“Yes…” said Roosevelt, reaching for the long cigarette holder he was fond of. “Well, you just leave the Japanese to us, Winston.” He tapped his cigarette holder on the table.
“Let us know if there is anything the Royal Navy might do for you,” said Churchill. “On this end, I can assure you that Great Britain will do everything in her power to drive a stake into Herr Hitler’s heart and end this misguided and obscene dream of his Third Reich. You may consider the whole of our island to be an unsinkable aircraft carrier. I suggest we also develop bases in Iceland as a logistical support for your planes as they transit the Atlantic. We’re likely to take the brunt of whatever the Germans have left in the cupboard to throw at us. It will certainly be another ordeal, and God help us if they unleash one of these rocket bombs on London. I have sent a formal warning to the Germans telling them that we also have these weapons in development, and that I will destroy Berlin, Hamburg or any other city, tit for tat, should they revisit us with their new wonder weapon. Let us see if they believe it, but I should be grateful to have something more than my squadrons of Wellingtons in the event they call my bluff.”
“You’ll have them, Winston. We’re going to put everything we have into air and sea power at the outset. And my admirals tell me a large, effective submarine fleet could be useful as well. With these weapons we believe we can keep the Germans at arm’s length while we build up strength and supercharge the development of this new atomic weaponry. I can’t tell you how long all this will take, as my generals and admirals cannot yet tell me. But it will happen, Winston. I give you my pledge. And by God, we’ll stand with England to the bitter end. There will be no separate peace, if you agree, and we’ll prosecute this war until Germany is a cinder heap.”
“That is exactly what I have longed to hear from you, sir. I have little doubt that we will prevail. Yet we must also give some thought to the Russians. The Germans are likely to go for Moscow this summer. Russia is a big country as well. Perhaps they can hold out, but considering these developments, we cannot count on that. What if they capitulate? In that event we could see the Germans taking a second look at invading our islands next year as well.”
“Winston, don’t you worry about that for one minute. I can put fifty divisions on English soil if you invite me to do so.”
Churchill smiled, raising an eyebrow. “But Franklin, the boys at Bletchley Park say you haven’t got nearly that many in hand.”
“At the moment,” said Roosevelt. “We do things quickly when we have made up our minds. The main thing is this: the United States will never accept the occupation or capitulation of England. We will fight to secure your freedom with everything we have.”
Churchill smiled broadly. “Mister President,” he said. “I think I should like to try one of those Cuban cigars, if you don’t mind. And perhaps you and I could drink to all this over a brandy.”
“We’ll shake on it first,” said Roosevelt, and he took Churchill’s hand in a firm handshake.
“I suppose we should draw up some mutual declaration concerning these matters,” said Churchill.
“Why not call it the Atlantic Charter. We have long been one people separated by that ocean, and a common language,” Roosevelt smiled. “Let the ocean be a bridge between us now, and by God, I don’t care how many of these new raiding ships the Germans have. I’ll fill that ocean with fire and steel in due course. It’s ours, Winston, all ours. We’ll stomp on these U-Boats and bottle up the German fleet in the Baltic. I think our first order of business will be to secure the Azores and Canary islands and build up long range bomber bases there, then on to North Africa to do the same. I want a ring of flying steel around Germans by the end of next year. We’ll bomb them day and night. They’ll need a thousand of those new weapons to stop us, and I don’t think they have more than a handful now, if even that many. This may have been their only existing warhead.”
Churchill took a deep breath, nodding his head. “The Atlantic Charter. It has I nice ring to it. And I agree with everything you have said. We’ll win through, I have no doubt. It is just a matter of time.”
Part I
FIRST BLOOD
Chapter 1
Admiral Leonid Volsky slowly climbed last stairway leading to the main deck, emerging on the aft quarter of the ship on a clear, starry night. The warm breeze of the Mediterranean was welcome compared to the harsh winds he was used to in the north, and he breathed deeply, taking in the sweetness of the night air, and the all embracing calm of the quiet sea.
They had been sailing east now for all of ten days, crossing the Atlantic for European waters, intent on learning more about the strange circumstances of their voyage. As his mind wandered through the memories of these last few weeks he could scarcely believe the images that came to him—of the accident that sent the ship into the icy fog of infinity and the amazing and confounding dilemma that followed. A chance encounter with an old fighter plane had led them into the cauldron of the Second World War, as astounding as it still seemed. Within days his ship and crew were locked in a life and death struggle against the rapidly mustered strength of the Royal Navy and then her American allies as well. His illness, the stubborn headache and that odd spell of vertigo that had sent him into the infirmary with Dr. Zolkin, had allowed his truculent subordinate, Captain Karpov, to embroil the ship in heated combat. By the time he had awakened from his fit,
Karpov….
The Admiral still shook his head to think on the man, hoping that he had finally managed to reach him when he visited him, just days ago, a thousand questions in his mind and heart. He remembered it now as he walked the deck, ambling slowly toward the aft helo bay.
“Why, Karpov?” he had said right out, his eyes lined with pain and the awful sense of betrayal he felt.
The brooding Captain remained silent, eyes averted, arms folded over his service jacket, an expression of restrained anger still apparent on his face.
Volsky leaned forward, waiting, like a wounded father scolding a wayward son. “None of the others were involved in this,” he said evenly. “Tasarov, Samsonov, Rodenko—they were all blameless. Orlov I can understand,” he said slowly. “Orlov is a dullard when it comes right down to it. How he rose to Chief of the Boat still befuddles me. I certainly had nothing to do with his promotions, but here he was, ready to follow any man’s lead that seemed sensible to him in the heat of action, and given more to muscle than mind when any obstacle presented itself. Yes, he’s a hard man, Orlov, but not one with guile. He would never have dreamed or dared what you did. No, Karpov. It was all
They were in the Captain’s personal day-cabin where Volsky had summoned his wayward officer from the
