Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! Read Online Free PDF

uniform, from the smooth, creaseless tunic, to the black coat, to the gleaming knee-length jackboots, shining as they clip-clopped across the gravel, was perfect .
    Striding powerfully towards the massed men, he did not so much as glance at them, marching confidently until he reached a point of equidistance between the British soldiers at either end of the ranks. And then, with supreme assurance the man turned, imperious. Expressionless.
    “Good day to you, soldiers of Great Britain and the Empire.”
    That raised eyebrows. The tone was commanding, yet vaguely friendly, as though stentorian yet tempered with a smile. The proud face, with its pronounced jaw and cheekbones, however, remained cool.
    “I am Commandant SS Sturmbannführer Jochen Wolf. The rank is roughly equivalent to major in your armed services. You may call me Major Wolf.”
    Brian stole a quick glance to his left at Tommy and James. While the Yorkshireman was impassive, listening indifferently to the SS major’s peculiarly precise little introduction, the cockney’s contempt was visible, etched across his sneering, upturned lips, and the hostile challenge that flashed in his eyes.
    “You are my charge,” the major continued smoothly. His English was impeccable, even cultured, with a delicate edge to its rhythm and syntax. “If you are wondering why it is that you are… guests , shall we say… of the SS and not the Wehrmacht, rest assured that it is no reason to panic. You are not hostages. These were French military reserve barracks. This is not a hostile situation as far as I see it, nor from the perspective of Reichsführer-SS Himmler and the Führer himself. This is a time of great change. There no longer exists, in the practical sense, a state of war between our two Aryan, Germanic, white European nations. One Great War was enough, thankfully this time it ended quickly before too many good men were lost in a pointless struggle.”
    The speech was met with silence, and no small degree of shock. Where is he going with this , Stanley wondered. Talk of hostilities being over… and beyond that, just to talk ? And to address them with such a bizarre, candid entreaty; to view them with something other than enmity? This isn’t common practise for prisoners-of-war. And that particular jurisdiction – the custody of captured troops – most definitely falls to the army. Not a paramilitary, regardless of how entrenched it is in the national social structure.
    SS-Major Jochen Wolf let his gaze wander across the ranks of proud, defeated and thoroughly confused soldiers. Undaunted, they stared back through narrowed, quizzical eyes at the handsome young SS officer, bedecked as he was in war service medals that were pinned to his impeccable uniform. Momentarily, he cast a lingering gaze around the men in his charge, and then resumed his introduction. “We are in Aincourt, near to Versailles.”
    “Ironic, eh,” James Wilkinson muttered from the second row. But despite the sharp intake of breath from his fellow platoon members, the major merely continued his speech.
    “This camp will be known as St George no.5. Your platoons are being reorganised into three groups, and as a company you will remain together. You will enjoy hot water & regular meals. Improvements will be made to the toilet facilities currently in place here. We Germans will assist you in this. And now let me clarify the relationship between our peoples, who share a common blood. I must make mention again – you are not hostages of the SS. There will be an opportunity for education here, in history, culture, geography, and language – German , of course. All the men here speak the English language to a considerable degree. You have the chance to learn here, to leave this camp as improved versions of yourselves.”
    At this, Tommy gave an indistinct snort. The major’s eyes identified him at once. Smiling pleasantly, he almost murmured, “No noise or interruptions as I speak, please. The