Always remember that.”
“And you’ve not the courage to fight fair like a man.”
“Mike, I’ve always believed if I get into a fair fight, it’s because I made a mistake. I never fight fair. I never have and hopefully I never will. Just remember, if you’re within ten feet of me, you can be sure there’s a gun pointing at your back somehow. Now calm down. Igrat’s going to be all right, it’s just you’ll have to look after her for a while.”
“And then you’ll send her on a courier mission again.”
“Of course, it’s something she’s superbly good at. Don’t try and take that away from her, Mike, not unless you want to lose her. Iggie’s a free spirit, try and protect her with cotton wool and she’ll smother. Just settle down with her and go along with the ride.”
“So send me along with her.” Collins was calming down and Stuyvesant waved Lillith and Naamah away.
“Mike, I can’t do that. Her safety depends on her own abilities and those of her bodyguards. You’re a lightweight, a playboy. Ask yourself, if she was going out again with somebody like you protecting her, would you be happy about it?”
Michael Collins thought about that for a long moment. “No, I would not.”
“I thought not. Want a drink? I’ve got some Irish whiskey.”
“I’ll not say no, though drinking with you is not what I thought of doing when I came here.”
Stuyvesant poured out two shot glasses of whiskey and added a drop of water to each. Collins took one and sipped it gently. “Good stuff. I’ve not had this good in many a year. Will Ireland ever recover?”
Stuyvesant drank down his own glass and looked at the drop left in the bottom. “Recover? Perhaps. They’re a tough people but they’ve never had it this bad. They have a chance, I’ll say that.”
“They’ll have a chance and you’ll not say more than that. You’re a heartless, cold, man Stuyvesant. I would not want to be you.”
“You don’t have to be. But just ask yourself what you do want. Holiday’s over, Mike. You’ve had your party and you’ve had a vacation. Now decide what you want to do with your life. Winter’s passing, spring is on its way and this war will be over one day. Just try and work out what you and Igrat want to do in the spring.”
“Gentlemen, the room is secured and no unauthorized personnel are in attendance. The meeting may now proceed. Firstly, although General Donovan was invited to attend this meeting, I regret to tell you that he was taken seriously ill this afternoon. He collapsed in the building and was rushed to Walter Reed Hospital. There, it was determined that he has suffered from complete renal collapse and advanced cirrhosis of the liver. He is currently in a coma and is not expected to recover consciousness. The prognosis is that his condition is terminal and he has two days, perhaps three before toxemia kills him. We will therefore proceed without him.”
“No great loss.” LeMay grunted from his seat.
“Curt, he won the Medal.” General Groves was shocked at the attitude in the room to the news.
“I know, we honor him for what he did then, just as we condemn him for what he tried to do today. Philip, what he tried was beyond reason. I’m sorry Les, I can’t find it in me to forgive that. Trying it was bad enough, trying it and fouling up was worse. I’m glad he’s out of this meeting.”
“I didn’t even know he was cleared for ‘Dropshot’.” General Groves was curious.
“He was not. He would have been here for discussions related to conventional bombing only.” The Seer passed around the packages of data received from Geneva. “Gentlemen, this information relates to the plans made by the Germans for countering the effects of a strategic bombing offensive against their industrial heartland. Naturally, they were preparing for conventional bombing only.”
There was silence in the room for almost half an hour as the members of the Dropshot Supervisory Committee read through the translated German papers. Eventually, General LeMay put his pile down, shuffled them into a neat stack and spoke quietly past his pipe. “Well, that ends any thought of a precisely-targeted bombing offensive.”
“I must agree General.” The Seer also spoke quietly. “There’s no point in trying to take out a key industrial sector. If we succeed, they’ll just strip less essential sectors to repair the damage. There are no key sectors, not ones we can destroy anyway. If we try, it’ll be a battle of attrition, trying to run them out of industry before we run out of bombers.”
“You know what this means don’t you?” Groves was also speaking quietly, the secrets of the B-36 and the atomic bomb were so huge that they made any attempt at drama look absurd. “Conventional strategic bombing was always doomed to fail. We can’t do enough damage fast enough to take down a complete industrial infrastructure.”
“I hate to say it Les, but you’re right. Back in the 1930s, we were wrong. No other way to say it. We couldn’t do it with B-29s, we sure as hell couldn’t do it with B-17s and we won’t be able to do it with B-36s. It has to be nuclear.”
“And I hate to say it Curt, but you and Stuyvesant were right. We can’t just take down a portion of their industry and expect them to fold. These documents show they mean to keep fighting as long as they house a machine tool in a brick outhouse. For the record, I formally withdraw my reservations on waiting for The Big One. We have to take the whole lot out at once. The Little One and the interim variants cannot work.”
Stuyvesant looked around at the room and the nodding heads. “Does anybody wish to maintain their reservations on the record?” The heads all shook. It was decided. It would be The Big One. Quietly he wondered if Loki would ever realize what decision the information he had provided had been responsible for.
“Captain, thank you for allowing me on your bridge.”
“You’re welcome Captain Lokken. We’re just pulling into Churchill now.” The exchange was interrupted by a blast on the ship’s siren, one that was picked up by other ships in the formation. The dawn seascape seemed to reverberate with the sounds.
“What is happening Captain?”
“Nothing to worry about. Two of the light fleet carriers are leaving the Fast Carrier Force. They’re on their way out to the Pacific Fleet. They’re just getting their send-off. Look over to port, you can see their replacements,
“Two more great carriers like this one. It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d won would it? You would have just built more ships and come right back.”
“That’s right, captain. And since we won, we’re going to build more ships anyway. The Atlantic is our lake now, we’re going to go boating.”
Lokken nodded slowly, watching the long line of ships enter the huge natural harbor that was Churchill’s reason for existence. “And so it will go on.”
“Not for you Captain, as soon as our Doc releases you, you’re off to a prisoner of war camp. An officer’s only one of course.”
“I would wish to stay with my men. What few there are left.”
“I bet you would Captain, but it’s less trouble all around if we separate the officers from the enlisted men. So, it’s an officer’s camp for you. Don’t sweat it, I’m told the conditions are quite good and the Red Cross has its representatives on site. So, don’t worry, for you the war is over.”
Lang woke up, carefully and uncertainly. The last thing he remembered was the flames scorching his skin. His men had been rolling him in the snow to put him out, He couldn’t feel the burns now but that could just be anesthetic. In fact, he felt remarkably comfortable. He just lay on the bed, luxuriating in the feel of the soft mattress and the sheets.
“Comfortable are we, Major?” An acidic voice cut through his daze. Major-General Marcks was looking down at him.
“Sir, Sir?” Lang was flummoxed by the words but wasn’t quite sure why.
“That’s right Lang, its Major Lang now. And you have a piece of over-decorated tin to go with it. Also your friends on the General Staff want you back.”
“General Sir, tell them to go to hell. I’ll stay here, if you want me of course. And if I’m able”
