Do you understand?”
Himmler thought the army chief might save them the cost of a bullet by falling dead with fright then, right in front of the assembled high command.
The lights in the room faded out for a second, causing them to glance around nervously. But a quick check confirmed that no Allied bombs were falling. Most likely it was just some problem with the wiring, a common enough occurrence in these hastily constructed bunkers.
As the exposed bulbs hanging over the map table flared again, Himmler regarded the situation in Calais with a dismal eye. He did not like to question the führer, and would never do so publicly, of course. But uniquely among the Nazi elite, he prided himself on being able to broach unpleasant subjects, even with Adolf Hitler.
Indeed, it was he who had suggested the temporary cease-fire with the Bolsheviks, allowing them to secure themselves in the West. And it was he who had first admitted that the Allied air strikes on the rail lines leading to the Jewish processing facilities in Poland were appreciably slowing the Final Solution. He had led the counteroffensive against their enemies within, revealed by the electrical archives on the
Dessaix.
And he had been the first to recognize that, to preserve the forces they had moved into northern France, they would need to withdraw beyond the range of the
Trident
’s sensors and Churchill’s Bomber Command.
Hitler had not enjoyed hearing any of it, but he had to be told. Was it the same now?
The
Reichsführer-SS
examined the map table, comparing it with the televiewing screen. He wasn’t a military genius—he knew that only too well. But he would not shy from doing whatever was necessary. Around him the business of the war continued. The führer curtailed his diatribe against Zeitzler and started in on Göring, demanding to know why the Luftwaffe was making so little headway in cracking open the Allied air defense network.
“They are in our
Kriegsgebiet
now,
Herr Reichsmarschall.
But where are your jet fighters? Where are the dive-bombers?”
Himmler didn’t even bother attending to the fat fool’s reply. It would be a waste of time. Göring had no operational control of the air force anymore. He was only here because he had survived the purges. Himmler shut him out now, along with the dozens of war room staffers who scurried about. Instead, he concentrated on the situation unfolding in front of them.
The Abwehr reported that Allied preparations for a massive assault on Normandy continued unabated. A
real
army was gathering in the hinterland of Falmouth and Dartmouth, ready for the channel crossing. There would be no repeat of the
Fortitude
deception—not in this war. The Reich would not be caught unawares or misled into thinking the invasion would fall in one place, when all along it had been meant for another. The crushing weight of the greatest military machine the world had ever known was poised to fall on Eisenhower as soon as he commenced his main thrust.
Still, Zeitzler had a point. To destroy the landing at Calais might prove a crippling blow to Allied morale.
But then, the führer was right, as well. Thousands of Allied warplanes infested the sky above Calais and Dover, just waiting to pounce. To commit the best of their armored and heavy divisions into Calais meant feeding them to the sharks of the RAF and the USAAF.
If only they could match the Allies’ surveillance cover. Unfortunately, while providence had delivered the
Dessaix
into their hands, only a handful of the crew had proved cooperative, and some of
those
had turned out to be saboteurs. As a result, they had not been able to fully exploit the ship’s capabilities, and now she was lost to them forever. Sunk by that criminal whore on the submarine
Havoc.
One could go mad thinking about the squandered opportunities. With just a few “surveillance drones,” and the men trained to use them, they could have logged every ship and aircraft movement out of southern
Himmler thought the army chief might save them the cost of a bullet by falling dead with fright then, right in front of the assembled high command.
The lights in the room faded out for a second, causing them to glance around nervously. But a quick check confirmed that no Allied bombs were falling. Most likely it was just some problem with the wiring, a common enough occurrence in these hastily constructed bunkers.
As the exposed bulbs hanging over the map table flared again, Himmler regarded the situation in Calais with a dismal eye. He did not like to question the führer, and would never do so publicly, of course. But uniquely among the Nazi elite, he prided himself on being able to broach unpleasant subjects, even with Adolf Hitler.
Indeed, it was he who had suggested the temporary cease-fire with the Bolsheviks, allowing them to secure themselves in the West. And it was he who had first admitted that the Allied air strikes on the rail lines leading to the Jewish processing facilities in Poland were appreciably slowing the Final Solution. He had led the counteroffensive against their enemies within, revealed by the electrical archives on the
Dessaix.
And he had been the first to recognize that, to preserve the forces they had moved into northern France, they would need to withdraw beyond the range of the
Trident
’s sensors and Churchill’s Bomber Command.
Hitler had not enjoyed hearing any of it, but he had to be told. Was it the same now?
The
Reichsführer-SS
examined the map table, comparing it with the televiewing screen. He wasn’t a military genius—he knew that only too well. But he would not shy from doing whatever was necessary. Around him the business of the war continued. The führer curtailed his diatribe against Zeitzler and started in on Göring, demanding to know why the Luftwaffe was making so little headway in cracking open the Allied air defense network.
“They are in our
Kriegsgebiet
now,
Herr Reichsmarschall.
But where are your jet fighters? Where are the dive-bombers?”
Himmler didn’t even bother attending to the fat fool’s reply. It would be a waste of time. Göring had no operational control of the air force anymore. He was only here because he had survived the purges. Himmler shut him out now, along with the dozens of war room staffers who scurried about. Instead, he concentrated on the situation unfolding in front of them.
The Abwehr reported that Allied preparations for a massive assault on Normandy continued unabated. A
real
army was gathering in the hinterland of Falmouth and Dartmouth, ready for the channel crossing. There would be no repeat of the
Fortitude
deception—not in this war. The Reich would not be caught unawares or misled into thinking the invasion would fall in one place, when all along it had been meant for another. The crushing weight of the greatest military machine the world had ever known was poised to fall on Eisenhower as soon as he commenced his main thrust.
Still, Zeitzler had a point. To destroy the landing at Calais might prove a crippling blow to Allied morale.
But then, the führer was right, as well. Thousands of Allied warplanes infested the sky above Calais and Dover, just waiting to pounce. To commit the best of their armored and heavy divisions into Calais meant feeding them to the sharks of the RAF and the USAAF.
If only they could match the Allies’ surveillance cover. Unfortunately, while providence had delivered the
Dessaix
into their hands, only a handful of the crew had proved cooperative, and some of
those
had turned out to be saboteurs. As a result, they had not been able to fully exploit the ship’s capabilities, and now she was lost to them forever. Sunk by that criminal whore on the submarine
Havoc.
One could go mad thinking about the squandered opportunities. With just a few “surveillance drones,” and the men trained to use them, they could have logged every ship and aircraft movement out of southern
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