What if Hitler Won World War 2 (2020s)

Sure! Here’s a sanitized version of the provided transcript, removing any inappropriate language and sensitive content while maintaining the overall context:

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**Wichita, Kansas**

“You’ll have approximately thirteen minutes to find shelter.” There hadn’t been anywhere large enough to accommodate the crowd of farmers and ranchers with such short notice, so the city had been forced to commandeer a local theater. Now the place was packed tight with over two hundred farm workers and a small group of military and government officials. The latter were mostly congregated in the front row of seats, where each official had taken to the stage to deliver their portion of the evening’s briefing to the Kansas natives. The current and last speaker was from the Civil Defense Corps, a government agency most people had forgotten about after the scare of the Two-Week War in the 1980s. Recently, though, the agency tasked with hardening America against nuclear attack and ensuring survival in the aftermath had resumed its duties with vigor.

“You’re all considered essential workers for the nation, thus know that you’re a priority for aid in the wake of an attack.” The speaker, an Air Force Major, was not being well received by the increasingly irritated crowd. One rancher near the front stood up. “Now how are we supposed to find shelter and handle all the other tasks you’ve given us all night on top of that?” The Major looked uneasy at the question. “Uh, well your personal safety is naturally a priority. Other tasks like covering drinking water sources, feed, and the animals can come after—though you’ll have very limited time to act to protect them from the effects of fallout.”

“How much time?” The crowd murmured as the rancher voiced their frustration. “Approximately thirty minutes. Depending on the location of the blast and atmospheric conditions—but you should move as quickly as possible. The greatest threat will be contamination of drinking water and feed, as well as the animals themselves.”

“You already said that, Mister Air Force Major. What we want to know is how you expect us to do any of this before it starts raining fallout? Most of us have open-air irrigation and drinking sources; how are we supposed to cover up a one hundred square foot pond? Let alone in thirty minutes?!” Another rancher stood to voice his own irritation. “My animals range free; how do you expect me to round them up and cover them?” A farmer now stood. “Do you have any idea how many square miles of crops each farm around these parts manages? How are we going to cover all that up?”

The Major ignored the first two speakers and focused on the farmer. “Ah, yes—actually the crops will likely be a total loss anyway due to follow-on effects. But what’s important is to remove the top six inches of topsoil after an attack before planting new crops. You’ll want to store that soil somewhere away from animals or drinking water.” The crowd jeered. The farmer the Major had addressed shook his head incredulously. “Do you have any idea how much work it will be to strip away six inches of soil across miles and miles of property—and what are we supposed to do with all that contaminated soil? Make a mountain out of it?!”

“No, sir—you’ll definitely not want to store it in a way that the wind could catch and spread it around. It would be best to bury it.” The proposition was flat-out ridiculous, and the crowd had enough. They began to jeer the Air Force Major. Some shouted as the anger grew to a crescendo. The city mayor took to the stage to attempt to calm things down but had no luck. The Air Force and US Army Corps of Engineers delegation decided it would be best to end the briefing early and exit via the rear of the theater. They couldn’t blame the farmers and ranchers, though; it was impossible work. But what else was the government supposed to tell the people? That their only realistic choice was to face dire consequences? Someone had to try to rebuild after the situation.

**Berlin**

Helma Schneider, chancellor of the Reich, was troubled. It was a rare moment of weakness to which she only afforded one man the privilege of seeing: Uwe Schmidt, her one-time conspirator to overthrow the chancellery, and now her most trusted advisor. The two didn’t love each other; they were simply the only other individuals that each trusted and appreciated as equals in the entirety of the Reich. Their intimacy was nothing more than an extension of their partnership. Uwe, prompted by Helma’s sigh, looked up from the breakfast table at her, still lounging in bed going over daily briefing reports on her electronic pad. “If you are having reservations, I should remind you of the timetable.”

The timetable. An innocuous enough document drafted while the two were still conspiring to take the chancellery for themselves. A breakdown of all the woes of the Third Reich, and a ticking clock to address the various issues eating the Reich from within before American conventional and political power hopelessly eclipsed them. She hadn’t been able to truly end the Reich’s disastrous cultural advancement programs—the guise through which generations of German leaders had systematically oppressed other races in the occupied territories. Sometimes through outright violence, as was the case for the Jews, others through simply working them to exhaustion in labor camps, as was the case for the Russians. Others still through careful social engineering and, of course, forced sterilization. It’s not that she didn’t believe in the superiority of the German race—that much was obvious; the United States had to enlist the aid of all the nations of the world to rival a dwindling Germany.

“We are risking open conflict with the Americans. Are you sure that we are prepared for this?” Uwe was silent, carefully picking at his breakfast. Finally, he answered. “I am certain that the longer we don’t act, the greater the gulf between our two nations. I am certain that failure to act today ensures the Reich’s defeat tomorrow.”

**Tokyo, Japan**

The protests had lasted a week and began just three days after gas prices in Japan quadrupled overnight. The German ban on all oil exports to China several years ago had now been officially extended to Japan, with disastrous results for the Japanese economy. Some had been better prepared than others, with the nation attempting a switch to electric vehicles. But while now 22 percent of the Japanese auto fleet was all electric, the vast industrial apparatus of Japan was almost entirely powered by petroleum and natural gas. The United States had promised to increase exports, but feeding China’s voracious appetite had consumed nearly all of its export capability. Complicating matters back home, the environmental movement—helped along by significant funding from German intelligence—had grown exponentially in the wake of dramatically increased energy exploitation across North America, prompting furious protests and interrupting further expansion of an already bloated energy industry.

The American ambassador to Japan could hear the thousands of angry protesters on the streets even from deep within the embassy itself. The Marine security detail had been tripled as a precautionary measure, but there had never been any violence towards the US embassy from the Japanese people, and it wasn’t expected now. But the Japanese people were angry. Already struggling with a weak economy made worse by an aging population, the gas crisis had created a true disaster for the nation. And firebrands—no doubt helped along by German influence agents—had put the blame squarely on the United States of America. The new German chancellor had played her cards well, explaining that the temporary blockade was due to American destabilization efforts around the world, funding movements that attacked German interests. How exactly Japan fit into that narrative, she had never bothered to explain—and she didn’t need to. Nearly overnight, Japanese support for membership in the South East Asia Treaty Organization had collapsed. If only they pulled out of the alliance and demoted their relationship with the United States, the Reich would have no reason to continue the embargo.

The ambassador prepared for a very difficult meeting with his Japanese counterparts. No doubt the Germans had shaped that part of the narrative as well, and to their credit—it was working. The entire move was quite clever. Germany had no chance of breaking the SEATO alliance militarily, but unless the US took drastic action, it might just break it politically.

**Oval Office, White House, United States of America**

“Bob, it has to be the Germans who fire first. We all understand this, yes?” Bob Grumlin, national security advisor to the President of the United States, nodded. The President stood with his back to his cabinet, sitting on the edge of the Resolute Desk and looking out the large bay windows onto the rose garden beyond. Bob noted that the President sounded confident, sure—which was a good sign. “The SAG commander has been thoroughly briefed, and the point was significantly stressed to her. Nobody is to fire until the Germans do.”

The President turned to face his cabinet, seated on chairs and the twin couches that were the centerpiece of the Oval Office. Couches from which history had been made repeatedly for nearly one hundred years since America’s rise from a regional to a global superpower. It had been on that couch that President Roosevelt had met with British and French diplomats when he informed them that the United States would not continue the war in the European theater past securing northern Africa. During his time in office, the President had—as many before him—wondered if Roosevelt had made a mistake. If history could have been different if the United States had fought to liberate Europe.

“Are you confident we can bait them into shooting first?” Bob nodded firmly. “Our MALDS will decoy as an entire F-18 strike force. The Germans will assume that we mean to shoot the moment they deny passage to the Japanese tanker—with that many Hornets bearing down on them, at least in their mind, they won’t be able to afford not to. With their signature management capabilities, the MALDS won’t look like much to any civilian radars in the region—only the Germans and anyone downrange from them will see them as Hornets. Afterwards, we’ll be able to claim they shot down a pair of fighters on a peacekeeping patrol. If we lose any actual aircraft, we can just point at their wreckage later.”

The President turned to the head of his CIA. “And we can control the narrative?” The man simply nodded. He didn’t need to say more. In fact, the man hardly ever spoke—a quality that deeply unnerved Bob. Probably because when he did choose to speak, it was usually a prelude to a new crisis. “Then get the Japanese on the line. Tell them as soon as the SAG commander lets us know she’s ready, it’s a go. And thank them for their cooperation.” Bob nodded, already rising from his seat. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

**Cathy’s Sandwich Pit, Washington D.C. – Hours Later**

The sandwich shop wasn’t much more than a counter with a few small toaster ovens and a refrigerator for cold drinks—one of the many of its kind nestled inside federal buildings to offer their occupants a quick bite to eat. Thus it was no surprise—and no pleasure—that Bob spotted the CIA director walk in and place his order. The man received his order a prompt two minutes later, and though the two hadn’t made eye contact yet, he immediately turned and walked straight to Bob’s table, sitting without asking for permission.

The Director spoke in a low enough tone that only they would be able to hear over the low din of the small shop. “I need your help with something, Bob.” This was not what he’d expected. As national security advisor, Bob had intimate relationships with the various heads of the United States’ vast intelligence apparatus—but there had always been a gulf between himself and the CIA man. Not one of personal differences, but prompted by the man’s deep detachment from the entire Washington political apparatus—a quality that, along with his cold, calculating intellect, made him an excellent CIA director.

He didn’t wait to continue speaking. “We need to stress to the President the risk of an overwhelming conventional victory against the Germans.” “You think we outmatch them that badly?” Bob spoke between bites. The toasted sandwich was the first thing he’d eaten since breakfast. “I know we do, in many—though not all—arenas. Most importantly, in all the critical ones. A substantial enough advantage that the Germans might find themselves with only one option left.”

Bob stopped chewing. This was a risk everyone knew, but hearing the Director speak it aloud was making it… real. It was no longer theoretical, especially with a hundred thousand tons of American firepower currently steaming for an artificial confrontation with a German blockading force in the Persian Gulf. “You need to convince the President to activate the TACAMO fleet immediately.” “The Germans are sure to find out and see it as a provocation.” “Unless they are willing to sit on their hands after losing an entire surface action group in the Persian, I think the provocation is worth the security investment.”

The Director stood and left, apparently having decided the conversation was at an end. And he wasn’t wrong. About the conversation being at an end, and about the need to get the TACAMO fleet airborne immediately. Bob scrambled to pick up his trash and grab his briefcase. He still had several hours before the Roosevelt launched its air wing, but he couldn’t shake the sense that he needed to act with urgency.

**Gulf of Oman – Hours Later**

With Iraq and Kuwait under the dominion of the Reich, and Iran its close partner, that left only Saudi ports for Japanese tankers to dock at. But the Reich’s taking of Egypt and controlling the Suez Canal had also allowed them to extend their influence into the Red Sea, and the Persian Gulf was littered with shore-based anti-ship systems through which the Reich could threaten any ship attempting to dock at Saudi Arabia’s eastern ports. And there was the matter of the blockading fleet at the mouth of the Gulf of Oman. A moderately sized surface group, with US attack subs confirming the presence of at least three German submarines in the vicinity. Two of them were already being tracked by their Virginia-class tails—the Roosevelt had dispatched its anti-submarine helicopters a half hour earlier to begin the hunt for the third.

The Japanese tanker, whose crew was taking a substantial risk and had agreed to the job anyway, slowly steamed towards the entrance to the Gulf. Predictably, part of the German SAG broke off to intercept, warning the ship off through radio hails. The MALDS, launched via the Roosevelt’s F-18s from out of range of German radars, came into view of those same radars shortly after. The advanced decoys could replicate the radar return of any American aircraft—and more than a few non-American ones too. To German air defense operators, the skies suddenly filled with American F-18 Super Hornets.

There was little time to act. The airborne radar aircraft was the first to detect them, still a hundred kilometers or so out of range of American anti-ship Harpoons. The sheer number of contacts indicated to the German Fregattenkapitän that a warning would be of little use—though he still ordered one to be broadcast anyway. It was clear from their sheer numbers that the Americans were here for a fight. The German combat air patrols vectored in on the MALDS, and the SAG’s carrier immediately moved to combat air operations, launching its alert aircraft and mustering its reserves. Satellite reconnaissance had tracked the Roosevelt and her escorts for days; there was no hiding from the birds in the sky in modern warfare—so the Germans expected a significant fight and were ready for it.

What they were less prepared for was the capabilities of the American MALDS. German air defense missiles beat the fighters to the punch—but the MALDS were launching their own attack. Acting as electronic warfare platforms, the decoys began to flood German sensors with electronic noise, significantly degrading their performance. Data links allowed them to target missiles fired by F-18s still well out of sight of German radars to their targets. The AIM-260’s extreme range allowed the real Hornets to fire at the edge of German coverage, which had been significantly reduced thanks to the MALDS’ electronic attack.

But German operators were working to cut through the noise, and as MALDS were blown out of the sky, their interference decreased with every loss. Soon, the vulnerable F-18s would be targetable if they pressed the attack, but they didn’t. Instead, they loitered just out of the effective range of German weapons. The F-35s were not invisible to radar, but very low observable. They were even more difficult to spot when flying head-on, thus presenting their stealthiest geometry to German radars. Even when spotted by German airborne radars, it was impossible to give their fighters a weapons-quality lock until the F-35s were within a few dozen kilometers.

But by then they were already guiding stand-off missiles fired by the loitering F-18s to their targets, before launching their own. German fighters, many of which expended most of their missiles firing at decoys, either had to return to base or throw themselves at the F-35s at full afterburner—their only hope was to get within close range, where the F-35’s dogfighting ability was significantly limited versus the agile German interceptors. But the Americans had the advantage of numbers, and the F-18s could engage German aircraft without being engaged themselves thanks to the F-35’s data link capabilities.

The LRASMs became detectable to German air defense radars when they were about 22 kilometers out. Made of stealthy materials, the missiles were slow compared to German supersonic and even hypersonic anti-ship missiles, with a jet engine that kept them at just below the speed of sound and about 50 feet above the waves. Their strength was their ability to avoid detection until it was almost too late, though their slow speed did afford the Germans about 20 seconds to engage. The German anti-ship barrage mostly consisted of supersonic sea-skimming missiles, with a sprinkling of new-generation hypersonic weapons. The hypersonic missiles were challenging targets and exploded with the energy of a small vehicle full of explosives, but luckily were launched in too few volleys to overwhelm American defenses. Nonetheless, the Roosevelt took a missile to her stern, causing significant damage to the flight deck and hangar below—but nothing that would knock her out of action for long nor prevent her from recovering her aircraft.

A fleet-on-fleet engagement that would have lasted for hours, maybe even a day in any previous conflict was over within just a single hour. One may get away with fielding a less-than-modern tank or infantry fighting vehicle and still expect success. But nowhere did America’s technological advantage matter more than in air and naval combat, where the tactical advantage of even just one generation of weapon system over the other proved overwhelmingly decisive. In the years to come, survivors would piece together their own past and come to the conclusion that the German Reich was ultimately left with no conventional options. Its agenda led to its own imminent demographic collapse, while the American superpower exploited the talent of the same global peoples the Reich considered inferior. With a coalition of nations against it, rebellion within, and a collapsing population, the Reich would turn to increasingly desperate measures to fend off its certain defeat.

The Thousand-Year Reich would last less than a century. It would take far longer than that for the survivors to rebound from the edge of extinction.

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