Chapter 43: Awakening
Alistair woke up from his fever dreams. Once again, they'd taken him back to the worst possible place he could think of, to the relm of a man counted under the ten most evil men to ever live. But this time he woke up with a feeling of clarity. Hitler's words, as dark and drear as they had been had given him the final kick he needed. He knew that he had to do something agaisnt the Reichskanzler and his party. And he'd have to have the fucking best plan in the whole fucking world.
He closed his eyes and faked sleep as the doctor slipped inside his bedroom. He wanted to avoid any questions, he needed time to think. The doctor left soon enough, after seemingly blindly shaking around Alistair's pills and bottles.
How am I supposed to stop him? I don't think I'll be able to take his life...He wouldn't know who'd win in a fist-fight. Hitler was around ten years younger than him; and the older you get the more ten years takes a toll on your strength. There's no way I can sneak a gun into the Reichstag or even Berghof...
Violence wasn't going to do it, he was very against violence anyway. Even just the thought of killing Hitler he felt a blockade and doubted he'd ever be able to pull the trigger, even if he had a chance.
An idea surfaced to the front of his mind, it had always been there but he'd regularily tried to ignore it. Now it finally broke through. And it made sense. It might give him the chance to change history. But if he didn't execute it just right; he might end up leading the Reichskanzler to victory. If he showed Hitler that he was a 'genius' at predicting what would happen when, Hitler might trust him to military matters and he could, for example, after the invasion of Poland, convince Hitler to invade Russia instead of France ect, and perhaps the German army would fall to the Soviets before too much harm could be done. The plan wasn't perfect, especially because the battle on the eastern front had been the bloodiest. He'd have to go to Moscow and tell the Soviet dictator that he'd need to rev his army. And if Hitler found out he'd taken a trip into the enemy's hands he'd be shot dead. A quick capitulation of Germany (within a few months for example) was impossible. But leading the Germans into the ready Russians hands might make the war last only two years instead of six. He wouldn't just be saving several countries from occupation but also many people from dying in the concentration camps, and, with some luck, be able to cut down the numbers of bombed cities. The war in the far east, in Asia, which was already raging, was one he couldn't do too much about. But perhaps a quick surrender of the Germans would persuade the Japanese to realize the West and the CCCP were enemies they didn't want to be up against. And perhaps nobody would have to use an atomic bomb. Wait - hadn't the fundamentals for the bomb been discovered in Germany? If the Reich was beaten by then, maybe nobody would ever build the bomb!
Alistair calmed his thumping heart by taking slow breaths and forcing himself to think of something else for a few seconds. Once his heartbeat had decreased he allowed himself to think it over again. I can't get too excited, it's all very hypothetical, and it might not work. I also have to be aware that the changes (if I manage to make any) could have even worse consequences.
Who would know better than a historian? Having studied history himself he wasn't uneducated, but there were professionals who'd spent their whole life on the issue of the second world war. If he could talk to some of them...he was president, it should be easy. Of course he wouldn't be able to say the real reason he wanted to chat, but he could easily cover it up with saying he was writing a book of some sorts. Many presidents do.
He already felt better, though still feverish. He checked his own temperature, but it didn't indicate even the slightest fever. His anxiety rose as he remembered all the stuff on his plate as president. He closed his eyes and tried to block them out. A sick man is no better than a dead one when it comes to important affairs; unless he's signing the will of course. He smiled to himself.
Anxiety brings out the worst in people. Stalin suffered under various health problems, and whenever the situation in the CCCP got especially bad they'd worsen. Alistair had no health troubles that he knew of, expect for his aging joints, but exercize kept him quite fit and springy. His anxiety only took a toll on his breathing; it felt ever so tight in his chest, and his heartbeat felt irregular and not in sync with his breaths.
He picked up his phone and started to google. After having swiped through profiles of the most famous second world war historians and, of course, looked them up on all linked sites, he was left with one particular historian who looked as if she really knew a whole damn lot about a lot of things. She'd written several books, translated and commentated on 'Mein Kampf' in her twenties, had done several interviews, had worked in more than one well-rated documentary and, taught history as a professor at Amherst. She was also of German origin from her father's side, and she'd lived in Germany for several years. He noted her name in reminders. Tomorrow or later today he'd tell someone that he wished to contact her and that he wanted to meet her as soon as possible. Perhaps he needed a historian and not a doctor or psychiatrist to solve his problems.
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