Alternative 3

401 Pages·2003·0.87 MB·English

by  Ken Mitchell

Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page i
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page ii
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page iii
For Finn
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page iv
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
PerfectBound Special Feature: Website links to the
conspiracy theories in Alternative 3
Credits
Copyright Page
Cover
About PerfectBound
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 1
PROLOGUE
Berlin, April 1945
The Russian soldiers aren’t taking any risks. Their
progress into the heart of Berlin’s central district is
slow, deliberate and cautious. The final assault on Berlin
is into its fourth long day, despite some of the heaviest air
attacks of the war. The street combat has been savage as
remnants of the Wehrmacht and SS fight for their very
survival against an unstoppable Red tide.
To the few Berliners remaining in the beleaguered
capital, their city is now largely unrecognisable from the
one that had unleashed an iron empire stretching from
North Africa to the Baltic. But the bombing has finally
brought the reality of the war home to even the most
complacent Berliner. The city is pounded relentlessly
around the clock — even in broad daylight — such is the
feeble resistance of the once mighty Luftwaffe. Almost
every building has been shelled or burned out in the
raging firestorms created by the incendiary bombing.
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 2
The city’s infrastructure — from newspapers to public
transport — has long since collapsed, and looting is
widespread. Electricity, gas and sanitation have broken
down, and food, a precious scarcity during the final few
weeks, is now almost unobtainable. Broken hydrants are
the only source of water but, as the Soviet grasp on the city
tightens, it is no longer safe to venture even briefly onto the
exposed, desolate streets.
Berlin’s frightened civilian inhabitants have taken to
their cellars — their sense of time distorted by the death
and destruction around them. Glimpses of anxious faces
at cellar windows are the only sign that inside, a family is
clinging to the small hope that they will survive the
Russian onslaught long enough to surrender to the Allies.
But for most, those hopes are in vain, as the Russian
juggernaut crushes all before it, unleashing with savage
intensity the years of pent-up rage for the hell inflicted on
them at Moscow, Leningrad and Stalingrad.
Two Russian armies of more than 2.5 million men and
machines have Berlin circled in a vice-like grip. The
Führer himself takes charge of the city’s defences, and in a
final radio broadcast to the few still listening, announces
in a display of bravado that he will stay on in his capital
to the last. Too late, he orders his beleaguered armies,
retreating with alarming speed before the Western allies,
to come to the rescue of his beloved city. But Russian
troops have already shaken hands with the Americans for
photographers at the river Elbe, and the race has begun to
be the first to march triumphantly into the very heart of
the Nazi empire. Hastily thrown together divisions of
defenders are rushed into position. But equipment and
ammunition are scarce, and commanding officers are
forced to use the civilian telephone network to arrange
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 3
each line of defence, following numerous reports of
Russian breakthroughs. Despite being outnumbered,
outmanoeuvred and outgunned, the German commanders
are ordered to ‘set a shining example of devotion to duty
unto death’.
The Russians have the Berlin garrison confined to a
narrow east–west corridor less than 5 kilometres wide
and 16 kilometres long. But soon it is penetrated in two
places, leaving three small pockets of resistance. One of
the pockets is to become the symbol of last-ditch
resistance of the final days of the Nazi regime. At its
centre stands the Reichstag building, the former home of
Germany’s National Assembly. For the Soviets it has
special meaning — conquering it will symbolise total
victory over Nazi Germany.
The assault on the Reichstag begins early. Artillery and
howling ‘Katyusha’ rockets blast the huge grey monolith
in the darkness, which lifts to reveal an overcast morning
thick with smoke and the choking grit of battle. The
Russian soldiers leading the assault are hardened combat
veterans. But even they are unprepared for the fanaticism
they face from the cornered Nazis, desperate to hold out
until they can surrender to the Western Allies and avoid
the terrible Soviet wrath. Every doorway and window
must be cleared of snipers and anti-tank gunners before
they can safely advance. It is slow, painstaking and
dangerous work. Behind them a 4000-strong armada of
Soviet tanks rolls into the heart of the city. Smoke and
fumes already wreath the Brandenburg Gate. Once the
scene of Germany’s great military parades, it now stands
as a silent monument to a dying city.
Up ahead of the advancing Russian infantry, the
hulking grey outline of the Reichstag emerges from the
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 4
smoke. Even with the end so near the Russian soldiers
remain cautious, despite the urgent demands of their
superiors to beat the Allies to the prize. They work in
teams to clear side streets and bombed-out buildings of
small pockets of brave but futile resistance. The defenders
are mostly old men of the Volksturm — the German
Home Guard — and boys of the Hitler Youth conscripted
in the final few weeks of the war. Their equipment is
limited and their training rudimentary. As they huddle in
lonely doorways and foxholes, the ground beneath their
feet vibrates as columns of Russian tanks inch towards
them. The narrow streets amplify the growling of the
monstrous engines and squealing metal tracks, as they
lumber forward, spitting death at any sign of movement
ahead.
The large square in front of the Reichstag is a ghastly
battle zone strewn with rubble and debris from the
intensive bombing. Abandoned 88-mm guns hastily set
up by the defenders in the last few days stand silent,
surrounded by bodies in bloody grey uniforms. Thick
black smoke belches from gaping holes in the domed
roof of the Reichstag, as inside, the defenders try to
prevent the inevitable Russian assault. The lower storey
windows, reinforced with steel and concrete, have turned
the once grand building into a fortress. Small firing slits
bristle with the barrels of weapons, forcing the Russians
to take whatever cover they can find on the vast square
below.
Eventually the Russian tanks take position and begin
shelling the Reichstag with relentless precision. The ornate
brickwork is blown apart, and one by one the concreted-
up windows blown in. The small-arms fire from the
building becomes sporadic. Through the lingering smoke,
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 5
waves of hunched-over Soviets dive forward under cover
as they advance steadily on the building. The long journey
from Moscow is almost at an end.
Beneath the feet of the advancing Russians, a man stands
alone in front of a cracked mirror. The faint light of a
single bulb reveals a face swathed in bandages. Through
the bandages two black, piercing eyes stare at their own
dim reflection. The sounds of the battle above faintly
penetrate the small concrete-lined bunker, each shell-burst
showering the room with a fine layer of dust. The man’s
reverie is broken by a tentative knock on the door. He
draws a long, deep breath, holding his gaze in the mirror.
His hand moves to the Luger strapped to his waist, then
abruptly jerks shut the zip on his black jumpsuit. It holds
no insignia — no clue to the man’s identity.
‘Kom.’ He turns from the mirror to a young
oberleutnant standing at the door. There is desperation in
the officer’s bloodshot and black-ringed eyes, yet he is
polite — almost reverent — towards the man in the
bandages.
‘It is time.’
The man with the bandaged face rests his hands on the
officer’s shoulders, squeezing them firmly, looking
squarely into his eyes. The oberleutnant’s heart races with
the heavy burden of expectation. He nods that he is
ready. The bandaged man begins stuffing a worn leather
satchel with papers. Despite his exhaustion, the
oberleutnant shuffles nervously, noticing that the papers
include diagrams unlike anything he’s ever seen before —
circular designs annotated with complicated physics
equations. He looks away as the bandaged man straps up
the satchel, pretending he hasn’t seen them.
Alternative 3 E-book.qxd 7/24/03 11:07 AM Page 6
Together they emerge from the room into a long
concrete corridor bustling with soldiers, wireless
operators and intelligence officers — some with their
sleeves rolled up, shouting commands to men carrying
piles of papers. The string of low-watt lightbulbs running
along the arched ceiling begins to fade erratically as the
bunker’s generator sucks thirstily at the last precious
drops of fuel. They fight their way up the corridor past a
large room where filing cabinets are being ripped apart
and their contents thrown into piles on the floor. Smoke
is already starting to drift along the corridor ceiling,
adding to the confusion being played out beneath the
advancing Russians’ feet.
The oberleutnant follows the bandaged man into
another small room. It is dark, and at first the
oberleutnant can only just make out the vague shape of a
man sitting on a low cot, back straight, his hands placed
on his knees. But as he rises to face the bandaged man,
the face that moves out of the shadows is instantly
recognisable. Before him in full uniform stands the Führer,
the Third Reich’s supreme leader. The two men silently
examine one another. The oberleutnant, discretely moving
back into the shadows, notices that the bandaged man is
almost exactly the same height and build as the Führer.
But the men appear oblivious to him, and to the sounds of
the battle above. Time in the small room seems to stand
still. Finally the bandaged man lifts his right arm in a tired
Nazi salute, just as the oberleutnant raises his gun to the
back of the Führer’s head.
The sound of the pistol shot in the confined space is
deafening, but even before it has died away the
oberleutnant is gently lowering the lifeless body to the
floor, placing his pistol into the Führer’s own hand. For a