Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! (69 page)

James just stared at him.

“Come on…” Hoffman pressed him. “What do you think of Stalin?”

“He’s a twat.”

Hoffman laughed uproariously at that.

“Ho, ho… there are many ways both in your language and mine to describe Comrade Stalin, my friend, but you have a definite style. That, I cannot deny you.”

The Berliner winked at him, good-naturedly. He genuinely liked the truculent northern English soldier, despite the man’s role as an undermining influence in the wider group, ill-disposed as he was towards National Socialism and with – whether genuine or not – a worryingly sympathetic attitude towards Marx. Yet his wit and candour were evident. Hoffman was not sure
what
it was, but much like Tommy, he found a refreshing honesty in James that overcame the difficulties the man’s attitude posed him.

“So, my friend, the questions I ask of
you
, you must ask of yourself. And we must find a common answer, as we fight a common enemy.”

James sighed, the resistance all-but beat out of him by the collective acquiescence of the platoon. He could not immediately discern the meaning of Hoffman’s riddle, but he cared too little to try to mentally readjust.

“You are in SS uniform, technically speaking, but it is
not of Germany
.” Hoffman reached over, tracing his fingers over the sleeve of James’ uniform, as he spoke with an intense earnestness. “You are not in German uniform. You bear the Three Lions of England. You are British soldiers.”

That much was true. The blank SS uniforms were adorned with the lightning runes on the collar patch, but a Three Lions badge had been sewed to the sleeves, and there was no German insignia to be seen. James had inspected his tunic and trousers thrice each, just to be sure.

“What I want to know, James,” Hoffman said, suddenly fixing the Yorkshireman with the full extent of his blue eyes’ power, “… is if I can trust you in the field. And can our comrades trust you.”

James stared back, reverting to his trademark pokerface. “Fuck you.”

To his surprise, Hoffman grinned. “Excellent.”

“What?”

The German laughed, his humour returning. “James, you just spoke to me as you do your best friend in the platoon. You are an awkward character. But I know that when we line up against Stalin, you will be fighting on our side.”

He gazed at him, before letting a semblance of the ice return to his eyes. “But for reference, from now on, I’m afraid it will have to be proper military rank titles, yes? At least, while in uniform and around other SS or Wehrmacht. I am a German officer – they’ll have my balls in a bag if they think I’m letting the standards of excellence slip.”

Having established the boundaries of a new dynamic, Hoffman reverted to an air of affability, and winked at James who, for his part, was thoroughly puzzled by the bizarre SS man and his unpredictable ways. Weighing up the conversation, he could not help feeling the first tinge of amusement, and he winked back at Hoffman, while drawing a huge inhalation of smoke from the cigarette. Together, the two men smoked and watched the setting sun, speaking of happier times at home with loved ones.

~

Days later, the platoon set off, and on the fateful morning of May 18
^th
, under the bright glare of a newly risen sun, the men who called themselves
Stanley’s Boys
were waited with baited breath, on tenterhooks in the fir forests of East Prussia.

To their east, the border with the Soviet Empire could be seen. They could see a small fence of barbed wire, and no checkpoints, pillboxes or bunkers. Aerial reconnaissance had highlighted the extent to which much of the celebrated border, behind which Soviet forces were supposedly massing, were actually poorly defended, to the point of criminal recklessness.

One hundred German divisions stood ready to pour into the vast, near-limitless expanse of territory that was the Soviet Empire. Thirty other divisions, from Italy, Spain, Vichy France and the combined Axis alliance forces were mobilised to supplement German force. It was said that almost five million men had been gathered to repel the threat of Slavic communism from the gates of Europe; it was the most awesome invasion force ever amassed in the history of warfare.

“The World Will Hold Its Breath,” Hitler proclaimed, and his pronouncement was relayed to the men of the SS at Pretzsch via an exultant Reinhard Heydrich.

None of the men spoke. Their moods varied from terrified, to nervous anticipation, to thrill, dread and even, in Hoffman’s case, excitement. Emotion charged them; the silent, unspoken energies of the moment were felt in each private moment clenched in combat; the bunching of jaws, grinding of teeth, and the restless inability to stand or sit still. War was coming, in all the irreversible ways it assaults the senses, and there was not a man amongst them whose heart did not hammer harder at its approach.

In the distance, the sound of bombardment suddenly cut through the sinister silence of the fir forest, and the men all knew that war had begun.

Tommy sighed; a thrilled shudder of apprehension and excitement shaking his flesh and bones. “Well, this is it boys. Off to make ’istory.”

The fir forest of East Prussia through which they had quietly thronged as one huge mass of humanity had been silent; its green beauty a fairy-tale world at the furthest eastern reaches of Greater Germany, admired in awe by the bulk of the troops, most of whom had never seen it. But the silence was finally over; in the distance, the first artillery was heard, and explosions and cries signalled the beginning of something so catastrophically epic in scale that the suffering to follow could not be quantified or fully comprehended by the mind alone.

As one, they followed the explosions, moving with purpose, driven by their passions and the words which fuelled them, onwards to the battle to destroy their human enemy.

They moved with joy in their hearts and adrenaline coursing through the thick crimson blood in their veins; traversing the beautiful green of land that would soon be scarred by man.

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