King smiled. “Well, there haven’t been any attacks, have there?” He said. “It’s been very peaceful for two weeks, right?” Griggs nodded. “Quite frankly, Senator, they started the campaign because they were being denied the rights of citizenship, but now that there are new laws in place, they’re willing to give them a fair chance.”
“It’s hard to trust them,” Griggs complained. “What with all the raping and looting and pillaging that was going on… the women can’t sleep soundly in their beds these days.”
“As you sow, so shall you reap,” King said, and swept away before Griggs could formulate a reply. He looked around for someone interesting to talk to and spied Colonel Palter, who was trying to escape the attentions of a woman who looked old and tough enough to have fought in the Civil War. “Ah, Scott,” he said. “Sorry to butt in, Madam, but I need the colonel.”
“That’s quite all right, young man,” the woman said, and she left.
“Thanks, sir,” Palter said. Some of the men closest to them were horrified at a white man calling a Negro ‘sir.’ “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” King said. “It’s odd to be able to circulate freely again.”
“Yeah,” Palter said. “Did you know that some jerk in Britain is already producing counterfactual histories of a successful coup?”
King laughed. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “We have to worry about the future first. Tell me, have you been thinking about the war with Russia?”
“Only that we could sail across the Pacific and hit them in the rear,” Palter said. “It’s bloody stupid; the Japanese might engage us or they might not. It would be a lot easier if we were at war with them as well, particularly with the British having crushed their main fleet.”
“I tried to convince the President,” King said. “Bottom line; unless Japan does something suicidal and very stupid, which isn’t impossible with their militarists in control, we remain at peace with them, even as we supply arms to Australia and the rest of the British Empire.”
Palter nodded. “Speaking of which, is that going to stay around?”
“Looks like it,” King said. “The President was going to discuss the matter with the Prime Minister; bottom line there is that the British will recognise our primacy in Latin and South America, with the exception of territory they already control, in exchange for us making a similar agreement for the Far East.” He smiled. “China, of course, is likely to be open season.”
“I heard the Japanese were moving people over in vast numbers,” Palter said. “Can’t the British stop them?”
“Depends if they want to,” King said. He chuckled. “They have to be really worried; on one hand they can invade Japan, but at awesome cost, on the other they could start nuking Japanese cities until they surrender or become exterminated. I’ve seen some of the casualty figures; they’re horrific.”
“Sooner them than us,” Palter said. “Perhaps they’ll just let them starve.”
“True,” King agreed. “Our priority is to expand into the South American states and start building democracy before we end up with the same morass we had the last time around. The British can worry about the Japanese.”
Cora had had one of the most remarkable nights of her life. Not only had she been able to talk to Ambassador King himself, but also some members of the NAACP union and several businessmen, who didn’t look at her colour or her breasts. Making a handful of minor business deals, including an improved Internet system for the black union, had kept her busy, while she waited for her lover.
“Guess who’s back?” Oliver said. She glanced up; Oliver looked tired, but happy. “How are you?”
“Just been making some deals for you,” Cora said. “They don’t mind about the colour of my skin.”
“They care more about the colour of your money,” Oliver said dryly. “As the new Assistant Director of the company, your money and goodwill is worth more to them than your skin.”
Cora smiled. “So, what’s new?”
Oliver grinned. It was a strange expression, like a man who had been freed from a dreadful fate. “We have contracts to start mass-producing heavy bombers and fighters,” he said. “The USAAF wants jet fighters, but we can produce propeller fighters quickly enough to match the hordes of Russian aircraft, particularly if the Russians get some German aircraft designs.”
He considered for a long moment. “The Navy, not wanting to be left out, is going to be placing orders for carriers and more surface ships, and we’ll get some contracts to equip them. We may not build carriers, but we’ll build radios and radars and enough technology to give the USN a significant fighting force, even against a modern fleet.” He chuckled. “They’ll want missiles as well, of course, and seeing we’re building some of the rockets for the space program, building rockets for them as well should be easy.”
He gave Cora a hug and led her from the building. Above their heads, the stars glittered in the darkness. “I foresee an endless future ahead of us,” Oliver said, and kissed her gently as the night passed away. “All that matters now is the long hard road to winning the war.”
Epilogue
Führerbunker
Berlin, Germany
12th July 1941
If there was anything to be said about the strange 2015 concept of freedom of the press, which the British reporter had attempted to explain to him, it made conducting post-incident assessments a lot easier. The BBC’s coverage of the attack on New York, and the confused situation in Washington, had delighted Himmler. He’d dared to hope for a day that America would collapse and withdraw from the war, but instead Truman had taken over as President.
Himmler chuckled to himself. At least the Americans had declared war on the Soviet Union, expanding the war without thought for the consequences. Kesselring, his new ally, had risen again in the Fuhrer’s esteem, just for coordinating a joint attack on Sweden. Himmler chuckled again; the Swedes were Aryans, soon enough they would be part of the Greater Master Race of the Reich.
And if not, we can always have their children adopted by good Germans, Himmler thought coldly, as the door opened. He didn’t panic; there was no way an attacker could get into his quarters, he’d invited his guest himself. SS Obergruppenfuehrer Hans Krueger stepped into the office, saluting as he came.
“Heil Hitler,” Himmler returned. “How are you, Hans?”
“I am as well as I’ll ever be,” Krueger said. “Do you wish the report on New York?”
Himmler nodded impatiently. “The bomb detonated as planned,” Krueger said. “There was a great deal of devastation, fully comparable to the ammunition ship disasters in the last war. As for radiation… Herr Reichsführer, it’s hard to be certain. We sent the ground from the British strike – the first British strike – and some products of our research, but as for the effects…
“The BBC seems to think that the effects will be long-term, rather than immediate,” he continued. Himmler nodded; the BBC, even the open channels, seemed to put out more information than the Reich Ministry of Information would ever have allowed. Of course, they had no way of knowing that Germany had one of their reception sets. “We might have sentenced a few thousand Americans to early deaths, but its impossible to be certain.”
Himmler nodded. “Fortunately, the Americans blamed the Russians,” he said. “It was hardly a total disaster. The nuclear blast near Stalin’s own city” – he’d thought at first that Stalingrad was Stalin’s hometown – “will remind them of the potential of British weapons, which should make them more dependent upon us.”