Jackboot Britain: The Alternate History - Hitler's Victory & The Nazi UK! by Daniel S. Fletcher Page A
Authors: Daniel S. Fletcher
Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Classics, kindle, British, Germany, Nazi, Novel, alternate history, UK, hitler, Fletcher, alternative, fletcher writer, daniel s. fletcher, fletcher author, daniel fletcher, fletcher novel, 5*, jackboot britain
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international fascism; Mussolini’s lovechild had grown to an irrepressible, unruly and violent shyster; far outstripping the limits of power, murder and empire than even he could have foreseen in his halcyon days of the March on Rome .
Could Mussolini have possibly dreamed that his movement would snowball into a continental revolution; aided and abetted by the world’s oldest, largest and most powerful religious institution? Ten years later; Hitler’s Germany and Franco’s Spain rising up at his heels, the re-emergent German titan; teeth bared at the world that opposed them.
Everywhere Victorious . Gods on Earth.
Bloodstains remained as grim scars on the pavestones of wide Leeds streets; the city centre tram shuttled its silent passengers east down the dual-carriage York Road throughway, all eyes averted from the quiet scenes of recent hellish, thunderous shouts, booming explosions and screams. The meeker members of the northern populace began to feel – even hope, to themselves – that their husbands, sons, brothers, neighbours of whomever the men in the movement may be would perhaps, in retreating, have ensured that present and future violence be kept away from the city. Some were glad, though none dared voice that selfish, survivalist hope. A Trojan hope, ultimately; the forlorn pipedream of a spectator that a victorious Hector’s duel on some distant plain would keep the bloodshed away from Ilium’s sacred walls, and the families sheltered within.
Public sacrifice had been made; a notable scapegoat horribly executed in warning.
The Lord Mayor had voiced public support for the continued armed struggle and defiance of London’s armistice that had been widespread across the north, following the capital’s June designation as an ‘open city’. After encountering fierce resistance along the Liverpool-Manchester-Leeds-Hull northern belt line, the Wehrmacht chose to exemplify the futility of opposing German arms. Leeds’ Lord Mayor Wythie’s fate was sealed. Under the express orders of Commander von Brauchitsch himself, the Wehrmacht had publicly hung the Lord Mayor with piano wire from the Leeds Town Hall, watched by silent, saddened crowds.
Almost comically inadequate, the most perfunctory of public announcements had informed the city’s inhabitants of the impending death of Willie Wythie, and the next day, hundreds of mostly soundless observers saw the spectacle of the old man jerking pitifully as he choked to death. Most claimed that a sense of decency and decorum prevented them from witnessing such a horrid event, while those few that did pointed out dryly that Hitler aside, the death penalty was still occasionally applied in Britain by the British themselves. Most, though, suffering losses of their own and in the immediate aftermath of recent conflict, declined to comment. Distress was widespread; at least one third of all families had lost one or more relatives, and many more still had sons, brothers, husbands and fathers with serious injuries, or who had been captured in battle, or conscripted to forced labour. Others fled for the hills, a disorganised rabble of resisters; well-armed, as each surprised rumour-monger had it, but up against it in every conceivable sense.
Lord Mayor Wythie, now thankfully still, was left hanging from the Town Hall turrets for the first month of occupation in its entirety, serving as a macabre reminder of the days of fighting, and a nasty warning against future dissent.
After initial hostility and a widespread attitude of what Wehrmacht chiefs deemed to be disrespectful, the watchful Germans were presented with another opportunity to instil fear through a single act of calculated callousness. Wythie’s target of the support that proved fatal was a known left-wing activist, who had been instrumental in drumming up support for the ‘people’s defence of Great Britain’ against its invaders, organising some structure to those in Yorkshire with arms, who were willing
Could Mussolini have possibly dreamed that his movement would snowball into a continental revolution; aided and abetted by the world’s oldest, largest and most powerful religious institution? Ten years later; Hitler’s Germany and Franco’s Spain rising up at his heels, the re-emergent German titan; teeth bared at the world that opposed them.
Everywhere Victorious . Gods on Earth.
Bloodstains remained as grim scars on the pavestones of wide Leeds streets; the city centre tram shuttled its silent passengers east down the dual-carriage York Road throughway, all eyes averted from the quiet scenes of recent hellish, thunderous shouts, booming explosions and screams. The meeker members of the northern populace began to feel – even hope, to themselves – that their husbands, sons, brothers, neighbours of whomever the men in the movement may be would perhaps, in retreating, have ensured that present and future violence be kept away from the city. Some were glad, though none dared voice that selfish, survivalist hope. A Trojan hope, ultimately; the forlorn pipedream of a spectator that a victorious Hector’s duel on some distant plain would keep the bloodshed away from Ilium’s sacred walls, and the families sheltered within.
Public sacrifice had been made; a notable scapegoat horribly executed in warning.
The Lord Mayor had voiced public support for the continued armed struggle and defiance of London’s armistice that had been widespread across the north, following the capital’s June designation as an ‘open city’. After encountering fierce resistance along the Liverpool-Manchester-Leeds-Hull northern belt line, the Wehrmacht chose to exemplify the futility of opposing German arms. Leeds’ Lord Mayor Wythie’s fate was sealed. Under the express orders of Commander von Brauchitsch himself, the Wehrmacht had publicly hung the Lord Mayor with piano wire from the Leeds Town Hall, watched by silent, saddened crowds.
Almost comically inadequate, the most perfunctory of public announcements had informed the city’s inhabitants of the impending death of Willie Wythie, and the next day, hundreds of mostly soundless observers saw the spectacle of the old man jerking pitifully as he choked to death. Most claimed that a sense of decency and decorum prevented them from witnessing such a horrid event, while those few that did pointed out dryly that Hitler aside, the death penalty was still occasionally applied in Britain by the British themselves. Most, though, suffering losses of their own and in the immediate aftermath of recent conflict, declined to comment. Distress was widespread; at least one third of all families had lost one or more relatives, and many more still had sons, brothers, husbands and fathers with serious injuries, or who had been captured in battle, or conscripted to forced labour. Others fled for the hills, a disorganised rabble of resisters; well-armed, as each surprised rumour-monger had it, but up against it in every conceivable sense.
Lord Mayor Wythie, now thankfully still, was left hanging from the Town Hall turrets for the first month of occupation in its entirety, serving as a macabre reminder of the days of fighting, and a nasty warning against future dissent.
After initial hostility and a widespread attitude of what Wehrmacht chiefs deemed to be disrespectful, the watchful Germans were presented with another opportunity to instil fear through a single act of calculated callousness. Wythie’s target of the support that proved fatal was a known left-wing activist, who had been instrumental in drumming up support for the ‘people’s defence of Great Britain’ against its invaders, organising some structure to those in Yorkshire with arms, who were willing
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