Second Chance

Chapter Thirty-Four: Freedom of the Press

German Embassy

Sweden

16^th September 1940

Roth hadn’t been happy about being ordered to leave the vital nuclear research program and escort a female reporter from Sweden to Germany, but even the favourite of Henrich Himmler wasn’t allowed to question his orders. In the time of trouble, Himmler’s inner circle tended to grow smaller, and Roth had every intention of staying alive.

He scowled. He had nightmares, ever since reading the description of the final year of Nazi Germany, but he didn’t dream about that. Instead he dreamed of the uncovered reports of future traitors, wondering if one day he would see his own name on the screen. The German Ambassador had been more than happy to see him – or had at least managed a convincing façade – but it was a distraction. Sweden hadn’t been bombed, even the embassy had remained untouched, and he was envious. The room was well-lit, with bright colours and expensive wine, and he shrank from it.

“Herr Roth,” the Steward said, “please allow me to present Miss Kristy Stewart, of Britain.”

Roth lifted an eyebrow, feeling blood rushing down to his groin. The reporter was beautiful, dressed in a manner that would make a French prostitute blush, revealing far more leg and breast than Roth, who was unmarried, found comfortable. She was dressed to enchant, and Roth realised that she’d already enchanted the Ambassador.

“I trust that you slept well,” the Ambassador said, kissing her hand. She didn’t look charmed; Roth estimated that the Ambassador was old enough to be her grandfather and might well have been her grandfather. “We had the bed designed specially.”

For two people, no doubt, Roth thought, concealing a leer. Ambassador Von Hothan’s exploits among Swedish ladies were well known in Berlin. Himmler had openly wondered why Hitler hadn’t had him recalled and shot years ago, but Roth suspected he knew why; Ambassador Von Hothan was as meek and harmless as a lamb. He shook his head. There were many ways to die in Germany and underestimating the Fuhrer was one of them.

“I slept well, thank you,” Stewart said. Her voice was soft and warm. “I can’t wait to see more of Germany.”

Roth smiled; didn’t the girl know that she was in Sweden? From the report, the strange cross between an autogyro and a transport aircraft had landed in Sweden, tossed out the reporter and her cameraman, and lifted off again without waiting to be refuelled.

“Allow me to introduce you to SS-Standartenfuhrer Herman Roth,” Von Hothan said. “He will be your escort for your trip.”

Roth stood straighter as the girl examined him. Up close, the sheer… personality Stewart had was far stronger, he felt himself drawn to her. He wanted to impress her, he wanted to brush his blonde hair into shape, but he resisted, aware of her regard.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she murmured, and Roth felt his heart beat stronger. “When are we leaving for Germany?”

“You must stay and visit for a few more days,” Von Hothan said quickly. “There are so many sights to see…”

“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible,” Roth said firmly. “The agreement in which you will be transported safely across the Baltic to Germany is only open for this week.”

“I quite understand,” Stewart said. “I’m looking forward to working in Germany.”

Roth smiled wryly. “Perhaps,” he said, leading her away and ignoring Von Hothan’s protests. “Can you tell me more about yourself?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Stewart said, tossing her head. The effect was very distracting; Roth was starting to suspect that she did it on purpose. “I always wanted to be on TV, so I started training as an actor, but its… well, very sexist.” Roth lifted an eyebrow. “They take one look at your boobs, and then pat you on the back and give you lines. Should you grow old, they dump you.”

“I do not understand,” Roth said, wondering if his English would be easier to use. Stewart’s German was oddly accented. “It’s a short-term job?”

“Of course,” she said. “How many great actresses last past the first scandal? You say your lines, you don’t get any choice at all, and you wiggle your hips at every opportunity. And the minute you put on weight, someone fires you and replaces you with the next bimbo. At least as an interviewer, you get some respect.”

“I see,” Roth said, who didn’t. “Are you aware of your schedule?”

Stewart nodded. “I’m to interview Hitler…”

“The Fuhrer,” Roth snapped. “There are people who will object to such a disrespectful mode of address.”

”The Fuhrer,” Stewart said. “And then I’m to stay in Berlin, if you will allow me to do so.”

“Yep,” Roth said. “Are you ready to leave now?”

Stewart looked over at Von Hothan, who was watching her avidly. “Oh, yes,” she said. “When can we leave?”

House of Commons

London, United Kingdom

16^th September 1940

Hanover had faced Parliament before, but there was a new tone in the air; the news of the fall of Gibraltar had shocked many. He shook his head as the next speaker pontificated; many of the speakers had considered abandoning the fortress back to the Spanish of 2015, despite the clearly expressed views of the population.

“To ask the honourable Prime Minister,” the MP for Greater Manchester boomed, in tones of utmost disgust, “why it was considered unimportant to hold Gibraltar? The fortress is ours, it has been ours for generations, and we have a responsibility to the inhabitants, many of whom are either in German hands or in North Africa now! Why was the military not ordered to hold the fortress at all costs?”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been so willing to make cuts in the military, we would have more options,” someone shouted from the backbenches. The Speaker banged her gravel, but didn’t comment otherwise; a sure sign that she agreed with the speaker.

Hanover stood up. The decision had been political, not military; the Oversight Committee and the PJHQ had been certain that the fortress could be held, but the cost would be too high. Britain, with only a small army and air force, could not afford to become tied down defending a useless fortress anyway. Still, there was no way that he could explain that to a man who didn’t even have the guts to admit his mistake and retire.

“Honourable members,” he began. “The problems of defending a fortress are well understood, even in this era.” Hanover smiled; an unsubtle reminder that their advanced technology did not guarantee victory. “In effect, the defenders have to hold onto a chunk of rock, while the enemy makes an attempt to dislodge them. With Hitler’s weapons, devastating the rock and slaughtering much of the civilian population would have been easy – I would have been remiss in my duties if I ordered the rock held at all costs.”

Hanover scowled. He’d made the decision based on the need to avoid a long-term commitment to an ongoing fight with German and Spanish forces, as the possibility of a conflict with Japan grew larger. If the British Army had held – as PJHQ had assured him that they could – pride would dictate holding on to the Rock, whatever the effects elsewhere.

“Accordingly, I made the decision to spare the inhabitants further suffering, and ordered the Rock evacuated,” Hanover continued. “Units of the British Army prepared a defence that punished the Spanish for their aggression, and other units of the armed forces struck at Spanish bases elsewhere. Already, units of the Marine Commando units have taken Spanish Islands, which will become bases in due time.”

He spoke over mounting hubbub. “Short of inflicting untold suffering upon the Spanish people, either though the use of nuclear weapons or by smashing the food transportation network, there was very little we could have done to end the Spanish involvement in the war. I stand by my decision.”

He sat down, noticing his opponents gauging their support. Clearly, they decided that there was no point in forcing a vote of no confidence, for the next question was about a different, even thornier issue.

“Ah, Prime Minister,” Harry Jones said. The ancient Conservative MP was old enough to remember the first time that the Second World War had been fought. “History records that the Japanese and Soviets, and the Nazis, had developed powerful biological weapons, some of which were even deployed. Might I enquire as to the policy as to our response to their use?”

Hanover nodded. “The policy remains the same as it always was,” he said. “In the event of a Weapon of Mass Destruction being deployed against Britain, we will retaliate with nuclear weapons.” The firm nod from the Leader of the Opposition forestalled any opposition. Most MPs correctly guessed that agreement had already been reached on the subject. “Even without the monstrous American nuclear arsenal, we can devastate Germany – and they know it.”

“An excellent report, Prime Minister,” Jones said. “If I may beg Parliament’s indulgence, I have two supplementary issues; will we retaliate for use of a biological weapon against a third party, and what precautions are being taken against rocket attack, particularly one carrying a biological weapon.”

Hanover considered. The rules were clear; there were questions a Prime Minister could duck, but not for long. “For the moment, we would view with alarm a biological weapon being used against a third party,” he said. “As for precautions, we have a limited – very limited – number of Patriot missiles. All of them remain deployed around London and the east coast.”

“A question, if I may,” an MP said. Hanover winced; George Tamlin lived in and represented an area with a large Polish population. “What measures is the government taking to prevent the genocide in Poland?”

“We are attempting to form links with the Polish resistance,” Hanover said carefully. “Although I understand the popular anger, we are not at war with Russia, and we cannot start a war without using nuclear weapons, which the House has refused to sanction.”

Undisclosed Location

Berlin, Germany

17^th September 1940

There were depths to Kristy Stewart that she rarely let anyone see, including a shrewd mind and considerable knowledge that she was careful to keep to herself. Despite her claims to Roth, even producers found an up-and-coming interviewer a threat, and she knew that her charms were the only things that kept her in her post. Baron Edmund, to be fair, wasn’t the type of person to demand sexual favours, but she knew that it did happen.

She followed Roth through a long underground tunnel and watched his back with interest. Despite being an SS man, one of the people she’d been warned about, she had to admit that he was attractive. She was pretty certain that he found her attractive, and under other circumstances, she would have bedded him. She shook herself; this was no time to allow her hormones to distract her, at the end of the corridor waited Adolf Hitler himself.

“The Fuhrer is behind that door,” Roth said. The five heavily-armed SS guards didn’t react, but she could sense their disapproval. Roth had forbidden her cameraman to enter the bunker; her only way of recording the interview was her helmet camera. “Are you ready?”

“You know, you have a really nice ass,” she said, as she checked herself. She was dressed rather more conservatively than yesterday; a knee-length skirt and a blouse. “Are you toned, or are you built?”

Roth didn’t seem to know what she meant. “Are you ready?” He asked, and moved forward when she nodded. “SS-Standartenfuhrer Herman Roth and Reporter Kristy Stewart, to see the Fuhrer,” he said.

“You may enter,” a woman’s voice said, from out of nowhere. The door clicked open, to reveal a simple waiting room. A female secretary sat at a desk, typing away on a laptop. Stewart felt her eyes widen; where had the Germans gotten that from?”

“Don’t film that,” Roth said calmly. Stewart shrugged; he didn’t know that the camera had been working non-stop, dumping the recordings back to the BBC system over the limited bandwidth available from Britain. “I have to wait here.”

“You may enter,” the secretary said, and scowled. Stewart ignored her and gave Roth a hug, much to his surprise, before walking into the room. She lifted an eyebrow as she walked into Hitler’s sanctuary. The Fuhrer wasn’t the monster she’d expected; he was shorter than she’d expected, smiling warmly. He reminded her of a schoolteacher, rather than a mastermind of evil.

“Enchanted,” Hitler said, kissing her hand. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a reporter, particularly one as charming as you.”

“Thank you,” Stewart said, as Hitler waved her to a chair. The room was as comfortable as it could be, without being pretentious. Several artworks dotted the walls, some of them she remembered from a girlhood trip to the Louve in Paris.

“Goring chose them,” Hitler said, as he seated himself opposite her. Stewart remembered that Goring was known as an art fanatic. “He has a promising career ahead of him as an interior designer.”

“I imagine so,” Stewart said, lying. “It’s quite… imaginative.” Now she could look closer, she was struck by sudden ostentation. The room looked tasteful, but only on first sight. Very much like Hitler himself.

“Now, I imagine that you want to ask a few questions,” Hitler said genially. “I will listen and even try to answer.”

Suddenly disgusted, Stewart asked the first question. “Why did you try to exterminate the Jews?”

“The Jews are a plague on society,” Hitler said firmly. “Their creation of Israel in the false future is proof of that. Their manipulation of finances destroys thousands of lives, in Germany and elsewhere. One day they will all be gone, and then the true Aryan race will live again.”

“Historians have said that the existence of an Aryan race has been proved a myth,” Stewart said. Hitler’s eyes glittered. “They wondered what research you conducted on the subject.”

“I thought about it for a very long time, unfurling the Jewish manipulations, to uncover the truth that they have hidden from us,” Hitler said. “The proof of Jewish plots is simple; the Jews have never been able to form a state that was strong and proud, even according to your own files Israel could never have survived without Western support.”

Stewart gave up and approached from a different angle. “You have begun destroying the Poles as well,” she said finally. “What have they done to us?”

“The Poles have served the Jews well,” Hitler said. “They conspired with the Jews and the French to keep Germany down, and much good it did them! The French didn’t even let them prepare their army in time to attempt to resist us, did they? And then the French surrendered after we kicked in the rotten door.”

Stewart stared at him. “But your forces are exterminating them,” she said. “Why?”

“Because, thanks to your people, we now know that the Poles will prove a bane for us in the future,” Hitler said. His voice, discussing horrifying details, was calm and composed. Stewart realised suddenly that Polish lives meant nothing to him; perhaps German lives were worthless to him as well. “We are handling the problem before it can ever become a problem.”

Stewart wanted to run, she wanted to hide. “Where do you see your alliance with Stalin going?” She asked desperately. “It’s not as if you can co-exist, can you?”

Hitler smiled. “For the moment, we have a common enemy,” Hitler said. “Between us, we will reshape the world in our image.” He looked up at Stewart. “Although sharing the world is not impossible,” he said. “You rule over vast lands and we would be more than willing to trade.”

Stewart couldn’t think, couldn’t decide what to say. She settled on a neutral question. “Can I remain in Berlin for the moment?”

“Is the interview over so soon?” Hitler asked mildly. “I do have a message for your people and your leaders.” Stewart adjusted the camera. “We are aware that you possess weapons of mass destruction that can do considerable damage to Germany, although they would be unable to crush the Reich. If you use such weapons against us, we will deploy our own weapons against you, weapons of a destructive power different, but no less dangerous. We have the weapons ready to deploy; we will use them if you attack us with your own weapons.”

“I’m sure that the politicians will take that into account in their calculations,” Stewart said, feeling fear running through her body. “Can I remain in Berlin?”

“Of course,” Hitler said. “I would be very interested in reading your stories of Berlin life during the war.” Stewart realised that he didn’t understand her profession; she wondered if any German did. “You may stay in Berlin as long as you wish.”

Roth snapped to attention as Hitler escorted Stewart out of his office. The young reporter seemed… flustered, a strange mix between fear and… something else.

“Thank you for bringing her,” Hitler said. He was always polite with subordinates who were beneath his political notice. “You may escort her back to her quarters.”

“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Roth barked, taking Stewart’s arm. She held it gratefully; he realised that she was trembling. “Right this way.”

Stewart said nothing as he led her along the corridors. She’d been given a room that had once belonged to an SS group leader who’d been sent to Poland, one barely decorated. He opened the door for her, she pulled him inside.

“Stay,” she said, her hands already tearing at his clothes. Before Roth could object, she undid his trousers and started work on his underclothes, before tearing away at her skirt. He wondered absently if she wanted to be taken standing up, or bent over a desk, but she pulled him into the bedroom, stripping off the rest of her clothes as she moved. Roth undid his jacket, dropping it on the floor as her body was revealed; she was even better naked than he’d felt. Roth felt his gaze run over her body and he smiled; this was going to be good.

“Take me,” she breathed. He sensed her desperation, and her mounting excitement, and could resist no longer. Pushing her down on the bed, he pressed his way into her with desperate energy. She moaned as he entered her, pulling him to her.

Roth wasn’t a virgin, he’d used SS whorehouses and he’d even been engaged for a while, but Stewart tore his breath away. She really was very good.