These fragile regimes, p.1
These Fragile Regimes, page 1
part #10 of Parallel Nazi Series
The Parallel Nazi – 10
Ward Wagher
Copyright © 2023 Ward Wagher
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
isbn:9798870521602
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To those champions of liberty who, over the centuries, have sacrificed everything for freedom
Books by Ward Wagher
The Saga of Scott Baughman
Hannah Sorpat’s Eye – A Novel of Alien Abduction
Without Beginning of Days
Witnesses in the Cloud
The Chronicles of Montora
The Mountains of Montora
The Margrave of Montora
The Snows of Montora
Christmas in Montora
The Diamonds of Montora
Harcourt's World
The Wealth of the Worlds
Stacking Centimes
The Parallel Nazi
1 - Accidental Nazi
2 - Improbable Nazi
3 - Impossible Nazi
4 - Inconsequential Nazi
5 - Resolute Nazi
6 - Threads of Despair
7 - This Throw of the Dice
8 – Things Never Known
9 – Yamamoto’s Gold
10 – These Fragile Regimes
The Munich Faction – 1 - Courier
The Munich Faction -2 - Enforcer
The Nazi Magician
Nazi Magician – Inventor
The Parallel-Multiverse
Rubracks, Nazis, the Death of the Universe and Everything
Gravity Rising
The Last Paladin
McNeel’s World
The Caledon Emergence
Dynastic Ambition
By Bob Anderson & Ward Wagher
The Final Hero
CONTENTS
DEDICATION v
CONTENTS ix
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ii
CHAPTER ONE 1
CHAPTER TWO 7
CHAPTER THREE 15
CHAPTER FOUR 21
CHAPTER FIVE 29
CHAPTER SIX 37
CHAPTER SEVEN 47
CHAPTER EIGHT 53
CHAPTER NINE 55
CHAPTER TEN 61
CHAPTER ELEVEN 69
CHAPTER TWELVE 75
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 81
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 87
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 93
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 99
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 105
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 111
CHAPTER NINETEEN 117
CHAPTER TWENTY 123
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 129
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 135
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 141
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 147
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 153
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 161
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 169
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 175
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 181
CHAPTER THIRTY 187
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 193
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 199
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 205
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 211
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 217
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 225
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 229
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 235
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 243
CHAPTER FORTY 249
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 255
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 261
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 267
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 275
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 281
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX 287
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN 293
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT 299
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE 305
CHAPTER FIFTY 311
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE 317
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO 323
EPILOGUE 329
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 333
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Bob and Walter for feedback and editing during the creation of this novel.
CHAPTER ONE
January 2, 1946; 9 AM
Presidente’s Office
Government House
Rome, Italy
“Since I have had a day to get sober again,” Foreign Minister Roberto Conti stated, “I feel as though I can productively aid the nation again.”
Galeazzo Ciano snorted. As the Presidente of the Italian nation, he had worked assiduously to restore Italy’s fortunes following Mussolini’s rule. Conti was not only the foreign minister but a longtime friend. During their youth, they had partied with the young people in Rome and other cities prior to the second European war. Ciano had retired from the celebratory circuit after marrying Mussolini’s daughter. Becoming influential in the government, he had carried his friend Roberto along, though the other man still enjoyed hard partying.
Ciano shook his head at his friend. “Since when have you been an example of sobriety?”
“Can you tell me that you did not spend the weekend in the arms of Bacchus, my friend?”
“I hardly think so,” Ciano laughed. “Edda would not let me out of the house. I spent the weekend with the children. Edda watched my intake carefully.”
“I love your dear wife and children, Galeazzo,” Conti replied, “but I am happy to remain a bachelor.”
“And somewhere out there is walking around a very lucky lady,” Ciano retorted. “But we must get down to business.”
“Ah, you always change the subject when you run out of clever responses.”
Ciano shrugged. “Call it what you like. Now, what do you have for me this morning?”
“First of all, we have been tracking the political maneuverings in Vichy.”
“Is there anything new there?”
“The political balance remains the same, but Pétain grows older and weaker. The carrion birds are circling.”
“Pétain is like old shoe leather,” Ciano replied. “He could remain a part of the political calculation for a long time.”
“True, but my question is whether the Germans are paying attention. If Vichy blows up, Schloss will have a major problem on his hands.” Conti paused. “You have not decided to change that relationship, have you?”
“No, Roberto. The key to Italy remaining a strong commercial nation is to maintain cordial relationships with everyone. And Germany is our most important friend on the continent.”
Conti smiled. “I am glad to hear you say that. We need a strong, stable Germany.”
Ciano folded his arms as he gazed around the blond oak of his office. While Mussolini had commissioned the construction of Government House and directed the modern décor, the Presidente fully approved of the design and workmanship. He loved his office.
“So, do we need to apprise our friends in Berlin of what we have heard?” the Presidente asked.
“I can send a note to Peter Schreiber. He will pass it along to Schloss. But I expect they already know about this.”
“Very well, Roberto, make it so.”
“The next item concerns the Judaeans,” Conti continued. “They have nearly completed the road from Tel Aviv to Baghdad. But the military government refuses to release any oil. The pipeline is nearly halfway across Transjordan.”
“And we have significant Italian investment in the pipeline,” Ciano supplied.
“It’s not just us. It’s also the Germans and Judaeans.”
“We all knew that this was going to be a challenge. But the Germans have been generous in sharing from the Libyan fields. And we are buying from the Americans.”
“True,” Conti responded. “But I wonder if we might do something to encourage putting Ghazi back on the throne.”
Ciano grew still. “Have you not learned, Roberto, that taking direct action as opposed to diplomacy is what led Italy into joining Hitler in the war? We are not going in that direction again.”
Conti waved his hands in a stopping motion. “No, no, no, Galeazzo. That is not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, exactly?”
“Just that our national pride demands we take our place among the leadership of nations. We should not exist in the shadow of Germany or any other nation.”
Ciano again studied his foreign minister. “One thing you must understand, Roberto: I share your desire for Italy to attain a position among the first rank of nations. But we will achieve that by our commercial prowess. It will not come from crowing and preening. My father-in-law attempted such and largely failed. We do not have the military power to back it up. And our efforts nearly bankrupted us.”
“We just need to be smarter about it,” Conti protested.
Ciano interrupted, “Do you not think I am being smarter about it?”
“You have done well. I just think…”
“Enough,” Ciano shouted. “This conversation is not productive in any way. I need to know if you are with me or not.”
Conti looked shocked. “Of course, I am with you, Galeazzo. I thought you encouraged debate.”
“I encourage debate. But I do not want to beat a dead horse. You have agreed to support my general approach to things. You will do so, or I will sack you. Are we clear?”
“I understand,” Conti said softly.
“Fine. Will there be anything else this morning?” Ciano asked.
“I think not, Presidente.”
“Thank you for meeting with me this morning.”
The me
After giving some thought to his meeting with Conti, Ciano made a phone call and then returned to the unending paperwork on his desk. A half-hour later, the head of OVRA arrived in the presidente’s office. Ciano reflected on the irony of using an organization named Organization for Vigilance and Repression of Anti-Facism to track down any remaining fascists who posed a threat to the current government. But he had not wanted to introduce a measure into the Parlamento Italiano to change the name because of the risks a debate would raise within the body politic. But the mission had changed, nonetheless.
Alessandro Robustelli sat across from Ciano with his hat in his lap and a politely attentive expression on his face. Ciano thought the man was easy to underestimate. OVRA was now a professional police organization, and Robustelli worked hard to keep it apolitical.
“Thank you for attending me today, Signor Robustelli.”
“I am honored to serve, Signor Presidente,” the slight, balding man replied in a melodious tenor. “How may I assist you today?”
“I have a problem… well, a potential problem requiring discretion. Our foreign minister has made comments that, if heard in a public setting, might encourage the latent fascists within hearing. I am not looking for a formal investigation; rather, I just need to know if he is trying to act upon these impulses.”
Robustelli nodded. “I completely understand, Presidente. We do not need the embarrassment of a senior government official rowing in the wrong direction.”
“Exactly,” Ciano replied. “If you discover clear evidence, I would like you to bring it to my attention so I can deal with it.”
“Of course. I have several trusted investigators who can observe without speaking casually about the subject of investigation.”
“That is all I can ask. As you know, such speech is not illegal in itself. But it has not been very long since Italy was in the thrall of fascism. We do not want to return.”
“Of course,” Robustelli commented. “I will give this my direct attention and report personally to you of my findings.”
“Very well,” Ciano said as he stood. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Robustelli nodded deeply. “Of course, Presidente. As I said, I am honored to serve.”
§ § §
January 2, 1946, 2 PM
Red Banner Shipyard
Soviet Pacific Fleet
Vladivostok, Primorsky kray, USSR
Admiral Arseny Grigoriyevich Golovko, commanding the Soviet Pacific Fleet, stood at attention in the biting January wind as the submarine D-1 slid down the ways into the stagnant waters of the Vladivostok Naval Base. A few snowflakes drifted by as he watched the progress of the new boat and wondered why the harbor had not yet frozen over.
Standing next to the admiral was Captain Magomet Imadutinovich Gadzhiyev, who was assigned to skipper the new vessel. Gadzhiyev was a hero of the German war for his command of the submarine K-23 in the Baltic. A survivor of multiple encounters with German antisubmarine forces, he was known for his quick thinking and clever solutions to the problems he faced during the war. As such, he was the natural choice to take out the lead ship of this new class of boat.
Golovko worried whenever a new Soviet ship went to sea. This was a design taken from the Germans. It melded Soviet power plants and technology with the Type XXII layout and was assembled in a new shipyard. The D-1 had been conceived and built in record time despite all manner of challenges in combining the disparate elements into a whole. To say that there were opportunities for things to go wrong was an understatement.
Because this was the first ship out of the new yard, the local political officer invited all the yard workers to attend the launch. Their cheering was likely louder than the naval representatives, and Golovko noted their enthusiasm.
He turned to the captain standing next to him. “Well, Comrade Captain, shall we retreat to a warm office and review this glorious day?”
Gadzhiyev grinned at the admiral as he tried to determine whether the man was serious or being sarcastic. Golovko was bitter about being shunted to the Far East and was not shy in expressing his feelings to people he trusted.
“I think it would be good to get warmed up again, Comrade Admiral.”
“Come, then. We can share an early lunch and discuss our plans for the D series boats.”
The fleet commander’s current office was a far cry from what he occupied in Leningrad, and the building had yet to feel truly warm in the winter. But Golovko was practical enough to consider this posting better than a prison somewhere in Siberia or perhaps an unmarked grave.
Georgy Malenkov had stopped the reign of terror that characterized Stalin’s rule, but the Kremlin taskmasters were no less demanding. The plans for the new submarine had arrived from Moscow in a rail car, along with the orders to get a copy built quickly. And Golovko had succeeded with the task in record time.
Following instructions, Golovko’s aide arrived carrying a tray and two glasses of vodka. The admiral picked one up to hand to Gadzhiyev and then took the other.
“I want to present a toast to the commanding officer of the lead submarine of this new class. To success!”
Gadzhiyev touched his glass to the Admiral’s and repeated, “To success.”
“Now, Captain, within two weeks, you will begin the shakedown of this new submarine. I am curious about your insistence on exercising the boat in the bay rather than heading out to sea.”
“This is a new design, Admiral. If things go wrong, as they likely will, I want to be close to the port facilities. The builders were enthusiastic, but still, this is a new shipyard. We are learning as we make progress.”
“I understand,” Golovko replied. “But, I worry about you being accused of timidity.”
“And I worry about sitting on the bottom of the Sea of Japan with the air running out and no way to get to the surface. That would be unpleasant. This is the lead boat of a new class, Comrade Admiral. I believe it is important to survive to give feedback to the builders. And I want our less capable commanders to survive.”
“Well said,” the admiral laughed. “You have already been a thorn in the side of the builders. I respect that.”
Indeed, Gadzhiyev had been a constant presence as the D-1 was on the ways. Golovko received weekly complaints about the captain’s interference during the build process. But the admiral was convinced they had a much better submarine than if they had waited for the shipyards to deliver the boat before evaluating it.
CHAPTER TWO
January 3, 1946; 11 AM
Giessen Airfield,
Giessen, Germany
Heinrich Schloss, the Chancellor of the German Reich, studied the six sleek jet-propelled bombers parked on the tarmac before him at the Giessen airfield. Heinkel had completed seven of the aircraft so far, and the factory had another ten on the assembly line. The second plane in the series had crashed disastrously in Berlin the previous October, but Schloss and the OKW had come to the consensus decision to continue the program. And that decision appeared to be paying off for Germany, despite the loss of life from the accident.
Field Marshall Heinz Guderian stood next to Schloss as he viewed the tableau. With them was General Hans- Jürgen Stumpf, the head of the Luftwaffe, and several colonels in the uniform of the German Air Force. All wore their best uniforms since they would be in the presence of the Reich Chancellor today.
“I am pleased with the progress we have made with the new aircraft,” Guderian stated. “Between the Luftwaffe, Heinkel, and Boeing, we are ironing out the wrinkles more quickly than any other military project I have been associated with.”
“I am delighted to hear that,” Schloss responded. “And even more satisfied because there have been no more crashes.”
“As horrifying as the accident was for us, it has had a salutary effect on the testing regimen,” Guderian commented. “We have detected several other anomalies in the design that could have resulted in crashes and made the necessary corrections. I don’t doubt there will be accidents during our usage of the airplane, but I think we have exorcised the worst of the problems.”
“I certainly hope so,” Schloss stated. “And General Stumpf, what are your feelings about the Boeing 540?”
