Axis of Evil

Chapter Forty-Two: Turkish Delight

Ankara, Turkey

28^th June 1941

The Germans hadn’t exactly insisted on garrisoning Ankara, the Turkish capital. They had insisted on stationing an infantry division, Waffen-SS, outside the capital, merely as a pointed reminder to the Turks of the price of non-cooperation. The Turkish Government, utterly dependent upon German imports and aware of the dangers of German and Russian invasion, had been forced to withdraw many of their own units away from the capital, leaving the Germans in sole command of the field.

Oily smoke drifted across the city as the remains of the Waffen-SS division burnt. The British aircraft had struck at it the day before, using a horrific bomb that had burnt them in a tidal wave of burning fuel. The stench was appalling; the smell of burning bodies drifted across the city, forcing the citizens to cover their mouths as they went about their daily business.

President Ismet Inönü studied the message he’d received from the British. It had been clear and to the point; join us and throw out the Germans, or without your help your country will become a battleground for the next few months. He scowled; he had great faith in his men, but he also knew the crushing power of the Germans. Nearly half a million Germans had passed through Turkey to reach the Middle East – promising the Turks Mosul in exchange for their gunpoint cooperation – and the British didn’t have anything like as many troops. Except…

Except that the German forces across Turkey had been hammered. Turkish forces had been left alone – except near Gallipoli – and the German defenders of the entry to the Black Sea had been smashed. Their presence, an offence to Turkish pride, had been removed; only a handful of Germans and a Turkish force stood between the British and Istanbul. Any attempt to bring up field guns, as they had done during the last war, was smashed from the air.

“We could turn on the Germans in our motherland,” Marshal Fevzi Cakmak said. The Chief of the Army Staff had always feared the German threat. “That would not be difficult.”

“And then we would be at war against the Germans,” Inönü said. “Can we defeat the ones left in our country? The British are not to be trusted.”

“They have granted independence to North Africa,” Sukru Saracoglu, Foreign Minister, pointed out. He had always been pro-western; the Germans had demanded his removal on two separate occasions. “The choice is between allowing the Germans to turn our nation into a battleground, and capturing our fighting men in Iraq, or on gambling that the British mean what they say.”

“They are also allied with the Americans,” Cakmak said. “The Americans have stated that this is a war for democracy, not imperialism.”

They exchanged long calculating looks. They were not exactly friends, but they knew that they could rely on each other. “We support the British,” Inönü said. “Marshal, can we round up the Germans in our homeland quickly?”

“They are not at an advantage in our terrain,” Cakmak said. “Yes, we can do it, but we have to strike soon or the British will take Istanbul and we will have no bargaining power at all.”

Inönü nodded. It was ironic that Turkey was depending upon British help; he remembered that the British and the French had proposed using Turkish airbases to attack the Soviet Union. They’d rejected that out of hand; the Allies could not protect Turkey from Stalin. Except, perhaps, they could now. Inönü had seen the devastation after the nuclear strike and it had chilled him to the bone.

“Then get the troops moving,” Inönü ordered. “The forces in Iraq are to stay where they are; they are not to engage the Germans unless fired upon.” He scowled. “if we are to betray them, we could at least take care to avoid making them even more pissed off at us.”

5km west of Istanbul

Turkey

28^th June 1941

Standartenfuehrer Kaiser had never trusted the Turks. They were ugly and dark-skinned, reassembling Italians more than the superhuman Germans. Their women were ugly and hid themselves behind enveloping ropes, hiding everything, but their eyes, except when watched by a member of the police. It made no sense to him; in his experience the police watched for indecent exposure, not the other way around.

He chuckled. The women were nothing to write home about in bed; they protested endlessly, even if they accepted the payments from the SS men afterwards. They went on and on about their God, even though their own government was attacking their religion and on and on…

He scowled. The Turks were untermensch, sub-humans, and the sooner Turkey was cleansed of their filth, the better. He shouted orders at his own people, and the countless Turks, commanding them to work faster on the defence line. The British were probing their way towards the city, and he hadn’t wanted to fight in a city. The British – an enemy to be proud of – were being more daring than he remembered from the Battle of France; there, they had fought bravely, but had had very bad leadership, nothing at all like his own people.

I wanted to capture Rommel, he thought. He’d requested that his own force be assigned to the Middle East, but instead the SS had sent them to Gallipoli. He smiled; maybe the headquarters had known what they were doing, although if they’d warned him of a British attack…

“Herr Standartenfuehrer, the British are closing in on us,” Oberscharfuehrer Jung reported. “Scouts report a Panzer column, less than a mile away.”

“They move quick, don’t they?” Kaiser asked cheerfully, feeling the respect for a worthy foe. He glared over at the Turks who should be handling the World War One-era field guns. “What the hell are they doing?”

“Who knows what untermensch talk amongst themselves?” Oberscharfuehrer Jung said, who’d served with Kaiser long enough to know the required answer. “I shall force them into servicing the guns.”

He headed off. Kaiser lifted his binoculars and peered west, until a gunshot echoed out behind him. He spun around, to see Oberscharfuehrer Jung’s body falling backwards, with his head missing. He had only seconds to realise that the Turks were turning on the Germans, before one of them shot him neatly through the head.

The Challenger picked up speed as it headed along the road. It wasn’t a very good road, but it was good enough for the massive tank, and the Germans seemed to have stopped their tiny attacks. Captain Yates wasn’t relaxing; it reminded him way too much of Iran, when the defenders had let the Americans and British into their country, and then tried to cut off their supply lines.

“Captain, up ahead,” Benton said. Yates peered through the range finder, to see a Turkish man waving a white flag. “They want to surrender.”

“Humm,” Yates said, who’d been expecting trouble. The satellites had reported the defences; the plan had been to bomb it just before the tanks arrived. He tapped the radio. “All tanks, hang back; we’re going in.”

“We?” Benton asked, but he gunned the engine forward, heading for the Turk. He was unarmed, wearing a fez and a basic army uniform. “I think he’s a colonel.”

“Is he?” Yates asked, as the tank stopped, a few meters from the Turk. A weapon swung around to point at him; his dark skin paled. Yates keyed the outside microphone. “Explain yourself!”

“We wish to… surrender,” the Turk said, in very bad English. “We killed the” – the next word wasn’t in English, but it sounded unpleasant – “and we have been ordered to mate with you.”

“I really hope that that’s a translation error,” Yates muttered, calling for a translator to drive in on a jeep. Minutes later, a jeep raced up from the main force, carrying three men. There was a long conversation in Turkish. “Well?”

“The Turks have turned on the Germans,” the interpreter said. “He wants to ally with us.”

“That’s good, but we can’t have them at our back,” Yates said. “What did the Brigadier have to say?”

There was a long pause as they radioed for orders. “The Brig wants us to take them into custody,” Yates said finally. “We can’t risk having them at our back until we know they can be trusted.”

There was a second argument in Turkish. “He’s not happy about it,” the interpreter said finally.

“Boo fucking hoo,” Yates snapped. “Those are our orders, and for once they make good sense.”

“He says that the force will surrender provided they get good treatment,” the interpreter said finally. “Can you promise them that on your word as an officer?”

“Of course,” Yates said impatiently. The interpreter translated that for the Turk, who headed back over the hills. Minutes later, thousands of Turks arrived, almost twenty thousand who had been press-ganged into defending against the British.

“Fuck me,” Benton breathed.

“I guess they really hate the Germans,” Yates said. He adjusted the radio. “Sir, we need some help to set up a POW camp.”

“It’s on its way,” the radio said. “As soon as it arrives, you head on to Istanbul.”

Führerbunker

Berlin, Germany

28^th June 1941

“You have failed us,” the Fuhrer bellowed. “Traitor!”

Field Marshal Kesselring could only hang his head in shame. The sudden treachery of the Turks had completely torn open whatever hope there was of holding the supply lines to General Heinz Guderian, in the Middle East. Nearly half a million soldiers were in the Middle East, a disaster fully comparable to the Battle of Tannenberg in 1914. Unless Turkey could be recovered…

“Stalin will be at our throats,” Hitler bellowed. “He’ll take the territory that we have gained and use it for his own puny system.”

Himmler coughed. “Is there any way to salvage the situation?” He asked. “It can’t be as bad as it looks.”

Kesselring blinked at him. Support from the Reichsführer-SS tended to come with a price tag attached. “We have to reopen the supply lines,” he said. “The only way to do that is to order Guderian to attack Turkey, assuming that we can get the message through.” Hitler’s face twisted; they’d lost landline contact with Guderian as soon as Istanbul had fallen. The British jamming was preventing them from making radio contact.

“We could send orders through the lines through Russia,” Himmler said. He scowled; the lines through Russia might have been intact, but they were hardly secure. The NKVD would be reading each and every signal that went through them.

“The forces assembled in Greece could be used to launch a counter-attack,” Kesselring said. “If we re-take Istanbul, we could hammer the Turks into submission. We have had some success with air attacks, even through the British have given our aircraft a hammering, and we could pour everything into a relief effort.”

Hitler glared at him through strange eyes. “You had better succeed,” he said finally. “There are thousands of Germans depending upon you.”

Ten Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

28^th June 1941

The war room was full again, with the Leader of the Opposition and several other politicians, all showing a united front. Hanover scowled at them all; they would be quite happy to claim credit for the victory, but they would be more than happy to discard blame for the defeats, should there be any.

“The Marines have successfully secured Istanbul,” Stirling said, using a laser pointer to indicate places on the map. “The Turkish switch of sides sealed their defeat; a lot of Germans were killed and others surrendered to us. The supply lines to the Middle East are cut.”

He adjusted the display. “The Turkish Government has requested our help on a number of different matters,” he said.

“They seem to feel that we owe them something,” Admiral Grisham muttered, from her seat. “As if the Germans could have done as much as they did without their support.”

“Enough,” Hanover said calmly. “Major, continue.”

“The Turks basically want us to help defend them against a German or Soviet offensive, rearm their army with modern weapons, give them economical support as the Germans will cut off their exports, accept their exports without tariffs and, most important, get rid of the Germans to the south.”

“Dear God, it’s like dealing with the French,” McLachlan said. “Charles, how much of that demand are we going to laugh at?”

There were some chuckles. “We’re going to have to help them defend themselves,” Hanover said. “As for re-arming them and giving them economic support, they can prove themselves first. General?”

“The 1^st Marine Division has been dug into Istanbul,” Cunningham said. “Thanks to the RAF, it should be at least a week before the Germans can launch a counter-attack, which will give us time to establish the follow-up forces on the eastern side of the Sea of Marmara. Whatever the Turkish position – and I’m certain that they’ll demand that we liberate their western countrymen – we can prevent resupply, unless the Russians ship supplies to the Germans.”

Stirling nodded. “Rommel wants to wait a day, and then launch the offensive,” he said. “Apparently, that would be long enough for General Guderian to realise how hopeless his position is – as you know, Rommel’s plan was to try to convince them to come over to our side en masse.”

Hanover nodded. “He got this much right,” he said. “We’ll trust him a little further.” He looked around the room. “Any other business?”

General Eisenhower coughed. “There was an attack on New York,” he said. “You made certain guarantees to us – are they to be honoured?”

Hanover scowled. He’d hoped to discuss this in a private setting. “You refer to the attack on New York, which was done by a weapon of mass destruction,” he said, reminding everyone what the stakes were. “Opinions?”

“We are obliged to reply with a nuclear warhead,” McLachlan said, picking up his role perfectly. “There seems to be no doubt, but it was Stalin and his evil empire that launched the attack on New York.”

Barton coughed loudly. “How can we be certain of it?” He asked. “Could it not be Hitler pretending to be Stalin?”

Bastard, Hanver thought coldly. He might have shared Barton’s doubts, but it suited him to blame Stalin. “The blast was centred on a Soviet ship,” he said, repeating what he knew Barton already knew. “The weapon – an entire ship stuffed with explosives – came from Russia.”

“President Truman” – there was a slight sensation around the room as that news sunk in – “has formally declared war on Russia,” Eisenhower said. “This war is very popular and demanded in Congress; New York’s senators were very keen on it. The death toll is believed to be over one hundred thousand.”

There were sounds of horror. “The President has demanded, under the Weapon of Mass Destruction Protocols of the Anglo-American alliance, that you target a Russian city in revenge,” Eisenhower said. “This strike must be punished.”

There was a long uncomfortable pause. Barton broke it. “General… do you have any idea of the suffering a single nuclear weapon can inflict?” He asked. “We are talking about a crime without peer in this new world.”

“We have been hurt badly,” Eisenhower snapped, rounding on Barton. “We are asking you to keep your agreements.”

Hanover scowled at Barton. Not going to make this easy, are you? He thought coldly. “General, we made an agreement,” he said. “We have a target which will also be of prime importance for Redemption.”

He nodded at Stirling, who altered the display. “This is the main Russian supply centre and reinforcement centre,” Stirling said. “At this point, they run out of their main railway lines and have to cut down, a problem made worse by our attacks on their lines of supply. There are upwards of a million Russian soldiers here, along with some of their latest construction in armoured vehicles.”

Hanover nodded. “While this base lacks a civilian population, it is also the centre of operations for ethnic cleansing operations, as the Russians know that the Chechens will pose a threat to their empire in the future. If this base is destroyed, the Russian forces in the Middle East will be forced to fall back on their own resources, rather than pressing onwards in alliance with the Germans.”

He thought rapidly as Eisenhower considered it. He had wondered if Redemption could be expanded, but had thought better of it. As it was, there were far too many weak places in Redemption for a chess grandmaster to be comfortable with, and there was no opposition figure like Rommel for the Russians. Trotsky was a possibility, but he was needed in Moscow.

“You will not hit one of their cities,” Eisenhower said flatly. “The President will be most upset.”

“The President would be more unhappy when history blames him for the strike,” Noreen Adam pointed out wryly.

“History is in the future and dry dusty books,” Eisenhower said. “I assume that we can count on your help to develop our own nuclear weapons?”

“We already have an agreement along those lines,” Hanover said, knowing that it had already been broken. “Those are matters for me to discuss with the new President, once he’s settled in to his office and cleaned up the place.”

Eisenhower nodded. Patton had been ordered to send back several infantry divisions – the screaming had almost been heard in London – and operations in Norway had been suspended for the time being. British air raids were keeping the Germans from getting frisky again, but everyone knew it was just a matter of time before the Germans and the Russians forced the Swedes into the Axis.

“Then the Russian target will at least punish them,” Eisenhower said. “Thank you.”

Hanover scowled. “I wish I could say that you’re welcome,” he said. “Kenneth?”

Barton scowled at him. Hanover understood; the Liberal Democrats would be tarred with the same brush. Even if Barton made a real fuss, he would still be blamed – at least partly – by some of his party’s extremists.

“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” Barton said, and paced out of the room as the meeting broke up. Hanover chucked once to himself, and then went to order the nuclear strike.

“It’s about to get very hot in Russia,” he muttered to himself. “And now we’re dependent upon a German to pull off a great victory. What has the world come to?”