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  “I had a prepared speech today. The Minister of Propaganda carefully reviewed it and pronounced it good. But, I think it is no longer appropriate to the occasion.”

  There was an outward ripple of laughter now. Schloss grinned broadly as he looked over the crowd.

  “Let us take this moment simply to observe this monument to the honor and courage of those Germans who died serving the Fatherland. We have the tombs of the Führer and the Deputy-Führer, each who died in service. Not only do we honor these to whom honor is due, but those who died in the liberation of Poland, Holland, Belgium, and France. The sons of our nation, who went forth at the orders of the Führer and accomplished mighty deeds.”

  “We sorrow at those who have been killed. Just as we sorrowed at the death of the Führer and of Herr Hess. But, we know each of all these German folk contributed to the greatness of the Reich. We hail Hitler, and we hail Hess. And we hail those all who gave the ultimate sacrifice. They are due our honor.”

  He stepped back and snapped the Nazi salute. The audience roared, “Hail!” and repeated it for ten minutes. He eventually was able to close the convocation. He turned to leave and stopped where the Reichsprotektor stood.

  “I want the Gauleiter of Berlin in my office at eight in the morning, Karl.”

  “I will see that he is there.”

  Schloss nodded and then left the platform.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chapter Two

  July 3, 1942; 2 PM

  Palace of the Regent Prince

  Baghdad, Iraq

  Joachim von Ribbentrop tried to staunch the flow of sweat from his forehead, but his handkerchief was now soaked. He could only mop the rivulets and try to keep the salt out of his eyes. He stood in the reception hall of the palace of the King of Iraq, Ghazi. After arriving in Baghdad, he had immediately received an invitation to the palace to meet the king. Ribbentrop was not only sweating from the 120-degree heat, but also from nervousness.

  Heinrich Schloss, the Chancellor of the German Reich, had asked him to travel to Baghdad and begin negotiations to both extend the Berlin-Baghdad railhead on through to Iraq’s capital, and to gain agreement for Germany to purchase as much oil as she needed. In his career as Germany’s chief diplomat, he had achieved one major success and several failures. While Schloss was tolerant of the occasional failure on the part of the members of his government, he was intolerant of incompetence. Ribbentrop was well aware he was barely competent. And, the mission was critically important.

  “Herr Foreign Minister,” King Ghazi said in precise British English as he entered the room. “We are honored that you would make the long trip to visit our land.”

  “And I am honored to be here,” Ribbentrop said, as he bowed his head.

  He looked up to study the thin man in the comic-opera uniform and tried to get his measure.

  “I understand it may be a slightly warmer here than at your home,” the Ghazi continued.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ribbentrop chuckled, “the warmth is probably good for my bones, even if the rest of my body is uncomfortable.”

  The king laughed. “Well said, Herr Foreign Minister. I thank you for acceding to my request that we meet privately before the plenary session.”

  The king looked pointedly at the two security people Rainer had assigned to Ribbentrop for the journey.

  “Of course, Sir,” Ribbentrop replied. “The Reich Chancellor has assigned these men to provide security during my trip. They will, of course, wait outside our meeting.”

  “Ah, very well. Perhaps, then, if you would be seated with me over here, we can begin. My servants will see to the comfort of your men.”

  Ribbentrop nodded to the SS guards, who turned and retreated from the room. He then followed the king over to what seemed to be a conversation nook in one corner of the large hall. He tried to take in the details of the room, however, it was largely alien to his experience. The polished granite floor and the marble walls contrasted the inlaid tile decorated with Arab filigree. The area carpets also displayed the intricate weaving common to the area, as did the furniture. Ceiling fans spun lazily and did little to move the air in any appreciable fashion.

  “I requested this meeting because I will be required to be much more… circumspect in the general sessions. My prime minister and his government are generally pro-British, and there is a strong British influence in Iraq. However, the British view Iraq as their personal property and we are considered a part of the British Empire.”

  “I can understand that,” Ribbentrop said. “The English can be arrogant….”

  Ghazi held up a finger. “Please let me continue, Herr Foreign Minister. We have not a lot of time, this afternoon.”

  Ribbentrop felt abashed but nodded quickly. If the king if Iraq wanted to sidestep the usual Arab palaver and come directly to the point, he was prepared to be accommodating.

  “Circumstances have placed the Hashimite family on the throne of Iraq. The British worked to accomplish this in the assumption they could control us. You may have noticed that the British fortunes have waned somewhat in this part of the world, recently.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I think we could agree with that, Sir,” Ribbentrop said dryly.

  “Very well,” Ghazi continued. “My desire is to build a cohesive nation along the Euphrates River to counterbalance Ibn Saud to the south and the Persians to the east. The British mainly want to keep us in serfdom and collect our oil wealth. What would Germany desire of us?”

  That was quick, Ribbentrop thought. He came directly to the point, and I need to respond.

  “Your Majesty, the Reich Chancellor wishes to communicate some specific desires. First of all, we have no territorial ambitions here. Secondly, we wish to purchase as much oil as you will sell to us, and that we can transport to Germany. With that in mind we wish to complete construction of the Berlin-Baghdad railway, and then potentially construct a road and pipeline across the Transjordan and to a port on the Mediterranean.”

  “And the British will naturally oppose this,” the king said, “and their friends in my government will support them on this.”

  “What do you wish of us, then?” Ribbentrop asked bluntly.

  “We wish to do business with Germany,” Ghazi said. “We would like you to help us counterbalance the British. We do not want to exchange one master for the other.”

  “That is very much within the scope of what Herr Schloss desires. We wish to end the war with the English. They have not been cooperative in that effort.”

  Ghazi laughed. “Mr. Churchill is not willing to call the game. But, he is ultimately holding the losing hand, I believe. However, some members of my government are also not willing to concede Britain’s influence, here, and they can be dangerous. Which brings me to the next topic.”

  Ribbentrop nodded for him to continue.

  “You must not be seen as arm-twisting or threatening in any way during the general sessions,” Ghazi continued. “You must let us build the consensus ourselves. You may not get everything you desire during this round of negotiations, however, if you attempt to press the issues, you will get nothing.”

  “I understand, Your Majesty, however, that is harsh.”

  “Do not misunderstand me, Herr Foreign Minister, I believe our best future lies in balancing the influence of other nations in our land. But, I cannot endanger my realm by seeming a threat to some in the government. I will require your agreement not to push things to the brink.”

  “I will instruct my people to be less aggressive, then,” Ribbentrop said. “We do not want to be seen as anything other than a friend to the people of Iraq.”

  “One other issue will certainly arise.”

  “Anything that we can do to help, of course.”

  “It has to do with Germany’s support of the Jews in Palestine.”

  Okay, Joachim, time to be very careful, he thought. Sometimes it is good to respond to a question with a question.

  “Can you be more speci
fic?” he asked.

  Ghazi scraped his teeth over his lower lip. “It is just that many of my people have little love for the Jews. What they have done in Jerusalem has enraged the faithful. Some of the imams are urging us to join the jihad.”

  “You understand that the event in Jerusalem was the result of the actions of a few madmen. I did not condone it and Herr Schloss certainly did not. Herr Ben Gurion is doing his best to control the situation.”

  “But you will not halt the migration of Jews to Palestine?”

  Ribbentrop shook his head. “I am afraid I have no ability to negotiate on that point, Your Majesty, whatever I may think. Creating a homeland for the Jews is a central part of our national strategy. However, it is our desire that this is done with a minimum of conflict.”

  The king rolled his tongue around his mouth. “Understand, Herr Foreign Minister, that with my desire to build a homeland for my people, I certainly can recognize the desire of the Jews. I believe we can work with them and eventually build a trading relationship that would be mutually beneficial. But, if Germany cannot control the depredations of your madmen, I will find it increasingly difficult to control the faithful.”

  Ribbentrop frowned. I guess that is about as clear as it can get. He took a deep breath. “I will, of course, communicate your concerns to the Reich Chancellor.”

  The king stood. “With that, I must conclude the meeting. As far as anyone is concerned, we held a brief introductory meeting with no conversations of substance.”

  Ribbentrop stood. “Thank you for your welcome, Sir. It has been a great honor to meet you.”

  Ghazi gave him a slow smile, then turned and swept out of the room.

  § § §

  July 3, 1942; 4 PM

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “You must do something about that windbag, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  “And which windbag would that be, Hermann?”

  Heinrich Schloss was in his office trying to wrap up some of the never-ending paperwork during the summer afternoon. Hermann Goering, the Reichsmarshall, arrived unannounced and demanded a meeting with Schloss. He now stood in Schloss’s office, hands on hips.

  “Do not play games with me, Herr Schloss… with all due respect. I am speaking about the Gauleiter of Berlin. The newspapers are claiming the Luftwaffe erred on their timing on the fly-by yesterday. Not because Herr Mendel did not know when to shut up!”

  “Ahhh,” Schloss said. He tossed his pencil down and leaned back in the chair. Folding his arms across his chest he looked calmly back at the portly man. “I spoke to Herr Mendel this morning and was able to correct his error.”

  “And is he going to talk to the newspaper, then?”

  “No,” Schloss replied, “he is not.”

  “But everyone will think my Luftwaffe is to blame.”

  “Sit down, Hermann,” Schloss said. “Calm down.”

  “You were not the one who took the blame for yesterday’s debacle,” Goering shouted. “Calm down indeed. He looked around at the chair and dropped into one of them. It responded with a creak as though it could not sustain the weight of the Reichsmarshall.

  And how do I deal with this other windbag? Schloss thought. Once Herr Mendel realized what he had done, he was the soul of cooperation. Goering is not thinking.

  “Hermann, Hermann. Who do you think was ultimately responsible? I saw those newspaper articles. They weren’t blaming the Luftwaffe so much as they were blaming me.”

  “You do not seem very excited about it.”

  Schloss smiled. “I was able to exercise my frustrations on the unfortunate Gauleiter when he was in my office this morning. I believe he seriously thought I was going to have him shot.”

  “You should have shot him,” Goering stated emphatically. “He is a fool.”

  “And who would I get to replace him? And, that’s not a rhetorical question, Hermann. Tell me: who would I find to replace him?”

  “Surely there are dozens of people in the party who could do his job as well or better than Mendel.”

  Schloss shook his head. “I wish that were true. You know we still have Georg Zindanfel running the party offices in Munich. I do not think he is quite senile, but his personal secretary watches him closely. Karl and I are trying to develop new leadership as quickly as possible, but that process takes time.”

  Goering scratched his head, and then suddenly grinned. “You have been leading up to this since I walked in the door, Herr Reich Chancellor. What would you have me do?”

  Schloss laughed. “You read me all too well. It is simply this. Give things two or three months to settle down. After that, allow one of the reporters to interview you off-the-record. You can then let it slip to him that Gauleiter of Berlin flew that operation into the ground… in spite of our best efforts.”

  “Why should I not to it today?” he asked.

  “I am not interested in vengeance,” Schloss said, “and neither should you be. If we wait for things to die down and then this item of interest shows up in the Berliner Zeitung, people will nod and say, of course, and go about their business. There will be no further damage to be done.”

  “That is a good plan, Herr Reich Chancellor.” Goering stood up. “I apologize for once again making an ass of myself. Thank you for your patience.”

  “One other item, while I have you,” Schloss replied. “Sit down again, for a minute.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor. What can I do for you?”

  “There are a couple of things I have in mind for the Wehrmacht, the armed forces.”

  “I always get a little nervous when you have that look in your eye,” Goering laughed nervously.

  “And probably for good reason,” Schloss agreed. “It is simply this, I would like you and me to give some serious thought to reorganizing the High Command.”

  “I have always had trouble getting the OKW to listen to me,” Goering said. “I imagine I would receive a lot of resistance to something like that.”

  “Precisely. Our generals do not respect you as they should.” And, for good reason, you pompous windbag. But, of course, I cannot tell you that. “And, they are too set in their ways. I suspect the world is changing faster than the leadership of our fighting men understand. Someone and I don’t remember who said that the military always prepares for the last war.”

  “That’s a very good statement, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Goering commented. “I hadn’t heard that one before, but it makes a lot of sense.”

  Goering got a far-away look in his eye. Once again, I must remind myself that Fat Hermann is not a complete idiot. He immediately understood what I was talking about.

  “Since we have achieved our immediate goals in the Mediterranean, and the English are probably not going to invade Europe anytime soon, we might be wise to rethink our force dispositions.”

  Schloss nodded. “That is what I was thinking. To reinforce that, my second item is that I think we ought to develop a comprehensive training program. We should develop a philosophy on what makes a superior fighting man, and then train around that.”

  Goering was, again, staring into the distance. “Ja, ja, I understand what you are saying. I do not think something like this would be appreciated by the OKW. I wonder who we might co-opt in this venture?”

  “Perhaps we should talk to Schneller Heinz,” Schloss suggested. “He is an independent thinker.”

  “And it might get his mind off his family problems,” Goering said. “I will speak to him.”

  General Heinz Guderian was one of Germany’s two or three best armor commanders. He was not popular with the senior officers because of his tendency to speak his mind. The troops loved him, though. Recently his nephew had been arrested for the rape and murder of a four-year-old Jewish girl. Some renegade elements in the SS had attempted to use this as a way to suborn Guderian. When this did not succeed, they had murdered the nephew.

  “I guess I’ve given you enough to think about this
afternoon.”

  Goering stood up. “As always, my meetings with you are illuminating, Herr Reich Chancellor. Thank you again for your patience.”

  Schloss waved a hand. “It’s nothing, Hermann. Thank you for stopping by.”

  “More coffee, Herr Reich Chancellor?” Schloss’s secretary asked after Goering had marched down the hall.

  “I think I am about coffeed out for today, Willem. See if you can find me some ice water. It is a bit early for me to be getting on the outside of a lager. If I walk through the door to the apartment half in the bag, Gisela will have something to say about it.”

  “At once, Sir.”

  Schloss picked up his pencil and the document he had been reading, preparatory to getting back to work. Then, he laid the pencil and document down again. He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. Once again, he considered the events that had brought him to this position. A little over a year previously, Heinrich Schloss, a history professor in 1982 Berlin, was bounced back to a 1941 Germany where Hitler was killed in a plane crash. In this world, Schloss was the Nazi Party leader (having replaced Bormann), and put in place his dreams of a Germany that did not liquidate the Jews, and avoided a ruinous war with the United States and the Soviet Union. He was now the undisputed master of the German Reich but still wondered what became of his other world. What were the forces that brought him here? Now that he had changed the history of the place beyond recognition, how would he guide the nation into the future?

  CHAPTER THREE

  July 3, 1942; 9 PM

  Chancellor’s Apartments

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “How does it feel to have the world laughing at us, Hennie?” Renate Schreiber asked.

  Schloss stretched his feet out from the sofa where he sat next to Gisela. She sat close with her legs tucked under her and her hand intertwined with his. The Schreibers sat across from them on another sofa. Between them, the coffee table held the silver coffee service and the remains of dessert.