Weapons of choice

Lieutenant General Oshima Hiroshi knew the SS commandant to be a man who was more than a little infatuated with the supernatural. The Japanese ambassador privately thought that the Reichsfuhrer's mental state was somewhat tenuous. He certainly suffered from runaway paranoia, and a mild form of madness that caused him to believe in the spirits and Teutonic gods as if they were a real force in the world, and not just a useful myth. He supposed it explained Himmler's remarkably phlegmatic response to the incident at Midway.

In a way, the ambassador conceded, he was very well adapted to deal with the shock of the Sutanto. Himmler saw plots everywhere, perceived the most bizarre meanings in the most mundane circumstance, and had long ago lost his connection to the world of real things. A demonic individual, who himself saw demons in every shadow, he needed little encouragement to believe in deliverance via their agency.

Looking at the slight, stunted figure of the man who sat before him, Hiroshi wondered what would happen if and when the Axis was triumphant. Given the racial philosophies of Nazi Germany and the empire, conflict between them must be inevitable. He shrugged the thought off as he poured a cup of tea. At least when he dealt with the Reichsfuhrer he could drink tea instead of the Germans' abominable national beverage, coffee.

"I would very much appreciate the opportunity of examining the material you have been sent from Hashirajima, Ambassador Hiroshi," said Himmler. "And of course you must feel free to study the information and equipment I have received."

The guest house at Lichterfelde was sumptuously appointed, although Hiroshi personally found it cluttered and busy, the furniture overstuffed, and the decorations gauche in the extreme. It had the advantage, however, of being one of the most secure sites in the world for a sensitive discussion.

"Do you feel as if you have been misinformed by your researchers?" he asked Himmler.

The German's ridiculous little mustache twitched, reminding Hiroshi of a small rodent, sniffing for danger.

"No, not as such," said Himmler. "But I feel there is much I have yet to learn. Perhaps things young Steckel would rather I didn't have to hear."

"Like how you will die?" asked Hiroshi, barely suppressing a mischievous smirk.

"You know this?" Himmler asked, suddenly all ears.

"I know that in the world the Sutanto arrived from, our victorious enemies hunted you down like a dog. You took poison when captured. Cyanide, I believe. A most painful and prolonged death."

What little color there was in Himmler's face drained away completely.

"I see," he whispered. "And the Reich?"

"Reduced to rubble and slavery under the Bolsheviks."

Himmler's hand shook so badly he spilled his tea on the coffee table. Small beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. He dabbed at them with a handkerchief.

"You seem remarkably composed, Herr General. Surely Japan does not escape unscathed."

"Burned to ashes and bones," said Hiroshi. "Literally."

Himmler looked as if he might actually be sick. Hiroshi had to clamp down on his distaste for the man's weakness.

"But of course, that was in their world," he said. "This is ours, and things have changed now. We can avoid the fate that awaited us. If we are bold."

Himmler nodded uncertainly. He licked his thin, bloodless lips.

"Yes. If we are bold… Perhaps, if you would come with me, when I tell the fuhrer of all this?"

Hiroshi indulged himself by sipping at his tea for a moment, letting the German wait on his answer.

"Of course," he said at last. "We are in this together."

RASTENBURG, 1247 HOURS, 10 JUNE 1942

The fuhrer was taking lunch with Martin Bormann and Dr. Gobbels at his East Prussian headquarters, the Wolfschanze in Rastenburg, when Himmler and Hiroshi arrived. The three men had finished their vegetarian strudel and potato salad and were tucking into Black Forest cake and coffee as Hitler explained his role in the development of the Volkswagen, a technological triumph of Aryan engineering of which he was inordinately proud.

"The Volkswagen," he said, "is the car of the future. One has only to see the way in which they roar up the Obersalzberg, skipping like mountain goats around my great Mercedes, to be tremendously impressed. After the war, it will become the car par excellence for the whole of Europe…"

Bormann and Gobbels nodded enthusiastically, neither man game to draw attention to the bright blob of cream that clung to the fuhrer's mustache. Hitler plowed on, as he so often did after dining, expounding on topics as varied as the fictitious value of gold, the lure of paperwork, and the ugliness of Berlin.