Designated Targets

second day with empty deuce-and-a-halves, telling me to fill ’em up with everything from Nemesis processors to espresso machines.”

“Well, he is building a better A-bomb, sir,” Judge teased.

“Yeah, I know,” said Kolhammer, rolling his eyes. “And he gets only about a tenth of what he wants, but it plays hell with the project management for everyone else. Even with all our processing muscle, and some of our people holding his hand, that bomb isn’t going to be ready until late ’43, early ’44 at best. It’s not like we brought any centrifuges or fast breeders through with us. Meantime, I’ve got immediate need for processing time on about a hundred and forty different design and production lines, damn few of which I would have chosen as priorities, but what are you gonna do?

“We’re trapped by the politics, Mike. Roosevelt got the Zone bill through Congress by the skin of his teeth and the grace of that goddamn sunset clause. You’ve never seen anything like it, the scaremongering and bullshitting that went down. You’d think we were setting up the fucking Fourth Reich here in the Valley.”

“Or the USSA, if you listen to Hoover,” Judge added, causing Kolhammer to throw up his hands.

“Oh, jeez, let’s not get into that. We just don’t have time. Listen, Mike, I’m sending data in this transmission. It’s the specs for the project I want you to take over when you get here. I want to ramp up production of the F-86 by the end of winter, but I also want to be ready to jump through another generation, up to a prototype F-5 by the end of next year. You’re going to get that ready for me. Study up on the package while you’re en route, and choose your division heads from the guys you’ve got with you. You can prep them along the way. I want you to tie up and come running down that gangway, raring to go.”

Kolhammer wasn’t really expecting Judge to object, even though he was effectively taking the Clinton away from him. He’d been out to Hawaii a month earlier, and the ship had a lost feeling about her, like an unfinished story that would now never be written. Everyone he spoke to wanted to move on to their next assignment. It was a sorry way for the old girl to end up, but he told himself—they all told themselves—that she’d be back one day, kicking butt and taking names, just like her namesake.

The two men had a few more minutes before they lost the link.

“What’s the latest with Jones?” asked Kolhammer. “I haven’t had an update today.”

“I’ve sent along his last four data bursts, Admiral. The latest came an hour ago. They pretty much blocked Homma’s advance before it really got going. Lonesome wants to pull his armor and close air support out of the line, link up with 2 Cav, and hit the Japanese flanks. They can’t get reinforcements past Willet and Spruance. They’ve tried air supply out of Moresby, but it’s just not their gig. They’re well and truly fucked.

“Jones should have it wrapped up pretty soon, which’ll be a boost for the Aussies. Truth is, they were shitting themselves.”

Kolhammer shrugged. “Fair enough. They had good reason, too, after New Guinea. The whole thing was developing a very unpleasant momentum. So you think we can get the Eighty-second back here soon?”

A lopsided grin spread over Captain Judge’s tanned face. “I don’t believe General MacArthur will let Colonel Jones or a single one of his marines out of sight before VJ Day. He knows possession is nine tenths of the law.”

“Tough shit,” said Kolhammer. “I need him here to work up the land warfare programs. The training cadre we put together is good, but it doesn’t have the critical mass I need. MacArthur can make do. You’ll see—I’ve also included a package for Jones in the transmission. Make sure it gets out to him before you leave.”

“Will do, Admiral.”

Kolhammer looked at the handwritten list on his desk. There was one last item he need to discuss. “I really don’t like the look of the reports coming out of Europe, Mike,” he began. “When did you get your last update from Halabi?”

Judge frowned on-screen. “We received an encrypted burst via relay yesterday. Why, has something else happened? The Soviets haven’t moved, have they?”

Kolhammer shook his head. “No. Nobody’s sure which way they’re going to jump, or when. Only that they will, when they think they can. No. I’m just worried about the pace of the German buildup. I have our sigint and imaging people on them twenty-four–seven, and we all think it looks like the surge is coming very soon.”

Judge pursed his lips. “You really think they’ll try a crossing in autumn?”

“I doubt they’ll wait until next year. First of all, they’ve killed thousands of their best officers in the purges, post-Transition. The survivors are the sort of yes-men and buttheads who’ll tell Hitler what he wants to hear—that the Channel’s just a glorified river crossing.”

Kolhammer leaned back in his chair and ticked the next points off on his fingers.

“And of course, Hitler—fuckin’ nutjob or not—doesn’t think he can afford to wait. And he’s right. There’s already a shitload of ’temp forces training in the U.K., and more men and materiel flooding in by convoy every day. Young Harry’s set up his regimental HQ in Scotland, and the Brits are working hard to leapfrog some of their key technologies. Our new weapons system will start coming online early to mid next year, and of course, Groves is going to deliver the bomb a hell of a lot quicker than he would have before we arrived. So Hitler knows he has to go now or never.”

Judge nodded and shrugged fatalistically. “That’s why the Luftwaffe’s been hammering at the RAF and the Trident so hard.”

“Yeah,” said Kolhammer. “It’s really costing the Germans, but the attacks are degrading the air defense net, and eating up Halabi’s own antiair stocks. There’s going to come a day soon when her Metal Storm pods run dry, and the only thing protecting her then will be the ’temps themselves.”

Judge nodded. “You want me to fly some of our Triple-A stocks over ahead of us?” he asked. “Our laser packs are good, and Metal Storm’s at forty-eight percent. We can still spare some.”

Kolhammer thought it over. He didn’t want the most valuable ship in the world left defenseless. Even without her catapults and squadrons, the Clinton was still a prize worth risking a whole fleet for. He’d sleep a lot easier when she was safely back in San Diego and being stripped for her retrofit.

“Hold off on that for now, Mike,” he said. “But when you get closer to home and I can cover you with shore- based CAP, we might rush a few pallets of MS reloads across to Halabi. She’s going to need them.”

A time hack in the corner of Kolhammer’s screen began a one-minute countdown, indicating the end of the comm-link. He let himself relax a little. “It’ll be good to have you folks back, Captain. Even if the old tub is down at San Diego, I could use a few more friendly faces out here.”

Judge took his lead from the senior officer. He dropped out of character, as well. “From what I understand, you’ve got too many new best friends there. Every longhair and hippie in America is making tracks for the Valley, if you believe the press.”

“This is nineteen forty-two, Mike. Hippies and long hair haven’t been invented yet. But you’re still right, after a fashion. American population’s about a hundred fifty million right now, and some days it feels as if about fifty million of them are moving here. They’ve all got their reasons, I guess. Some personal. Some political. But you know, we could do without it. I even had a delegation of African-American labor unions in here begging me to run for president after Roosevelt—”

Judge grunted. Knowledge of the president’s impending demise had sent the country into a tailspin until Roosevelt had promised to submit to an intensive course of therapy, supervised by Kolhammer’s senior medical officer, Major Margie Francois.

“I think they see me signing the new millennium into law on my first day in office,” Kolhammer grumbled.

Mike Judge smiled at the admiral’s obvious discomfort. “You gotta wonder how Ike and Harry S. feel about that,” he said. “Or Kennedy, speaking of which, there’s an intelligence package came through on the last relay from Brisbane. Young Jack features prominently. Jones wants to forward it to your intel people. I’ve got mine working it now. We didn’t have it long enough to brief you.”

“Understood. We’re about to lose the link. Take care, Mike.”

“Will do, sir.”

The picture dropped out instantly.

Of all the artifacts they’d left behind, instant global communications, and the feelings of omnipotence they engendered were perhaps the hardest to let go. He had a lot of technical and human capital devoted to reinventing them, even though it would be many years before they showed any real results.

His usual policy was to invest massively for the short-term gain. This war wasn’t going to be won by the side