Rommel squared his shoulders and nodded sharply. It was what he had expected. From the first time his eyes had opened to what the German Army had done in Russia he had been certain of his fate. Now it had come and he felt a strange relief. “So, my trial will start?”
“Your trial is over Erwin. You have been on trial here every day since we first met. We have watched you, try to save your men yet also do what was right. You have not earned an acquittal but you have earned clemency.” Rokossovsky looked pensive for a moment. “There is a bend in the Volga, where the war did not reach. The river surrounds it on three sides and the fourth is guarded by mountains. A place called Zhiguli. A very beautiful place. In that bend, secure and isolated from the rest of Russia are the dachas, the country homes, of retired Russian leaders. Marshals, politicians, scientists, others who have retired to private life. I have a dacha there and so docs Zhukov, and Koniev and Malinski. So now do you and a few of your comrades. The ones who have earned clemency.”
Rokossovsky stood and drew himself to attention. “Field Marshal Rommel, for your crimes against the Russian people you are here by sentenced to life imprisonment in Zhiguli, You will serve your sentence under house arrest.”
He sat down again. “You will live there the same as us, the only difference being you will not be allowed to leave the town without an escort. Believe me, that is for your protection, it will be many years before a German accent will be tolerated in Russia. You will have to stay there with other retired Generals, yours and ours, drink tea and vodka, play chess and refight old battles. It's a dirty job Erwin, but somebody has to do it.”
Rommel nodded. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go, the American bombers had seen to that, “Marshal Rokossovsky, I submit myself to the judgment of the Russian people.'' Then he too relaxed. “You say you have a dacha there as well? When will you be coming out?”
“Soon, Erwin, very soon. I have one campaign left and Poland to get straightened out. Then I too will retire to Zhiguli. All of us who fought this war are worn out, our time is done. It is for the younger men to take over now. And for God to guide them.”
The Garden Hotel London, U.K.
London was quiet, eerily so. There were few vehicles, most people walked, the luckier had bicycles. Animals had returned, for deliveries and transport and their leavings were once again a problem in the city. And Commander Robert Fox still had not made up his mind. He'd done right by the Australians, he'd checked Thule over from stem to stern. She'd been well modernized at Groton in Connecticut and was now pretty close to a Type XXI in performance. Her batteries were new and her sensor suite was first class. She was a good boat, in his heart he knew she was a better boat that his Xena. Was she still his Xena? He'd changed his mind half a dozen times on the long train trip up from Pompey.
The decision was logically inevitable, he knew it. Even with his fabled luck, the peace-time Royal Navy would have no place for him. It was shrinking almost hourly, its ships being sold for scrap as the Government frantically tried to raise money to pay its bills. There would soon be no commands for Commanders, there were too many officers and most would be beached. In Australia, he would have a command, a future. Yet he couldn't just leave the country, it would be deserting his post. The evening before he'd met Dr Swamphen for dinner and they'd talked far into the night. Swamphen was leaving; he was going to a place called Wood's Hole in America, Wouldn't say what he would be doing but said it was a sound, well-financed project.
He stretched out on the bed with its patched cover and sheets. The hotel served dinner but it was a fixed time and no choices. Still, it was worth waiting for. There was something else he was waiting for and it came sooner than he expected. The telephone rang and the operator's voice told him his long distance call was through.
“Robert Darling! How is your trip going?”
“Julia, Very well, Thule is beautiful but Portsmouth's a wreck. Gosport's just gone. You remember our first married quarters? The whole street has vanished, it’s as if a giant child had just wiped it away with his hand. Even Victory's hurt. She got hit by a rocket, a big one.” His voice petered away as he remembered the blackened wood and the smell of burning. The silence grew, heavily and expensively. Eventually Julia broke it.
“We're staying in England, aren't we?” They'd been married a long time and Fox recognized the tone of her voice, a wife desperately trying to bury her own bitter disappointment and support the decision her husband had made. Suddenly, the decision was made. He couldn't do it, not to her.
“Whatever are you talking about? I'm signing on for Australia in just a few minutes. The Embassy is just around the corner and they're waiting for me now. I just called to tell you to start packing. Why on earth would you think I would turn down a modernized T-boat?”
Fox could tell from Julia's voice she was crying with relief. “No, I suppose you couldn't. Robert, you go play with your boats and I’ll have everything sorted out by the time you get back. A lot of it's still packed anyway. And don't consort with naughty women while you're down in London. I've heard about that city. Now run along before this telephone call bankrupts us.”
Fox laughed and hung up the phone. He left his room and went down to reception, dropping off the key as he left.
“Dinner at six, Sir.”
“Thank you, I'll be back by then. Just going for a walk.”
The Australian Embassy was less than a mile away, he had plenty of time. Goodbye Xena, hello Thule he thought. Yes, he was leaving his post, but he had his wife and a future to think about. Britain would survive, it always had, always would. He glanced up and saw, high in the sky overhead, a wide contrail, red and white against the darkening sky. A silver point at its head, a B-36 probably on its way to Russia.
There was a fog coming down, barely more than a hint now but soon it would become the pearlescent gray that turned the London streets into a magical place, lit by the welcoming yellow of the shop lights. He'd miss London, always would but London, also would survive. It didn't need him, Julia did and it wasn't right to ask her to stay here. Australia would be their home now. Suddenly, he urgently wanted to get back to Thule he'd heard there were some new tricks that could be done with the modernized T-boats and he wanted to try them out.
Radio Broadcast Studio, Washington D.C.
“My fellow Americans, I speak to you tonight, to advise you of the events that have taken place in recent weeks. Before I do that, I would like to speak about the events of 1939 and 1940. In those years, a single power, aggressive, over-mighty, convinced that its might gave it the right to rule by force every nation that could be made to submit, attacked the countries around it. Its neighbors prevaricated, made excuses, appeased the aggressor. Nobody resisted until it was too late and by the time they did the aggressor had grown too strong for them. They were defeated and the war spread until it engulfed the whole world. Because of that war, a million and a half American boys will never come home again.
“This must never happen again.
“We have heard much in this campaign about international agreements and multi-national organizations and the need for America to maintain peace in the world community.
“In the end this will mean just one thing. More American boys will leave home never to return. More American mothers will grieve for their lost children, more American fathers will have nothing left of their sons but a folded flag and a memory. And so it will go on, far into the future. An endless sacrifice of the best we have.