Lewis shuddered with sudden fear, feeling his bowels loosen. “Yes,” he said.
“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice said. “I can smell you from here.” Lewis felt shame and fear. “You understand my message – and I have one for you. Over the next few weeks, you will be hearing reports of black people registering to vote and doing all the things the white population reserves to itself, such as weapons training. If you do anything, even though inaction, to act against them, you will be forced to watch as your family suffers. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lewis gasped, though tears. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” The voice asked. It sounded vastly amused. “Because you are part of a system designed to hold black people down; preventing uppity niggers, in your terms. Because you’re the one on the spot. Because you acted against helpless people. Because… does it matter?”
Lewis thought desperately. “No,” he said finally.
“Then understand, I’m quite convinced that people will demand that you take action,” the voice said. He still hadn’t seen the face of the man. “You will do nothing, or your family will be killed. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lewis said. “Who are you?”
“Naughty question,” the voice said. He felt a tiny prick on his neck. A great tiredness swept over him. “Do not forget; leave the black folk alone…”
The White House
Washington DC, USA
23rd March 1941
Ambassador King watched grimly as the seven generals and three admirals argued over the plans for the war. He scowled; he would have expected more… unity in the face of the future, rather than outright disagreement. They were in the White House, because the President would be meeting them later, but it wasn’t helping to keep everyone calm.
“We have to proceed at once to a jet bomber,” LeMay said. The burly future commander of SAC clearly wanted to get his bid in first. “History tells us that the jet bomber is the weapon of the future, at least until…”
“But it will take us some time to develop a bomber, even if we work directly from the plans that we gave you,” Colonel Palter said. King smiled; the colonel had been given a job that showcased his talents and alienated the entire Pentagon. “We have to have the weapons now, such as the Firefly tanks and the LSTs.”
“However, we have the problem of prosecuting the war,” General Bradley said, as calmly as he could. “We need to work on tactical air support, and we need to build up an army.” He scowled across at Admiral Kimmel. “We have to move at once to mass-production of the Hellcat, Admiral, both as a fighter and torpedo bomber.”
“Yes, well if we had proper training facilities, and enough factories grinding out the weapons we want…”
King tuned them out and headed out of the room. Palter nodded and took over the meeting without hesitation; he enjoyed the argument. Back when they’d been planning the upgrade of American forces for the repeat of the Second World War, they hadn’t expected resistance from the military, many of whom would end up with an obsolete force if they weren’t careful. Even though no one, but the British were armed with guided anti-ship missiles, there was no guarantee that the Germans would not manage to produce one of their own.
You’d think that the Battle of the Indian Ocean would show them that the day of the battleship was over, he thought, and scowled. The British had sunk four Japanese battleships; that should have demonstrated just how vulnerable battleships were to missiles. Palter had advocated, with King’s enthusiastic support, a carrier and submarine construction program. Politics had interfered, of course; why would the politicians let something that was so… important get in the way of politics?
I guess the Navy is just enjoying its victory, he thought grimly. The first six months of the German War had been mainly fought by the navy, as destroyers and cruisers fought it out with u-boats for control of the seas. Despite some determined efforts, no operation to attack German soil had even gotten off the ground; Roosevelt had been determined to build up a fighting force before committing it to battle.
“Good evening, Ambassador,” Roosevelt said, vanishing from King’s mind to the room in front of him. The private room was equipped as a meeting room; Roosevelt had once told King that he came here to think and occasionally to meet with friends. Roosevelt had told the Secret Service that King could see him any time he wanted, but with his worsening condition, it had been harder to find time to visit. The stress of the political war and the real war was pressing down harder on Roosevelt; he looked more skeletal than ever.
“Good evening, Mr President,” King said, taking the chair Roosevelt indicated. The President sat in his wheelchair; he’d once joked that it made certain that he got a comfortable seat. “How are you this evening?”
“I survive,” Roosevelt said. He sounded as spry as ever. “The children are still arguing?”
“I’m afraid so,” King admitted. “They want AK-47s, they want an American tank design for pride’s sake, and they want them yesterday.”
“I suppose I should make decisions,” Roosevelt said. “The last Roosevelt President formed his own army, but matters are a lot more complicated here. We have nearly one hundred thousand men now, and we need more, a lot more.”
“They also need training,” King said. “Quite frankly, Mr President, the idea of striking cross-channel is nonsense until 1942.”
“A shame,” Roosevelt said. “Even though the Germans dealt us a heavy blow, holding the agreement together to fight the war is proving hard. We have to do something, and do so before Congress decides that internal affairs are more important.”
King felt a twinge of guilt, and then wry humour. The joke would have fallen flat; congressmen in 1940 were not watched 24/7. “Now that there is a proper sonar network up and running, only one German u-boat has managed a successful attack on a ship,” he said. “That’s not a small success.”
“It’s also not very dramatic, as it is not entirely our work,” Roosevelt said. “Without the British, the battle of the Atlantic would have been a lot more dramatic.”
And would have been in 1942, King thought coldly.
“We can’t just sit on our behinds,” Roosevelt said wryly. “The army has to do something; it has to prove its value.”
“Doing something too early cost us before, at a place in North Africa,” King said. “If we have to conduct an attack, we need to pick a better location. Has Congress budged on the issue of Japan?”
Roosevelt shook his great head. “Not since MacArthur was recalled,” he said. He scowled. “I hate setting that kind of precedent, but this is a free country and if men don’t want to serve under a particular general…”
King shrugged. “It was unfortunate,” he said. “If we can’t fight Japan, or Russia, that leaves the Middle East, or Spain. If you want an operation that’s entirely American, Norway is the best bet. Our logistics would be bad, but so would the German logistics. Colonel Palter put together a plan for such an attack.”
Roosevelt blinked. “Why haven’t I heard about such a plan from my generals?”
“I don’t think that they wanted to discuss it,” King admitted. “There are far too many things that could go wrong, from messing up the convoy timings to failing to get the carriers in position for air support. We would need a little support from the British, mainly in the air; the Germans will know more about taking on carriers now than they did in the original timeline.”