The Long Hard Road

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Terms of Peace

Geneva, Switzerland

3^rd September 1942

It had taken a week of arguing between the various interested parties to agree on a location for the peace conference. Both Hanover and Truman had wanted to hold it in their respective capitals, but the desire to avoid a second Versailles disaster had prevented them from simply demanding that the defeated powers attend – or else. In the two months since the death of Stalin and the end of the formal war, the world had been almost on the brink of starting the war again, a civil war that would have torn Europe apart.

Hanover sighed. Trotsky’s forces, with some limited help from British and American units, had suppressed the remains of the NKVD and the handful of people who had remained loyal to Stalin. Once the Dictator had been confirmed dead – and British and American forces had secured positions in the Ukraine and Belarus – the bulk of the resistance vanished. Even so, it had taken a month to gain even partial control over the vast lands of Mother Russia – and discovering that the Ukraine and Belarus were sincere about leaving Russian control had nearly started the war up again.

He shook his head. The Russians had been furious about the new Siberian Republic’s decision to leave Russia as well, and horrified at American support for a single large country that would have nearly two dozen different ethnic groups, from Russian to Japanese, living within its borders. Hanover understood Truman’s motivations, but he did wonder if that had been a good idea, in the long run. British interests in the Far East, apart from India, were limited to Taiwan and Hong Kong; the China morass could go to America or the devil – he didn’t care which.

Worse, the French situation had nearly brought Britain and the German provisional government back to blows. The French Communists had seized power – and the Germans had demanded that the British intervene, or they would send in the Bundeswehr. Enough remained a mystery about the strange agreements between the former ambassadors for Hanover to agree, even though the Bundeswehr didn’t have much of an offensive capability anymore.

He sighed. The French had proven to be their usual selves – and the Algerians had offered to supply troops for an occupation. That, more than anything else, had convinced the third French government that resistance was futile; France would become democratic or else. The thought of thousands of Arabs extracting revenge for French actions in Algeria hadn’t pleased them at all, particularly Ambassador Duchamp.

He smiled. Duchamp’s reaction to discovering that France was being treated as an enemy state – which it had been for three years – had been highly amusing. The Frenchman had screamed about injustice and an ‘Anglo-American plot’ to hold the French back, knowing all the while that it was futile. The French had nearly torn themselves apart; separatist forces were at work within the new republic already.

At least they won’t have to worry about fighting an Algerian War, Hanover thought. None of the European powers would have to worry about that, with the possible exception of Belgium. For some reason known only to Adolf Hitler – and therefore utterly incomprehensible to a normal man – they had been permitted to keep their large state in Africa. The Congo might well see the chaos that South Africa would prevent from happening in the rest of Sub-Saharan Africa; the Smuts government had practically taken over the British colonies, once the war had ended.

“At least the Spanish decided to be reasonable,” Hanover said to himself. The Spanish had overthrown Franco as soon as Germany fell, and Portugal had followed with its director the week afterwards. Neither of them required intervention; they just required economic support to survive. The war had devastated large parts of Europe; Poland was pretty much on the verge of being destroyed as an independent nation, or even as a nation at all. Many of the German settlers were refusing to leave, or were taking passage to South Africa, along with a lot of people Hanover would have preferred to have seen in jail, or in front of a firing squad. The Balkans… well, even a hard-core German occupation, followed by a Turkish grab for the Muslim lands, hadn’t stopped them from fighting each other.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Hanover snapped, and nodded politely to Professor Horton. He’d deliberately delayed the professor’s return to England, just so he could decide what to do about him, but now it didn’t matter. The excuse had rather run thin after a week, and he’d allowed him to return, but Horton had agreed to assist the Allied Commission on determining the peace terms.

“Prime Minister,” Horton said. The black man moved slowly, deliberately, his body still not recovered from its treatment by the Nazis in the final days in the Berlin bunker. “The formal reading of the treaty is in two hours.”

Hanover felt a flicker of impatience. The treaty had been privately agreed to by all of the defeated nations; it gave them a great deal in exchange for peace. He knew that there had been people in both of the major powers who had wanted to crush Europe and Russia, to say nothing of their attitude towards Japan, but they hadn’t won the day. A peace – even one that wasn’t perfect – was better than sowing the seeds for World War Three, particularly seeing that there would be no Cold War in this timeline.

Unless we get into one with America, Hanover thought, and dismissed the thought. The two powers were working together on almost every field now, and they had agreed spheres of influence; Asia and Africa for the British, except Siberia and China. Latin America for the Americans, except Guiana. Hanover knew that certain imperialists in the House of Commons – it hadn’t taken much to bring them out of the shadows – had been angry at giving the Americans so much, but Hanover wasn’t concerned.

“The Americans can bring democracy to those regions,” he said, and he had meant it. The British would do the same for Africa and India; the provisional Indian government had finally managed to agree on a power-sharing agreement that left the princes with enough to live on, while keeping the power in the hands of the Indian House of Commons. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement – and India’s sudden addition of Burma and Tibet to its system might be sowing trouble for the future – but it was infinitively better than what had gone before.

“Prime Minister, what will happen to Himmler?” Horton asked. “Where will he go?”

“The hangman,” Hanover said. The Allied War Crimes Commission hadn’t had any difficulties in bringing charges against Himmler; some of the accusations had been thought to be only theoretically possible. The charges that could be proven – the counts of organising the extermination of thousands of Jews, Poles and others – had been enough to have him sentenced to death. Along with Mengele and several hundred other high-ranking SS officers, Himmler would be hung soon enough.

“Good,” Horton said. He seemed to have something else to say, but didn’t say it. “Will the treaty hold?”

Hanover shrugged. “It should,” he said. “At least, we’ll be able to give democracy twenty – thirty – years to take root, without the threat of a Soviet invasion. We can do it better this time.” He smiled. “Now, what do you want to ask me?”

Horton didn’t have the grace to look surprised. “I want to talk to Himmler before you hang him,” he said. “Can you arrange that for me?”

Hanover lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I want to ask him a few questions,” Horton said. “I need to ask him what the hell he was thinking.”

Hanover considered. Horton wasn’t a David Irving clone; he had faced Himmler and Hitler directly. “Very well,” he said finally. “Very well; you may visit him before he dies.”

Erwin Rommel, who had given up the title of General to become the Chancellor of the new Germany, took his seat in the conference room. His aide, Jagar, took a seat next to him, and then allowed Ambassador Schulze to slip past him to sit on the other side of Rommel. The representative from Russia – Ambassador Molotov – took his seat and nodded gravely to the Germans. The French, Spanish and Italians, small fry compared to the two major axis powers, took their seats. Some of them glared at the Germans; others maintained a steely silence.

Japan wasn’t represented. The Allied powers had decided, given that Japan had already surrendered, that they could be spared the humiliation of facing their judges. The Japanese were suffering badly, but they at least had been spared the task of reconstructing after a land war and two nuclear detonations.

The Polish delegation entered, taking a seat at the back. They glared at the Germans and Russians, who had slaughtered large numbers of their people. If the Germans had concentrated on extermination, rather than enslavement, the Poles would be extinct by now; ironically, the Holocaust had been worse in the other shadowy timeline.

So was the peace, Rommel said. He knew the peace terms, as did Molotov, and he knew that they were mild – far milder than Germany deserved. It was going to be bad, but perhaps a new Germany would arise from the ashes of the old, one strong, proud and democratic.

“Thank you all for coming,” McLachlan, the British Foreign Minister and the senior member of the negotiating team, said. Rommel smiled ruefully; it wasn’t as if anyone here had had a choice. “This is the result of nearly a month of arguing and compromising. The choice you gentlemen face is simple; you may accept the terms as they stand, or go back to war.”

There was a long pause. No one spoke. “First, all Axis countries, the major powers and the minor powers, will disarm in accordance with the protocols; no navy and a limited army and air force. You will permanently renounce the use of nuclear, chemical and biological weapons and you will be forbidden to research, develop, or stockpile such weapons. During that time, an Allied army will be stationed on your territory, including inspectors to ensure that you keep your word.

“Second, all of the disputed territory, from the Polish Corridor to Alsace-Lorraine, will be settled by a democratic vote, held under Allied supervision. The vote will determine the fate of those countries, and the ODS alliance will support whatever the outcome. In addition, all of your colonies that were occupied during the war will become independent and able to choose their own fates, including Siberia, Ukraine and Belarus.

“Third, you will democratise. Your governments will become democratic along the simple lines we have set out for you, with clear demarcations of power, limited taxing and conscription powers, and very little control over the economy, with the exceptions of the International Trade Protocols. We believe that this will ensure stability for Europe and Russia as a whole.

“Fourth, you will assist in the rebuilding of the nations devastated by your war. Fully twenty percent of your GNP for the twenty-year period of occupation will be set aside to aid in the rebuilding. These funds will go into the Allied Reconstruction Fund, which will be used to rebuild Poland, Norway, Sweden, the Netherlands and any other country that was devastated by the fighting.

“Fifth, you will be denied commercial access to space, using your own equipment, for a period of not less than twenty years, and you will permanently renounce military use of space. You will not be permitted to build nuclear reactors, but in the interests of repairing your power grids we will be happy to provide you with safe reactors. Any attempt to build a nuclear reactor, production plant or anything along those lines will be considered a treaty violation and it will draw a united response from the ODS.

“Sixth, most of the treaty provisions will have expired in twenty years. At that point, you will be permitted to join the Organisation of Democratic States – provided that you have in fact embraced democracy – and you will be welcomed back into the family of nations.

“Finally, although we understand that the causes of the war were multifaceted, you will acknowledge your roles in starting the war and carrying out atrocities against helpless civilians. All of the records of the civil service, and the armed forces, are to be made available to a war crimes division, which will have complete powers to investigate and punish crimes. Further, all of your nuclear, chemical and biological research is to be handed over to the commission. Finally, it will be an offence, now or ever, for any of you to claim that your atrocities – of which there is a full visual record – never happened, or were anything other than the crimes against humanity which they were.”

McLachlan sat down, breathing heavily. Rommel smiled dryly; saying so much had clearly winded him. Nothing in the treaty was unexpected – they’d known what was coming – and some of the Spanish delegates were crying. The French looked… sullen. The Poles, who had wanted Germany reduced to ruins, didn’t look happy at all.

Erwin Rommel was the first to walk to the table and sign.

“Well, that’s all folks,” Truman said, as the final French delegate signed. Hanover snorted. “The war is over and the world is ours.”

Hanover laughed briefly. “Speak for yourself,” he said. The two leaders were seating in their own room, it having been considered unnecessarily provocative to have them in the room while the terms of the treaty were read out. Truman smiled dryly; agonising the Axis powers wasn’t high on his list of concerns.

“You have the Commonwealth meeting next week,” he said. “Do you think that everyone will agree to the Commonwealth Protocols?”

“It’s the same as in there,” Hanover said, waving a hand at the television screen, where the meeting was breaking up. “The aides and mandarins handle most of the negotiations, then their principles smile for the cameras and act surprised.” He shrugged. “It makes sense, I suppose; if under-under-under secretary Fred at the Department of State calls the vice assistant undersecretary at the Foreign Minister Seagoon a bastard, its nothing serious. If one world leader calls another a bastard, it means war, or at least an embarrassing incident that needs to be hushed up.”

He chuckled. “The Indians will insist on some minor modifications, and the South Africans will demand their right to only enfranchise Africans who have adopted European ways and the Australians will demand the right to set immigration policy…”

“Most of the Jews are going to the Commonwealth,” Truman said suddenly. “Do you think that that will cause you problems?”

Hanover shook his head. “Between South Africa and Australia, there is enough room for them, and many of them worked in German manufacturing plants. Palestine can’t take many Jews, even with the rebuilding effort being undertaken there.” He grinned. “One of my better ideas, I think.”

Truman shook his head in awe. “We might be doing the same in Mexico and the Caribbean,” he said. “We have to bring democracy to the region – quickly.”

Hanover nodded. Both men knew that that would be far easier said than done; distrust of America ran through the region, even though Cuba was proving a success once the dictator had been removed in 1940. It would take time, perhaps a decade, but it could be done. Oddly, there was considerable business support for such an effort, including the Bracken Consortium.

“Oliver is one of your agents, isn’t he?” Truman asked. Hanover lifted an eyebrow. “He provided us with information your Parliament had forbidden you from giving to us.”

Hanover nodded. “He’s served his purpose,” he said. “He’s on his own now.”

Truman snorted. “Why?” He asked. “Why go against the wishes of your own Parliament?”

“You needed atomic weapons,” Hanover said. “There had to be parity between us, so that our alliance could continue.”

“Thank you, then,” Truman said. “Just you wait until we colonise Mars.”

Hanover nodded. The secret protocol in the Space Treaty had given Mars to America – unless some bug-eyed monsters lived there to dispute American control. It didn’t matter; the asteroids were more important to the Ministry of Space.

“I hope that you’ll do well in space,” Hanover said seriously. “We have to do it properly this time, just to ensure that we don’t get caught by any unexpected surprises this time.”

“And to ensure that our alliance remains the global superpower,” Truman said. The two men studied each other with mutual respect, if not complete trust. “That’s the real point, of course.”

Hanover nodded. “We have to remain supreme,” he said. “All of the alternatives to democracy are worse.”

Kristy Stewart circulated the small buffet after the treaty had been signed, observing the reactions of the various powers involved. The Germans – and, as far as she could tell, Molotov – seemed relived; they’d expected much worse. The French seemed genuinely annoyed; the Italians and the Spanish merely… tired.

“We need to talk,” Baron Edmund said sharply. She blinked up at him; the BBC producer had been invited as well, along with a handful of other dignitaries that might have had some business with the politicians. Kristy followed him into a private room. “You’ve been quite hard to talk to for the last few weeks,” Edmund snapped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Once, Stewart would have cringed back. Facing the Nazis had hardened her. “I am reporting,” she snapped back. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re on suspension,” Edmund snapped. “You know; the woman who fucked the entire German army…”

“He died heroically, remember?” Stewart snapped. Outrage burned though her. “And when was I fucking suspended?”

“A month ago,” Edmund snapped. He glared at her. “Your… sexual pleasures have brought the BBC into disrepute!”

Stewart’s rage congealed into an angry cold ball in her chest. “You have been using my material, even after I was suspended,” she said. “If, of course, I was suspended.”

Edmund glared at her, not smart enough or too angry to recognise the face-saving way out she’d offered him. “You were suspended,” he said coldly…

“Then I must request that the BBC pays me compensation for using my material,” Stewart said, feeling a sudden burst of humour spreading through her. “I used my own equipment; you know, the equipment you demanded I buy?”

Edmund glared. “You have been getting into places based on the BBC name,” he snapped. “We have at least a partial claim to the material.”

“Hell no,” Stewart said, feeling the trap closing in around him. She held up a paper. “Interview with Rommel in twenty minutes. Interview with Prime Minister Hanover, forty minutes…”

“How the hell did you do that?” Edmund snapped. “How…?”

“I used my name,” Stewart said. “Of course… if you’re not interested in using the material…”

Edmund gave in. “Very well,” he said. She was careful to get it all on camera. “You’re no longer suspended.”

“Never was suspended,” Stewart said. “Besides, failing to tell someone they’re suspended invalidates it. Union-BBC agreements number something or other.”

“Never was suspended,” Edmund agreed. He glared at her. “This had better be good material,” he snapped. “The BBC became a laughing stock for a while, thanks to you.”

Stewart chuckled as Edmund stalked back into the reception. It had taken time, more time than she cared to think about, but she was finally back to her old self. With all of the scoops she was going to make, kicking that bitch Charlene Molesworth out of the BBC would be easy. Smiling, she headed back to the reception.