He paused again and stared out the window.
“So what exactly are you coming to here, colonel?” The impatient question came from Rory Ferrall, the Canadian with the eye patch and missing fingers. He looked irritable, and to reinforce his point, he looked at his watch. Two other men at the table muttered agreement.
Harris fixed the Canadian with a penetrating stare. “Yes, well, that’s precisely where we are going, Chief Superintendent Ferrall. If we’re driven off the continent, we fully intend to go back some day. With, of course, the help of the Dominions: nations like yours, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, and, of course, Empire troops – and I don’t know how, but with any luck, we have to get the Americans onto our side as well. But I fear that’s a long way down the road. Who knows? This could take decades. I personally agree with Churchill’s private assessment of the Nazis: they’re a scourge and it may take the world’s free nations generations to defeat them. So let me come to the point. If that’s the case, we have to start preparing now for a war that could last decades. If we get run off the continent, we intend to set up a network of behind-the-lines saboteurs: men and women who will wage guerrilla war, assassinate key leaders, harass the enemy, and provide us with accurate intelligence from which to base future operations.”
A ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a Scottish accent steepled his hands and spoke before Harris could continue. “So, colonel, I just want to be clear. Have you brought us here to organize some kind of resistance for you? A resistance for which there isn’t a legitimate or a politically sanctioned need; or are we somehow to be involved in exerting this political influence you speak of?”
“I don’t want you to do anything just yet,” Harris said. “What I am asking of you is to start thinking about what we might do when we lose on the continent. Please bear with me. Each one of you has been brought here after a very careful selection and vetting process. Two of you had direct experience in the last war in military intelligence operations in Germany. Three of you have been selected for your demonstrated organizational skills, and two for your knowledge of the German security services. All of you have been carefully vetted for your common sense, trust, and loyalty. Despite such qualifications, we haven’t been authorized any money, people, or equipment to prepare for this kind of eventuality. Given what I’ve just said, that’s not surprising. But that should not stop us from thinking about how we shall proceed, if and when we find ourselves with our backs to the wall.”
Harris clasped his hands behind his back. “So, yes, I’m not asking anything of you just now, except for you to think about how we are going to do this. I’d like you to stay right where you are. Remain in your jobs until such time as we need you. And we will be contacting you, trust me, on that score. But for some of you, we need your help to convince a number of those in key decision-making positions that we should be planning actively for the desperate situation we’re going to find ourselves in. And, yes, for all of you, I’m seeking your support in creating a resistance to a possible Nazi occupation of Europe.”
* * *
“REINHOLD, YOU MUST ADMIT that the Führer is even more impressive in person than he is on the radio or when you see him on the movie reels,” said Oberst Scheidler, sipping enthusiastically at his glass of sekt. Oberst Scheidler, of the Schutzpolizei, was one of Vienna’s three deputy police chiefs and an influential man who was clearly going to continue to rise in both the Nazi Party and the Reich’s police ranks. “I had the impression tonight that we were witnessing history being made: the Führer giving a speech that was being broadcast to all Germans, describing for us his vision of the future. Mark my words, this is a man who holds destiny in his hands.”
Major der Schutzpolizei Reinhold Neumann nodded and smiled, but unlike Scheidler and the other senior officers at Vienna’s Imperial Hotel, Reinhold Neumann hadn’t been impressed by the Führer and his speech. And for that matter, he wasn’t much impressed by his police Oberst either. He had always thought of Scheidler as being somewhat stupid. And worse, Scheidler was often naively obsequious around his superiors. Neumann was well aware that Scheidler wouldn’t have made it to the rank of Oberst if he wasn’t a Nazi. But since the Anschluss – the union of Austria and Germany – his rise had been meteoric. Aside from his demonstrated skill in flattering the right people, Scheidler was an unremarkable policeman, an indifferent plodder who barely got the job done; there was no real spark that distinguished him from other senior officers. But Scheidler had one talent, and that was an unerring ability to get close to and stay close to the right superior. So, even though Scheidler might be a plodder, Reinhold Neumann was shrewd enough to appreciate that Scheidler’s single strength was the one he needed to exploit and cultivate in himself if he were to rise.
“I think you’re right, Herr Oberst,” Neumann said, smiling.
In truth, Neumann thought the Führer was much more impressive on the radio than in person, although he certainly wasn’t going to admit it here. Scheidler would never understand. The Führer was wooden, his entire performance predictable. Neumann had heard it all before: the themes of sacrifice and hardship and the inevitable furious crescendo aimed at Germany’s enemies. It wasn’t that Neumann disagreed with what Hitler said; he was impatient with the Führer’s theatrics and wanted to see the Third Reich’s expansion sooner rather than later.
Neumann was wise enough to keep those thoughts to himself, and smiled self-deprecatingly. He said to Scheidler, “Oh, there’s no question that the Führer understands where he’s taking us, Herr Oberst. I’m just delighted that I’m alive now to serve him.” He rocked back on his heels and looked down at his wine glass as if he was unsure of himself. “I’m glad to be a part of the Reich, even if it’s just in a small way.”
“Your part may not be quite as small as you think, Reinhold. You and I were amongst the first police officers to join the party. This story, as we heard tonight, has a long way to go yet. And you know, being in the police is going to be a much better spot for a man with your talents. Once the fighting ends, the best place to be in the Third Reich will be in the SS – especially in the SS’s police and security services – not the army. The army is good, but it’s not the future for the Reich. This is where we think men like you, men with talent and ambition, will advance the interests of the police and the SS. The SS is the future of the Thousand Year Reich, and you are lucky and smart enough to be one of its early members. That will be something to tell your grandchildren.”
Neumann shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Maida absorbed in some tedious conversation with Scheidler’s shy, fat, garishly dressed wife. “Herr Oberst, for me, joining the party seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was obvious where the country needed to be taken. And lots of good men have joined since.”
Scheidler beamed. It was what he wanted to hear. Like Neumann, he’d joined the party when influential officers frowned upon it. Not that his superiors disagreed with what the party stood for; but in the early days, Austria’s Nazis were regarded as a déclassé bunch, scruffy and dangerous – the kind of people who routinely ended up in Vienna’s jails on a Saturday night. That image had changed now and Reinhold Neumann was proud of his new status.
“Look around you tonight, Reinhold,” said Scheidler. “This is a splendid example of how well the party has fared here in Vienna, but there aren’t many police uniforms here. Yours, mine, and handful of others. And that’s the very point: you joined at the outset and you stayed on even after the party was outlawed. That showed insight and allegiance.” Scheidler looked around