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.
“That’s a good idea, sir,” Baatz said. His narrow, rather piggy eyes said Krantz should have figured this out for himself. Luckily for him, it wasn’t easy to gig a man-especially a noncom-on account of the look on his face. And Baatz looked mean and scornful most of the time, so maybe the lieutenant didn’t notice anything strange.
Krantz was looking south and west. “Now that we’ve driven the French out of here, we should be able to go on to Laon without much trouble.”
We? As in you and your tapeworm? Willi thought. The way it looked to him, the froggies had hung on so hard at Hary because it shielded Laon. They were probably digging in a little closer to the city even now-as well as anyone could in this miserable freezing weather.
Krantz was an officer. Wasn’t he supposed to know stuff like that because he was an officer? He didn’t have much experience, obviously. And if he kept poking around in a gutted supply dump, he wouldn’t live long enough to get any, either. Willi didn’t want to be standing close by when something Krantz was playing with went boom.
He couldn’t say anything like that to the lieutenant. Yes, the Fuhref’s Wehrmacht was a much more democratic, easygoing place than the Kaiser’s army had been. Old sweats who’d put in their time in the trenches in the last war all said so. Of course, Hitler was an old sweat himself. He’d fought almost from first to last without getting seriously wounded. The way things were on the Western Front from 1914 to 1918, that was either amazing luck or proof of the Gott mit uns on a Landser’s belt buckle. (But that was just the Prussian buckle the last time around, not the national one. Hitler had served in a Bavarian regiment, and would have had a different motto in front of his belly button.)
Yes, the Wehrmacht was more democratic now. Still, a private couldn’t explain the facts of life to an officer. Not even Corporal Baatz could. A grizzled Feldwebel might have done it. But Sergeant Pieck was wounded, too, and hadn’t been replaced. Krantz would have to learn on his own-if he lasted.
As if to show the platoon commander he wasn’t ready for General Staff Lampassen on the outer seams of his trouser legs, the French put in a counterattack later that afternoon. Whether Krantz had or not, Willi’d been fearing one. He was no General Staff officer, either, but he could see what a long southern flank the Germans held. The Wehrmacht had gone around the Maginot Line to the north, not through it. Evidently, the generals had counted on keeping the enemy too busy up there to worry about down here. Unfortunately, what you counted on wasn’t always what you got.
By the time the 75s started whistling in, Willi already had himself a foxhole. It had belonged to a poilu, who’d dug himself a cave in the northern wall to protect himself from German shells coming in from that direction. Willi hacked and scraped at the nearly frozen dirt in the southern wall of the hole with his entrenching tool to try to make himself the same kind of shelter from French artillery.
No splinters flayed his flesh or broke his bones, so he supposed he’d done well enough. No shells burst especially close to him, so he couldn’t prove a thing. But proof didn’t matter. All that mattered was, he didn’t get hurt.
He wasn’t sorry to let the Frenchmen come at him for a change. Sometimes-mostly when there were panzers around-attackers had the edge. More often, defenders crouched in the best shelter they could find or make and tried to murder the fellows coming at them.
His mouth went dry. He recognized that creaking, clanking rumble. As far as he knew, the Germans didn’t have any panzers in the neighborhood. If the French did, it wasn’t such a good day to crouch in a foxhole.
Boom! The report behind him was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. A split second later, he heard another one. That unmusical Clang! was an antitank round slamming into a French panzer. And the smaller pop s and blams that followed marked ammunition cooking off inside the stricken machine. Willi wouldn’t have wanted to be a French panzer crewman, not right then, not for anything.
He stood up and fired at the foot soldiers loping along with the hastily whitewashed French panzers. The poilus threw themselves flat and shot back at him. Boom! The 37mm antitank gun had found another target-found it and missed it. Behind their steel shield, the German artillerymen frantically reaimed and reloaded. Meanwhile, the French panzer’s turret swung inexorably toward them.
Both guns spoke together, as near as made no difference. The enemy panzer slewed sideways and stopped with a track shot off. But its highexplosive shell ruined the German gunners. Their shield did some good against small-arms fire. If a shell burst behind it…well, tough luck.
But then another antitank gun off to the left fired two quick rounds. The crippled French panzer started to burn in earnest. Behind the line, German artillery woke up. Shells started raining down on the ground south of Hary. Willi ducked back into his hole. Some of those shells would fall short. Your own side could kill you, too-one more lesson he wondered whether Lieutenant Krantz had learned.
Before long, the French attack petered out. The froggies didn’t seem to have had their hearts in it, not that that helped the crew of the antitank gun. Willi knew more than a little sympathy for the sorry bastards in Adrian helmets and worn khaki uniforms. Like him, they were at the mercy of officers who sent them forward and hoped something grand would come of it.
He lit a cigarette and stuck his head out for another look around. The two killed French panzers in front of him would burn for a long time. A few khaki-clad bodies lay on the snow-streaked ground. A raven glided down out of the sky and pecked at one. Scavengers never waited long.
And there was Lieutenant Krantz, peeking out of his own hole in the ground like a Feldgrau marmot. He’d come through another scrap. A few more and he’d start having an idea of what was going on out here. As much as I do, anyway, Willi thought. As much as anybody does. He took another drag and blew out a long, happy plume of smoke. He’d made it again.
* * *
Theo Hossbach was messing with the Panzer II’s radio set again, methodically taking out one tube after another, replacing each with a fresh one, and trying the radio again. “How’s it going?” Ludwig Rothe asked him.
Since Theo was wearing earphones, it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t follow. It also wasn’t surprising that he didn’t take them off so he could. Ludwig had often thought that Theo cared more about the radio than about either of his crewmates.
Direct action, then. Ludwig yanked the earphones off Theo’s head. The radio operator gave him a wounded look. “What did you go and do that for?” he asked.
“So I could talk to you?” Ludwig suggested.
By the way Theo blinked, that hadn’t occurred to him. “Are you a goddamn blackshirt, so you have to interrogate me right this fucking minute?”
“Gott im Himmel!” Ludwig’s head might have been on a swivel as he looked around the panzer park. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to his panzer, for which he was duly grateful. “Are you out of your mind, Theo? Do you want them to haul you away?”
“Nah. If I did, I would’ve-” But even Theo stopped short, swallowing whatever he’d been about to come out with. He was definitely an idiot, but maybe-just maybe-he wasn’t quite an imbecile.
Would’ve done what? Ludwig wondered. The first thing that sprang to mind was would’ve plugged the Fuhrer when I had the chance. Ludwig didn’t ask him if that was what he meant. For one thing, he feared Theo would say yes. For another, letting Theo know such a thought had crossed his own mind would give the radioman a hold on him.
And so Ludwig pointed to the set Theo was working on and asked his original question over again: “How’s it going?”
“Haven’t found the new bad tube yet.” As Theo spoke, he extracted another one. “They give out faster when we bang all over the landscape, you know.”
“Sure, but what am I supposed to do about it? Keep working. We’re as deaf as the damned Frenchmen till you do.” Ludwig had examined quite a few knocked-out French panzers. Most of them had no radios at all. French panzer leaders signaled their subordinates with wigwag disks. The Germans carried them, too, but only for emergencies. They worked well enough on the practice field. In real combat, with dust and dirt flying, they were much harder to make out. And, of course, a panzer commander who stood up in the cupola to semaphore with wigwag disks was as likely to get shot as any other suicidal damn fool.