"Report, General! Model Paratrooper Regiment has sent a telegram. They have occupied the main slipway of the Campbell-Lead Shipyard. Due to the British detonating explosives installed on the keels of the vessels, one of the two in-progress Didot-class light anti-aircraft cruisers is essentially damaged, the other severely damaged, three destroyers are essentially scrapped, and the remaining small vessels have also been set ablaze!"
In a hotel in the small town of Taunton in southwest England, the grand dining hall had been converted into a temporary command post. A roaring fire in the fireplace warmed the spacious room. The German officer delivering the report stood tall and wore a crisp Luftwaffe uniform, presenting an alert demeanor.
"Well, the situation is far from ideal... Reply to the telegram. Model Paratrooper Regiment and reinforcements from 3rd Battalion, 1st Company are to defend the shipyard and prevent further British sabotage of shipbuilding facilities. Additional support will arrive as scheduled!"
Despite having only returned from injury two weeks ago, 50-year-old Kurt Stundert seemed to have fully regained his composure. His speech was gracious and composed, and his deep understanding of paratrooper tactics surpassed that of many German generals in this field.
After dismissing the communications officer, Stundert placed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and, with a slight bow, slowly moved toward the sofa near the fireplace. Sitting there was a young Air Force major general, with jet-black short hair under his military cap. His thick eyebrows, paired with the depth in his eyes, gave him an air of mystery. Leaning back against the sofa's wide backrest, his arms folded naturally across his chest, he calmly remarked, "I knew the British wouldn't easily relinquish their vessels under construction. According to the naval technical engineers, a small amount of high explosive placed in key locations can destroy a vessel's keel. It's the same principle as destroying bridges!"
"Hmph! Trying to snatch ships from the British was overly optimistic from the start. As you said, it's better to use strong psychological tactics to erode the British resistance on their own soil and force them to surrender their vessels through a ceasefire agreement. Let them savor the pain inflicted on the Germans after the last war!" Stundert, who had participated as a German pilot in that war, like many of his peers, harbored extreme anger and resentment toward the once glorious Royal Navy. Of course, there was also some nostalgia.
"So, that's why I suggested to the Fuhrer to use some clever methods to deal with Churchill! Look, this guy is the most stubborn in all of Britain!" The young major general spoke with a slightly lowered tone.
"Well... Do we still need to proceed with Operation Belfast Airborne?" Stundert's tone was that of a commander consulting his staff officer, or perhaps an airborne corps commander seeking the opinion of the Air Force Chief of Staff.
"The implementation of an operation depends mainly on input and outcome. If we can capture even one of the two battleships and one aircraft carrier stationed there relatively intact, our Grand Admiral will be dancing with joy! However... General, the outcome of the Battle of Borkenhede gave us an important hint: relying solely on paratroopers may not be enough to accomplish such a mission!" The young Air Force general remained seated, his blue-gray uniform almost immaculately clean. The Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords on his collar glimmered in the firelight—a decoration designed and awarded to distinguished officers and soldiers after the outbreak of the Russo-German War in the original historical timeline.
"Joint naval operations? Submarines? Battleships? Blockading harbors?" Stundert threw out a series of question marks.
The handsome face fell into thought amidst the calm. After a moment, he spoke deliberately, "It's still uncertain for now. It seems... I'll have to return home in a few days and personally discuss matters with Marshal Reder!"
"Oh, Marshal Reder will be delighted." Stundert walked to the fireplace and stared into the flames for a while. "The British defeat is inevitable. After eliminating their greatest naval adversary, do we still need to be in such a hurry?"
"Removing the stone blocking the door doesn't mean there are no more obstacles in the world. For a country to truly become powerful, a navy is indispensable. But in the past twenty years, we have fallen behind too much. We must make up for lost time!" Those deep eyes seemed to see far, far ahead.
Three days later, on Christmas Eve of 1940, before Field Marshal von Rundstedt's army group suspended its offensive, the industrial regions of Birmingham, Coventry, Northampton, Leicester, and Nottingham had been marked. The German ground forces had captured about a third of the cities in Wales, as well as Stoke, Chester, and Birkenhead. The leading units of the left wing had reached the outskirts of Liverpool and Manchester in northern England—these two cities were not known for football culture; the former was a major trading port, and the latter, a center of the textile industry. To the north, the German advance had also reached the coast of Wash Bay, effectively cutting Britain in half:
To the south, there was the defense perimeter of the British Empire and more than a dozen isolated cities northeast of London; to the north, there were the ancient Hadrian's Wall and Scotland. Land transportation between the two areas no longer existed, and the only lifeline for the capital and the rear was risky airlift or maritime transport, but no one knew when this final bridge would collapse.
With the complete withdrawal of the Royal Air Force to the north, the likelihood of air raids on the European continent, especially on German soil, had significantly decreased. In Berlin, blackout restrictions had been lifted since December 23, and on Christmas Eve, to create an atmosphere of victory, the German air defense forces even turned on hundreds of searchlights, illuminating the night sky and the city.
A grand Christmas banquet was held at the Chancellery of the Reich. Naturally, Hans Rogan, the Minister of Air Operations, who had just returned to the country, was invited and could bring a companion—this, however, made the young Air Force major general somewhat hesitant. In terms of temperament and appearance, Doreen was more than qualified to attend, but she was ultimately British, and the life-and-death struggle between England and Germany was still ongoing, causing discomfort to the whole family. To avoid complications, Rogan eventually chose to attend alone.
The black car sped through the empty streets. Christmas trees, meticulously decorated, lined the streets like lamps, giving the illusion of entering an enchanted forest. Around the corner, the domed building illuminated by lights looked like a king's castle from a fairy tale, even more majestic!
There was still a distance to the Chancellor's Office, but the neighborhood was already dotted with pavilions and guard posts every few steps. Soldiers in steel helmets, wearing dark gray overcoats, checked each passing car with long rifles, meticulously inspecting every vehicle heading toward the heart of the empire. The vast parking lot was neatly lined with no fewer than a hundred cars, which, in terms of style and design, could easily have constituted an early 1940s luxury car exhibition!
Rogan had just gotten out of the car when he ran into his Air Force colleague, Alexander Lell, a thin and tall air force general with an unusually long face. He had served in the Austrian Air Force before the German-Austrian merger and was currently the commander of the 4th Luftwaffe Squadron, responsible for air defense tasks in northern Germany. It seemed he had been a bit bored lately after the transfer.
"Hey, General Rogan, did you come alone today?" Lell, with his thick lips, sounded quite strange, while his wife, wearing a fur coat and looking plump, smiled at Rogan.
"Yes, General, I'm a single man now, so I had to come alone!" Rogan replied, courteously kissing the lady's hand in a European manner, then turned to Lell. "Yes, General, I'm alone today."
Lell smirked, and his wife jokingly said, "Oh... A young and promising officer like General Rogan is still single. That's good news for the many young German girls!"
Rogan chuckled, "Mrs. Lell, you're a good person!"
The three of them exchanged pleasantries as they walked toward the Chancellor's Office. The gentlemen around them were either dressed in splendid military uniforms, expensive overcoats, or leather jackets, almost all of them escorting female companions—usually in their forties or older, even if their marital lives weren't happy, they would still show affection in public.
Not long after entering the high-level reception, Rogan only recognized a few people besides his Air Force colleagues. He could name most of the army marshals, the naval high-ranking officers, though fewer in number, he had met before. However, the senior officials responsible for imperial internal affairs and foreign diplomacy, Rogan knew very little about, so when the Minister of Finance, von Korochik, greeted him on his way, Rogan was somewhat at a loss. Fortunately, the busy man only exchanged some pleasantries before moving on to other people.
Feeling quite embarrassed, Rogan struggled to recall corresponding faces from memory. Unfortunately, besides the distinctive faces of Vice Chancellor Rudolf Hess, Minister of Propaganda Goebbels, the always limping and always dressed in khaki uniform Minister of Armament and Munitions Todt, and the especially active Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop, as well as the Minister of Equipment and Munitions Fritz Todt, whom he had dealt with before, Rogan didn't recognize any other members of the Reich Cabinet (there should be ten more ministers responsible for internal affairs, economics, food, labor, justice, transportation, postal services, education, forestry, and religion).—Hermann Göring's death had passed some time ago, but the position of Luftwaffe Commander-in-Chief and Minister of Aviation in the Reich Cabinet remained vacant, which was indeed puzzling and curious!
In the crowd, Rogan easily found the deep blue. Before the joint naval operation plan was formally finalized, he had had a discussion with Reder and the main naval officers. Both sides had quickly reached an agreement on capturing the British warships berthed in Belfast Harbor, even discussing Germany's future aircraft carrier plans. During this period, the knowledgeable and talented Reder left a great impression on Rogan.
After exchanging greetings with the naval marshal, Rogan had only spoken a few words to him when a soft and sweet voice came from beside him, "Excuse me... Would you like another drink or some wine?"
Rogan casually turned his head, and a young woman wearing a white apron and a white headscarf was holding a tray with six or seven cups—some white, some red, and some beige. As for the face behind the cups, the exquisite features didn't resemble those of a European at all. A pair of watery eyes were so beautiful that they were suffocating.
Although momentarily stunned by her beauty, Rogan didn't dwell on it. The maids of the Chancellor's Office were still maids, after all. He placed his empty cup on the tray and chose a glass of champagne, pale yellow in color. "Thank you!"
A few minutes later, in the cutlery room on one side of the hall, several pretty girls in maid uniforms were excitedly whispering:
"He's so handsome, he's really enchanting!"
"Yeah, I just caught a glimpse of him from afar. Ah, so charismatic! At 27, General Rogan is a perfect match for you, Ava!"
"Why Ava? We all have a chance!"
"Well, fair competition, whoever gets it wins!"
"Humph, I'll tell you, from the moment he looked at me and talked to me, he, Hans Rogan, is mine!"
"Tsk..." (In unison)
At this moment, an elderly man with round glasses and a slightly plump figure walked in from outside. He spoke kindly in a slightly hoarse voice, "Alright, girls, the Führer is about to arrive. If you don't want to stay here, you can move to the back of the hall, but don't clumsily knock over trays or cups, otherwise the Führer will definitely recognize you. Understand?"
"Thank you, Grandpa Meinert!" The girls replied in a sweet tone.
Not long after, enthusiastic applause filled the hall, a situation that usually only occurred when a dictator arrived. The elderly man in glasses and a suit hurriedly walked to the hall, while the girls tidied up their outfits and then filed out carrying trays.
As usual for the beginning of the Christmas banquet, Adolf Hitler delivered a speech full of sentimentality, though different from his New Year's address to the Reichstag. In addition to praising the dedication of the German people to the war effort, he specifically blessed the over 400,000 German soldiers fighting in Britain. He continued with his relentless Lebensraum ideology, condemnation of the Jewish people, and expressed hatred towards the Soviets for occupying the Baltic states during the Western Front campaigns. He even showed sympathy for the Italians in East Africa, North Africa, and Greece. Finally, he looked ahead to the new year: "We will end the war with the British by February, and before the next winter arrives, Europe will achieve true peace! Long live Germany! Long live Europe!"
This was the first time Adolf Hitler had publicly proclaimed "Long live Europe," indicating that in his mind, Europe as a unified entity was already a foregone conclusion. Of course, this was the Europe of the Axis powers, and especially, Germany's Europe!