the yell of a man who was coming out of an Office that was mounted on a platform in one corner.

“Police! And yes, we do have a warrant!” Wachmann yelled and motioned for him to be taken into custody before he decided to bolt.

He watched as three more of the men ran up the metal staircase to the Office to gather up every scrap of paper while Wachmann and Kelso went to talk to the man who was now in handcuffs.

“You have no right being here!” was all the greeting they got and Wachmann replied with a short 'Shut up or I make you' look on his face that was working perfectly.

The man was wearing a workmans overall and otherwise was only distinguished by not wearing the mod-style haircuts that men of his age found to be fashionable right now.

“So, three questions.” Wachman began, “First, who are you, secondly, what are you doing here and thirdly, what is being stored here?”

Before the man answered added: “And don't bother lying to me. I'll find out anyway, but if I have to work late tonight I will be very angry and know who to blame for that.”

But the man was nothing more than a caretaker who remarked that he was paid extra for not looking into the boxes.

Somewhere during the short conversation Kelso had wandered off as he knew that without speaking the local dialect well enough he was next to useless.

He began looking into the boxes and while for the most part they were nondescript and not incriminating, but the boxes in one of the corners he found something that was technically not illegal but still somewhat curious. Bayonets. Bayonets wrapped in oiled paper and sometimes even still with the manufacturers markings.

He struck paydirt with the very next crate. The Bayonets might be surplus and be sold, as said hardly illegal, but what he found next most certainly was. He had to contain a laugh, as it was ridiculous for some reason. A box full with at least twenty pristine copies of Mein Kampf. In Germany the book was illegal and could only be obtained via the Federal Office for Political Education, and only by authorized occupations like teachers and historians, so these alone would bring the wounded in the hospital and the caretaker arrested at least two to three years each.

“What's so funny?”

Wachmann had walked over and when he saw what was in the box the grin on his face was wide.

“Well, at least these idiots make our job easy for once.”

“How come?” Kelso asked with interest, because they were still no nearer to achieving anything.

Wachmann held up a thick, ledger.

“Because this is the personal address book of out trigger-happy friend and I bet you a bottle of the finest Single Malt that our man is at least known to one of the chaps on this list.”

“Would they be that...experimental with Operational security?”

Wachmann shrugged. “Why not? Before and after Canaris defected during the war the Intelligence services couldn't tie their shoes without setting them on fire after all.”

Kelso had to admit that was true. Even after the Admiral had decided to seek British hospitality, a fact not revealed to the public until after the war, the German intelligence services hadn't been the sharpest tools in the box, and after Heidrich had grabbed the Abwehr's responsibilities for the RSHA this hadn't exactly improved and had been more concerned with rooting out suspected dissidents and 'wreckers' even as Germany had started to come apart around him. As a result the ordinary German had less than no respect for the intelligence services, even though the new ones had been built up probably with the help of MI5 and MI6, as they were most certainly organized along the same lines so far as they were known.

“The Problem is, the longer we are sitting around here the deeper these people are going to run.” Kelso said and saw that Wachmann nodded.

“Someone has to supervise this lot here though. Still, I'll have to phone this on. Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

Well, at least they had enough to seriously start cracking heads as his relative would say. He knew Wachmann well enough by now to be perfectly certain that the German was sitting as if on coals with the list and not being able to do much with it. Such were the peculiarities of the situation in Berlin that the Police here was chronically underfunded and undermanned, in spite of being the nominal, if not factual capital of Germany. So they had to sit around the warehouse while Wachmann frantically tried to get either relief or have those back at the station.

There were fifty people on the 'address list' and Kelso estimated by rule of thumb that maybe at best ten or twelve would be able to tell anyone anything of significance, and of those no more than two or three were even likely to be even somewhat useful for their real investigation.

What had begun as a run of the mill murder case was now turning into a look at the seedier aspects of post-war Germany and Kelso had to admit to himself that he was somewhat surprised to see how eager the Germans were to smash this group. Kelso of course found the notion that Germany was nothing than a fourth Reich in waiting and after that was defeated a fifth and so forth ridiculous, people weren't posted to Berlin for believing things like that, but the habits of decades were hard to shake.

“So, what we do we do now?” Kelso asked as Wachmann returned.

“Well, back at the precinct they'll kick it up the chain and we'll pull in everyone we have a file on. That's about all we can do, because theoretically all of these could be acquaintances from his legal operations.” Wachmann said in a resigned tone of voice.

“Joy.” Kelso replied in the same.

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Comments, questions, rotten Tomatoes?

[1] No ICBMs means no Boomers. As those of you who have read Operation Tidespring might know, the concept of the missile sub won't even surface until the 1970s.

NOW 11

Chapter Eleven

Charette stood almost dumbstruck and kept watching at the face of the probably most famous German Officer of The War.[1]

Everyone who had learned even the basics of military operations conducted in Europe knew this face and Charette was no different. He had to be in the early 70s by now, but he seemed at least ten years younger in spite of the lifestyle he'd led during The War and Charette, like most non-Germans had never seen the man out of Uniform, but it was unmistakably him.

Valued by opponents and fellow Officers alike as a 'young' General he had led the breakthrough through the Allied lines that had very nearly encircled the BEF in Belgium, he had been slated to command the German Forces send to aid the Italians in Lybia, an endeavour cut short by the swift Allied conquest of the Italian Colony. Axis Commander in Italy, removed from command when Hitler had become displeased with his performance, he had next frustrated the French attempts to cross the alps and liberate their country without British help. He had repeatedly frustrated British attempts to take Vienna, and the following histories of Army Group South and Army Group Centre had only added to the legend of a man whom contemporaries often found difficult to work with but who was adored by his men in spite of what he had demanded of him.

It was none other than former Field Marshal Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel. The Mountain Fox in person.

He might not like the Germans at all, but he was in awe of the man now standing in front of him. He had grown up with his father's tales of the war in Europe and how Rommel had 'dance around' the Allied Flanks more than once during the Campaigns in Southern Germany, but this elderly man didn't look anything like the boogieman the old reports made him out to be.

For lack of anything to say Charette merely stared at Rommel and frantically tried to determine if the man was still due the respect shown to him when he had been in th Officers PoW camp in the United Kingdom for several years.

“I am terribly sorry, Sir,” Charette said after a few moments, “but I didn't see your car.”

“Not to worry, Mr....”

“Flight Lieutenant Charette, Royal Canadian Air Force.”

The old Field Marshal smiled in the way that Charette knew from the pictures and spoke again. Rommel knew that the young Canadian was trying to make sense of things, and he knew that his whereabouts after the War had been kept quiet.

Although it had never gone beyond the occasional nasty letters there were still more than a few living in the past who resented and hated him for what he'd done, but he was still proud of his decision.

“Again, I am sorry about that near crash, Sir.” Charette said. He had is faculties back under control and was now trying to get through this encounter without further embarrassing himself.

With a noticeable German accent Rommel replied: “No need for the formalities, I haven't worn that uniform for eighteen years now.”

“Forgive me, but in my country any Officer is to be addressed with the last rank he held, retired or not.”[2]

The look on the German's face was just like the one on the picture that had been taken when a young Major-General was standing atop a scout car on the northern coast of France.

The question boiling inside Charette was clearly evident on his face and Rommel braced himself.

“Sir, may I ask a question?”

“Ask away, Lieutenant.” Rommel said.

“Why did you do it? It served no purpose other than prolonging the campaign in Austria?”

Surprised that it was not quite the question he had expected, the German replied:

“Your father or Grandfather was there, wasn't he?”

“My Uncle, Sir. He was serving with the 7^th Armoured on the Staff.”

'Of course,' Rommel thought, 'by that time the Canadians were already in the rear.'

“Well,” he said aloud, “It had to be done. The Allies were on the verge of taking Vienna. If I hadn't attacked where and when I did they would have hoisted the Union Flag on the Hofburg within a week at most.”

Charette's eyebrows rose. Had it been that bad? At this point the son...Manfred was his name, Charette thought and remembered seeing a picture taken in 1946 when the Field Marshal had been reunited with his family in Swabia, a long way behind allied lines.

Anyway, the son was talking to his father now and pleasantries were exchanged before the family went on it's way, leaving a slightly confused Canadian behind to ponder this encounter.

~**---**~

The Ambassador of the UAPR to the Federal Republic of Germany, Joseph Raymond McCarthy[3] stood at the window in the American Embassy in Frankfurt. Like most diplomatic missions to Germany the Ameican Embassy here was unofficially provisional, but unlike, say, the British or the Russians not maintaining the old buildings in Berlin. The old US Embassy at the Bendlerstraße in Berlin was today an office block, and when the anticipated move of the German Capital to Berlin after the Occupation statutes lapsed happened America would have to start afresh.

He watched as the single policeman who guarded the American Embassy like his colleagues guarded the others in the city paced back and forth in front of the gate, occasionally looking up at where the crossed hammers were flying. McCarthy snorted and turned back from the window and turned towards the door of his Office where the Communications Officer was waiting.

“Comrade Ambassador, we have to act on this. If the Germans find out about this they will be furious.”

McCarthy snorted and shook his head. “The Germany will never act without consulting their puppet masters in London, and the Limeys don't care squat about our networks in Germany. This country isn't important enough in the grand scheme of things.”

It was true, Germany was seen as a starters and dead-end appointment in the Foreign Service and McCarthy was longing for the day when he was transferred out of here.

The Communications Officer wasn't so sure. The Ambassador tended to be extremely opinionated and his hatred of the Capitalists in general and the British in particular was legendary and it surprised many that McCarthy had been given any Ambassadorial appointment, let alone one in one of Europe's biggest economies.

“Be that as it may, if the Germans get a hand on our man then they will get their hands on our codes and that is something we have to prevent at all costs.”

McCarthy nodded this time.

“True enough, Charley.” He was using the Officer's given name, so it was clear that he wasn't personally blaming the man who promptly relaxed in response.

“So, what is the plan your department has worked out?”

“We have to contact Washington and tell them about it. We are mostly a conduit here, and they have the final say.”

“Damn these pansies, but there isn't much we can do. Send the message.”

“Yes, Comrade.”

The man left and McCarthy resumed his watch and he saw that the Policeman was doing an about face.

It was bad enough to have a member of the American Merchant Navy be run over by a truck, but what was bad was that the truck had been painted in Allied Olive Green and worn the Y of German Military licence plates that made even civilian painted vehicles easily recognizable.

The Germans didn't know that the man was American yet, thanks to the comatose state the man was in, but the moment he woke up they would know that he was not only American but also someone who had entered the country under false pretences. As far as anyone knew he was a Canadian tourist and that was that.

McCarthy knew that Washington would go crazy when this was communicated to them and he didn't envy whoever was responsible. He didn't fear for himself. The UAPR never had a tradition for blaming the messenger, and even if it did, he could point to the list of approved visas communicated from Washington and that didn't include any references to an Army Colonel.

Right now he needed to prepare for the state dinner at the German Foreign Ministry, a neccesary chore, and he hoped that at least tonight he wouldn't be bothered with the crisis of the day any more.

Officially the UAPR mostly disregarded the British European Puppet nations and this policy had served them well considering that the closest threat to the Revolution was in Canada and not across the ocean, but sooner or later that policy would have to shift as the Irish had been the first non-Commonwealth nation to pledge[4] a Division to “Allied Forces Canada”, and it looked as if more were to follow soon. Not the Germans though, the official estimate here was that this new Army would never go beyond being a token force, politics would allow for no more and if it was pushed then the workers would refuse to serve. McCarthy wasn't so sure about the last part, but he was aware that it would take a lot for the German public to condone a mass deployment of German troops abroad.

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Comments, questions, rotten Tomatoes?

It's not the longest chapter out there, I know, but elaborating on Rommel more would have spoiled too much for the main narrative.

[1] The War isn't a typo, it's an unofficial, in-universe term describing World War Two.

[2] I couldn't find any definitive information on that on the net, but I know that in the UK any retired officer is allowed to carry this rank or at least use it for life and I am assuming that in the AAO-verse this extends to the Commonwealth militaries.

[3] I couldn't help myself. This version of McCarthy was in the most impressionable age during the run-up to the Civil War and fell prey to the Reds in the early 30s. He eventually joined the ranks of the Foreign Service and rose through the ranks there rather quickly. And send the bills for those irony-meters to my insurance if you want to.

[4] TTLs Troubles haven't happened yet and this deployment was sold to the Irish public with “look at the evil red hordes(tm)!”

NOW 10

Chapter 10

Oberleutnant Haake and Hauptgefreiter Drescher were pouring over their Tank again, so they did not notice when the Colonel walked past them. The British were saying[1] that to command a Regiment in Battle was any Officer's first, best destiny, and Oberst Heinrich Fischer was not too sure if he agreed with that. Like most mid and upper level of the Bundeswehr he had served during the tail end of Germany's involvement in World War Two and luckily being shoved into a Nebelwerfer-Battalion when the Officer Schools were closed was no hindrance for being accepted into the fast-track Officer School of the new Army. He had shown leadership ability and since he had ended World War Two as a Captain who had barely started to shave regularly he had left the course with the pips of a Major on his shoulders and a train ticked for Grafenwöhr in his pocket.

The Regiment was to be the core of a whole Division. That there had been a long, drawn out and very heated discussion over the actual naming of said Division during a session of the Bundestag was a sign on how Germany was caught between the two fires. Fischer had grown up with the hero-worship the Nazis had inflicted on the impressionable youths of his age, but even if he hadn't, reading the writing above the building that housed Division Headquarters until the intended home base near Stuttgart was operational.

Stabsquartier

7. Panzer-Division

Officially the Divison was not to be the spiritual sucessor to the old 7^th, but everyone inside and outside the Service knew that his was merely a political fiction to placate the peacenicks that still bemoaned that Germany was 'receeding to it's warlike roots'. Fischer suspected that even this fiction would go away over time. In any case, the Division was still a cadre formation except for the 12^th Regiment and that he, as a mere Colonel was the de-facto second in Command of it was proof. He shrugged. The new Army was organized along British lines, and that meant that the Brigade Commanders were in effect administrative clerks at the mercy of the Major General in Command of any given Division merely meant that in the future he would have to go through one more level of military bureaucracy when approaching the General over something.

General-Major[3] Jürgen Bennecke was well aware of this but luckily he knew that Fischer was not yet ready to push paper for two years and had no intention of letting go of his best (and so far only) Regimental Commander. So far none of the other five Regiments of his Division where anywhere near complete, in fact 3^rd Brigade had not even been assigned any untis and was nothing more than a letterhead and a grumpy Brigadier with nothing to do but waiting for the phone to ring.

“Ah, Fischer!” he said when the Colonel stepped into the otherwise deserted Officer's mess. “Herr General,” Fischer replied and saluted.

“This came through from the Defence Staff[4] for us.” Bennecke handed Fischer the piece of paper.

Fischer read through the writing and then looked up at the General.

“Well, at least they aren't renaming us.” Fischer said, referring to no less than six attempts to force the Government to re-name the Division.

The news conveyed by the message was better than expected, all things considered, Fischer thought. True, having to serve side by side with a bunch of Bavarians was bad, but at least these would be reasonably competent, if somewhat dim-witted and slow.[5]

What Fischer didn't like was that he would, for the fourth time since he had taken over the Regiment from it's previous commander, be forced to act as the Opposing Force for another of the new units that were springing up like mushrooms all over the place.

“Any information on who it is this time, Sir?” he asked, hoping that it wouldn't be the same Grenadier-Regiment that had complained so loudly after Fischer had rolled up their ridiculously weak left flank during an exercise last month.

Bennecke felt with Fischer. “Us together with the 4. Jägerbattalion against the 5^th Grenadier Battalion and the 15^th.”

The 15^th was the counterpart of the 12^th in the 2^nd Brigade of the Division and since the 12^th had been declared operational a scant week before the 15th so there was a healthy rivalry between the two units.

Clearly, the Ministry of Defence wanted to see how good the men were at combined warfare, but if Fischer was to be brutally honest it would be a horrible, horrible mess, so there was only one thing he could say:

“Bedingt abwehrbereit.”[6]

~**---**~

He ran as fast as his tired legs would take him, and he was tiring out fast. He had escaped from the warehouse outside of Jizan, the southernmost major port in the Kingdom. He was scared to death and he feared that he would not see on the night, but the Priest had decreed that he needed to die and that had been when he had run. It was bad enough that it had been found out what he had done, but what was worse was that he had let himself goad into making that proud declaration that had given the Priest the leverage to have the traitor police and Army men to put him to death. He had shoved the nearest man aside and jumped out of a first floor window before anyone had even been able to draw his weapon, and was now running for his life.

Behind him he heard the shouts and barks of policemen and their dogs, and to him that meant that his last chance to make himself heard was gone. Somehow he had been turned from a mere dock worker into someone hunted by the authorities, and anyway, who would believe a poor man like him when the word of someone like the Priest stood against it?

There was little he could do now, and even if someone believed him, like as not he was in the pay of the Priest. The police in the town was deeply corrupt and in the pocket of the Priest and his men, and he suspected he was one of the few men in the group that still felt genuine loyalty to the King and was not seduced by the money. And now he would die for that.

He would run as long as he could and hope against the odds that he would be able to get away, but that hope was shattered when first shot from his pursuers guns whistled past his head. He ran, he tried to run faster, but his legs where not made to run that far or that long and he was tiring fast.

What was worse, he knew that he was because the barking dogs and the voices came closer with each step and he was heading out into the desert, having been cut off from the city by a roadblock that was supposed to have been keeping unwanted visitors away.

Suddenly a searing pain flashed through his body and his left leg stopped working. He found himself face first on the ground and as he turned around he saw that he had stumbled over a rock in the ground and when he tried to stand up he found that he could not stand on his foot. Either his anckle was broken or something else was damaged, either way he would not get away. He handed his soul to Allah and awaited his fate.

The man who finally ended the chase was not a religious fanatic, in fact he was probably the least religious man in the Priest's group. He liked to consume Alcohol and women alike but he was also very ambitious. He felt that he had been passed over for promotion several times and the Priest had promised him that he would be the new Chief of Police in this province and that was enough to make him loyal to the Priest.

When he reported the death of the traitor the Priest made a concious effort not to show his distaste for the corrupt policeman and thanked him for his sterling service.

He earmarked the man for elimination as soon as he was no longer useful but right now there were more pressing issues at hand.

The former Army Colonel who was acting as the Priests Chief advisor while he was out of the capital walked up and after making the appropriate gestures of respect he reported.

“We have all the weapons stowed away and prepared for shipment, Brother.”

The Priest nodded. He knew that the Colonel had not been retired for being incompetent or crooked. He was loyal and useful, clearly someone to remember.

“As you ordered,” the Colonel went on, “we have prepared the same shipment for all of our cells except where we know that they will need arms of a different type.”

“What about the explosives?” the Priest asked.

“Our...partners,” the Colonel said with distaste evident in his face, “have been most generous, Brother. If the shipment arrives as agreed we will be able to distribute that to our cells within the timespan we planned.”

The Colonel paused.

"But Brother, and forgive me for saying this, but does the distribution of the explosives not risk that we are discovered before it is time? Who is to say that there is only one spy?"

The Priest nodded. Once again the careful nature of the Colonel made a valid point.

"That is true, Colonel, but we must run the risk. If there is more than one spy we must distribute everything before the King's men can discover what is happening and ask for help from the accursed British."

The Colonel merely nodded and walked away towards the Office where two of his men, dismissed from the Army at the same time as he himself were organizing the lorry drivers, all trusted men who were payed exceptionally well on top of that and assigned each a Lorry. Every driver team knew where they but not the others were going and knew their route by heart. They did not know what they were transporting but their curiousity was kept in check by the Priest's assurances that they were doing God's work, given special dispensations for missing prayer as they were instructed not to stop. So one by one the old, ex-British Army War-time Bedfords were loaded with inconspicious packages and drove towards their destinations.

The Priest meanwhile listened as the Muezzin from the cities biggest mosque called for the evening prayer.

Soon, very soon godlyness would be restored to the Kingdom of Saudi-Arabia.

"One thing does bother me, Brother." the Colonel said half an hour later as they watched the last lorry leave.

"What is that?" the Priest asked. "Is it the King's Government?"

"No, it is the British." the Colonel replied. "They may have weak and divided leadership, but one cannot say they will not act when pressed."

Clearly the Colonel was referring to British behaviour in the West Indies and towards South Africa. The Priest had to admit that if the British acted then their response would be difficult to deflect.

"Fear not, brother. The people are behind us and if that is the case the British have no way to make their own populace demand a response, and why should they want to? Sooner or later they will need the riches our country has to offer."

The Colonel didn't know how true that was, but right now it was true enough.

"That is true, Brother. Still, I cannot help but worry."

The Priest nodded. There was no point in pushing the Colonel. It was his job to worry about these things and people doing their job to the best of their abilities were to be praised for it, even if one found their conclusions sometimes a bit dramatic. To a certain degree the Colonel had a point too, as the British always had considerable forces in the area, and not only the puppet Armies of the traitor states in Palestine and the levant.

Right now they had units that could intervene within days and even though these were weak, great care would have to be taken not to annoy the British too much before the events the Priest had been engineering for years had taken place.

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Comments, questions, rotten tomatoes?

Also, I want more speculation, people! And those of you who know, please don't tell anyone else. You know who you are.

[1] ITTL at least.

[2] Yes, the situation will be that bad.

[3] Major General. As an interesting side note: IOTL the Bundeswehr still has a “General der Panzertruppe”, even though this is a duty appointment rather than an actual rank. IOTL Bennecke was the second commander of the 7^th during the early 60s and later AFCENT with NATO during the 70s. The main difference with the Division here is that it's raised from the start as an Armoured unit and not, as in RL renamed from a Mechanized Infantry formation, also in reality the Division was dissolved in 2006.

[4] With all due apologies to my British readers.

[5] It's true! Or at least that's the popular conception us Swabians have of the Bavarians. It is more than likely that animosity comes from the Bavarian tendency to ally with the French or the Habsburgs. :P

[6] A reference to the [URL="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiegel_scandal"]Spiegel Affair[/URL].