Hitler's war
- Автор: Тертлдав Гарри Норман
- Серия: The War that came early #1
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Альтернативная история
Электронная книга - «Hitler's war». Краткое содержание книги:
Now, in this thrilling, provocative, and fascinating alternate history by Harry Turtledove, another scenario is played out: What if Chamberlain had not signed the accord? What if Hitler had acted rashly, before his army was ready-would such impatience have helped him or doomed him faster? Here is an action-packed, blow-by-blow chronicle of the war that might have been-and the repercussions that might have echoed through history-had Hitler reached too far, too soon, and too fast.
Turtledove uses dozens of points of view to tell this story: from American marines serving in Japanese-occupied China to members of a Jewish German family with a proud history of war service to their nation, from ragtag volunteers fighting in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion in Spain to an American woman desperately trying to escape Nazi-occupied territory-and witnessing the war from within the belly of the beast.
A novel that reveals the human face of war while simultaneously riding the twists and turns that make up the great acts of history, Hitler's War is the beginning of an exciting new alternate history saga. Here is a tale of powerful leaders and ordinary people, of spies, soldiers, and traitors, of the shifting alliances that draw some together while tearing others apart. At once authoritative, brilliantly imaginative, and hugely entertaining, Hitler's War captures the beginning of a very different World War II-with a very different fate for our world today.
He finished his drink and waved for another one. The blond girl who came over to get his glass wore a black gown cut down to there in front and even lower in back, and slit up to there down below. Reinberger followed her with his eyes as she sashayed back to the bar. He didn’t slobber or anything, but he did watch. Peggy couldn’t very well blame him; it was a hell of a dress. If she were ten years younger-hell, five years younger-she would have wanted it herself.
The girl brought back a new drink. By then Peggy was ready for a refill, too. That gave the German naval officer another chance to eye the girl’s strut. He made the most of it. When Peggy got the fresh drink, Reinberger raised his glass. “To 1939,” he said.
“To 1939,” Peggy echoed, and drank with him. If he’d said something like to our victory in 1939, she wouldn’t have. She was damned if she wanted to see the Nazis win. But toasting the year was harmless enough.
“What is an American doing in Germany in the middle of a war?” Reinberger asked.
Peggy looked him in the eye. She was tempted to spit in his eye, but he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Still, she didn’t sugarcoat the truth: “I was in Czechoslovakia when you people invaded it.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “If the Czechs were more, ah, reasonable, it might not have come to that. But they thought England and France would save them, and so…” Another shrug.
“Dachau.” Peggy wasn’t drunk, but she felt a buzz. Her wits worked slower than she wished they did. It wasn’t a big city or anything, but she’d heard of it before. How come? After a moment, she remembered. “Dachau! Isn’t that where they-?” She didn’t know how to go on.
“Yes, that is where they-” Korvettenkapitan Reinberger didn’t finish it, either. He did say, “Every nation has in it people who are not trusted by the government. We keep them there.”
From some of the whispers Peggy had heard, the SS did more to people in Dachau than just keep them there. But she couldn’t prove that. Probably the only way to prove it was to end up on the inside. She had a magpie curiosity, but she didn’t want to know that badly.
“Where in the United States do you live?” Reinberger asked. It wasn’t the smoothest change of subject Peggy had ever seen, but it also could have been worse.
“Philadelphia,” she answered. Homesickness rose up inside her like a great choking cloud. She had to look down at the tabletop and blink several times while tears stung her eyes.
“I know something of the port-I visited before the last war, and again three, no, four years ago now. But all I know of the city is that it is large.”
“Third biggest in the country,” Peggy agreed, not without pride. And we don’t lock people up there even if they aren’t trusted by the government. And we never would, not unless they were niggers or Japs or something.
The music on the radio got a little less syrupy than it had been. “Do you care to dance?” Reinberger asked.
She gave him a crooked grin. “Sure you wouldn’t rather ask the bar-girl? You’ve got a better chance with her.”
“I be not”-he shook his head-“I am not looking for that, not now. How do I expect Maria to stay for me if I do not stay for her?”
A lot of Germans had trouble with Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Meeting one who didn’t made up Peggy’s mind for her. “Okay,” she said.
He danced well enough. He stayed with the beat, and he led firmly. If he lacked the inspiration, the sense of fun, that separated really good dancers from people who were just all right-then he did, that was all. He held Peggy tight without trying to mash himself against her or grope her. He was…correct, a diplomat would have called it.
“Thank you,” she said when the music stopped. “That was nice.”
“Ja.” He nodded. “And thank you also.” As they went back to the table, he added, “Much better than shooting up Russian ships in the Baltic.”
“Well, gee! There’s a compliment!” Peggy exclaimed. Lieutenant Commander Reinberger laughed. He waved for another drink. Peggy nodded to show she wanted one, too. The barmaid in the startling outfit fluttered her fingers to show she saw. Peggy asked, “That’s what you were doing before you got leave? Shooting up Russian ships?”
“Ja,” Reinberger said. “The Baltic in winter is perfectly filthy, too. Storms, fog, waves, ice…and always maybe a U-boat waits to give you a present. Anyone who enjoys combat a Dummkopf is.”
“Hitler did,” Peggy said incautiously. She wondered if she would find out more about what went on in Dachau than she ever wanted to know. Your big mouth, she told herself, not for the first time.
The barmaid came back with the fresh drinks then. She almost fell out of that dress as she bent over to give Reinberger his. He noticed. She wanted him to notice. But he didn’t do anything or say anything about it. She looked annoyed as she walked away.
“From everything I know, the Fuhrer is braver than most men,” Reinberger said. That was the straight Nazi line. From everything Peggy’d heard, it also happened to be true, which was discouraging.
“Did the Russians shoot back?” she asked.
“They tried. Wallowing freighters with popguns have not much chance against warships,” Reinberger answered. “They are brave enough themselves, no matter what the radio says.” So he didn’t think much of Dr. Goebbels’ endless propaganda barrage. That was interesting. “No matter how brave you are, though, you must have the tools to do the job.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than air-raid sirens started wailing. The headwaiter shouted, “The basement is our bomb shelter. Everyone go to the basement at once.”
“Have the English and French begun to bomb Berlin, then?” Reinberger asked as people headed for the door.
“Not even once, not since I’ve been here,” Peggy answered. “Do you suppose it’s the Russians?”
The German naval officer looked almost comically surprised. “I never dreamt they could,” he answered, starting down the stairs. “Not impossible, I suppose, but it didn’t once cross my mind.” Somewhere not far away, bombs crump! ed outside. Peggy knew that hateful, terrifying sound much too well.
Even though it was New Year’s Eve-no, New Year’s Day now-some people hadn’t gone dancing into 1939. Grumpy, sleepy-looking men in bathrobes over pajamas and women in housecoats over nightgowns joined the more alert crowd from the party. A mustachioed man who spoke German with a Bela Lugosi accent said, “They told me this could not happen.” Whoever they were, more bomb bursts said they didn’t know what they were talking about.
A woman added, “Goring said you could call him Meyer if the enemy ever bombed Berlin.”
Crump! Crump! Boom! As far as Peggy could see, the fat Luftwaffe boss had just saddled himself with a Jewish-sounding name. As far as she could see, he deserved it. He deserved worse, but he wasn’t likely to get it. People didn’t get what they deserved often enough.
Boom! That one sounded as if it came down right on top of the hotel. The lights in the cellar flickered and went out. People screamed on notes ranging from bass to shrill soprano. The Germans and their friends sounded an awful lot like the international crowd at Marianske Lazne. When you dropped bombs on them, people were all pretty much alike. Peggy would have been perfectly happy never to have learned that lesson.
Everyone cheered when, after about half a minute, the lights came on again. A few minutes later, sirens shrilled the all-clear. “Happy New Year,” Lieutenant Commander Reinberger said dryly.
“Hey, we’re alive,” Peggy answered. “Anybody wants to know what I think, that makes it happy enough.”
* * *
When Joaquin Delgadillo joined the Nationalist army in Spain, he didn’t do it to meet General Sanjurjo. He did it because he couldn’t stand the Spanish Republic. He probably would have done it even if someone as dull and cautious as General Franco commanded his side.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t delighted to get a glimpse of Sanjurjo. The story was that the general’s airplane had almost crashed coming from Portugal to Spain when the revolt against the Republic broke out. People said Sanjurjo didn’t want to leave all his fancy clothes behind. So what if they would have weighed down the plane? A real man, a real Spaniard, didn’t worry about things like that.