[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Berchtesgaden, November 4 1944[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
So it had come to this. Well, at least the britons were honorable foes. Berlin was now a giant field of ruins, but at least it was in the hands of semicivilized enemies. Reinhard Heydrich almost shuddered thinking what would have happened had the russians taken the city: the tales of the orgy of blood and destruction that had fallen upon East Prussia, Pommerania and Silesia were horrible enough. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Too bad nothing could have been done about Nuremberg: to see the spiritual home of nazism desecrated and sacked by those latin anarchist pigs was far more painful than the photo Heydrich had on his desk, brought via Switzerland, of the Union Jack flying over the Reichstag. And, if reports were to be belived, they had also left a trail of sack, rape and destruction for the sake of it across southern Germany. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Rummaging through the desk, Heydrich finally found a magnifying glass hidden under some folders in one of the drawers. He had been installed here for a couple of days only. Himmler preferred to work in his rooms and the others had all but given up in governing tasks since they had fled from Berlin in the second half of October. And the man that this entire office -the entire complex- had once belonged to, while living there now, was in no shape to complain about Heydrich rummaging through his drawers and writing in his stationery. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Even with the magnifying glass, Heydrich was unable to tell his house apart in the photography's background. Either printing quality in british newspapers was not as good as it used to -understandable- or the house had been destroyed and he was just trying to make sense of a tiny blur of grey and black wreckage in the background of a photo. He dropped the newspaper and the glass, and wondered if it was really worth it to go back to bed now that dawn was already there. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
He would return to Berlin, though. Chances were slim, but realistic. It all depended on holding out enough. The SS divisions were redeploying into the Festung. Retreating them from frontline duty had been a difficult decision, one that had doomed the Western Front, as undermanned and unsupplied Heer divisions had been forced to fight on their own against the Western hordes. But that sacrifice could now save Germany. Six or seven SS divisions fighting from these mountains, with the Italians covering their back -and probably joining them, as the Soviets would probably break through Slovenia into the Padan plain- would be a fearsome foe against which the allies' number superiority would be useless. In a few months, Von Braun's missiles would be ready and nerve gas would begin raining over european cities. Even if it didn't come to that, the allies would not accept a soviet invasion of Italy: he would be happy to help them in their struggle against the real common enemy. Even the anarchists were welcome to help if they wanted to. Even if the Reich was diminished in the West, the allies would have to accept his supremacy in the East once Russia was finally defeated and partitioned, let's say around 1950. By that point, he was sure he would be Führer: Hitler was not long to live, and that wacko Himmler, more and more obsessed by his mystic claptrap, would be easy to be disposed of... All that was needed was to resist at this mountain holdout, like Parsifal's Graal Knights, for a few winter months, until those assembled against them understood the situation. Even yesterday he had read a report about Italian elite divisions being redeployed into Italy proper: surely Ciano had already responded to his petition by starting preparations for his part in defending the Festung. He decided that going to bed for a couple of hours wouldn't hurt him even if he could not sleep: he needed to be rested for the next crucial days. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
He had been hearing it for a few minutes, but only now realized its strangeness. It sounded like small arms fire, barely a series of irregular popping sounds. He could not hear any shouting or running: he did not realize that the house's thick stone walls muffled them. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Heydrich, in his night gown and slippers, stood for a few minutes in the middle of the office, listening. After a few minutes, the popping sounds subsided and finally the house fell silent. What had been that?[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Shortly after, he heard steps on the corridor. Hurried, heavy steps by someone wearing combat boots. No doubt some of his military aides had come to report about whatever incident had happened and, not finding him at his room, came now to the office. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Before Heydrich could open it, the door seemed to explode, brutally shut open. Into the office stepped an insect. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
At the timid light of dawn that came from the windows, Heydrich still needed a second or two to recognize that the man who had stepped into the office was just wearing a gas mask. Years of self-deception, however, forced him to take a little longer to accept that the man was shouting at him, and aiming a handgun at him. A Beretta model 1935, if we have to be precise. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
* * *[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Amedeo Guillet [1] and his arditi were following the scared aide through this labyrinth of corridors and stairs. He had memorized all the plans intelligence had managed to obtain from the complex, but it still was mind-boggingly labyrinthine. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
The initial assault at dawn had been wildly succesful. Intelligence had been right: despite Heydrich's grandiose allegations, the defenses of this alleged last bastion were laughable, and the SS men unprepared to meet a surprise airborne attack. The ADRA[2] had been training for months, day and night, since the Duce had learned of Heydrich's plans in April. And it had paid off. Casualties were low, and most targets had been easily rounded up, caught in their sleep. Heydrich had been more difficult to find, until Lt De Tonno had found him in Hitler's office. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Down in the complex's bowels, the aide, almost pushed by Guillet's Beretta, finally opened an armored door. No, thought, Guillet, he cannot be here. A man like him, cannot resort to hiding in this hole deep into the mountain. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
But when he stepped into the room, Beretta first, followed by his men, there he was, lying on a bed, surrounded by medical equipment, a young, scared blonde woman beside him. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
In that moment, in Rome, the american embassy was sending an urgent cable to Washington, London and Paris: for the last fifteen minutes, all italian military radio frequencies had aired nothing but a Morse message in loop. It was a single word: GLADIO. They had repeated GLADIO... GLADIO... GLADIO... for fifteen minutes, and then silence. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
[1]OTL Guillet (1909-2010) was perhaps the last decorated cavalry commander in military history, having served as such in Spain, East Africa and Russia. ITTL, the lack of a spanish civil war to serve in had him trying his hand at paratrooping circa 1938. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
[2]Arditi Distruttori Regia Aeronautica: the Italian Air Force's special ops wing, IOTL created in 1942. It only had time for a couple of very succesful sabotage operations in allied-occupied North Africa before the Italian Armistice. ITTL, they've had quite more time to train...[/FONT]
An ADRA commando during training north of Rome, summer 1944.