“Or we’ll be landing in the North Sea,” Dunbar chimed in. “Would this be a good time to mention that I have a hot date tonight?”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” the controller said. “Eagles, we’re vectoring in a tanker now; confirm receipt of course data.”
“Confirmed,” Abernathy said. “Changing course now.”
Performing the calculations in his mind, he kicked in the afterburners and swooped high over Norway. He expected that he would have to make a low-level pass, but until specifically ordered to do so he would stay high; there was no point in risking a German scoring a golden BB. He looked down as they crossed over Oslo, German anti-aircraft fire bursting harmlessly below them, and smiled. Oslo was smaller than he remembered.
“Looks like they’re not happy to see us,” Dunbar said. “Think we could spend a missile on them?”
“We don’t have any bombs,” Abernathy reminded her. “Ground control, are you receiving uplink?”
“Yes, Eagle One,” the controller said. “Can you give us one last pass?”
“I wonder what that is?” Dunbar said, as they orbited high over Oslo’s harbour. A small warship floated in the fjord, defying them. “A battleship?”
“That’s a destroyer,” Abernathy said. “That’ll teach you to make eyes at the history teacher while he’s teaching us to recognise German craft instead of MIG-29s.”
Dunbar chuckled. “He wasn’t much good anyway,” she said.
“Far too much information,” Abernathy said. “Ground control, are we done here?”
“Yes, Eagles,” the controller said. “You are cleared to return to the tanker.”
Abernathy kicked in the afterburners again and left, trailing sonic booms behind him. Thoughtfully, he checked the location of the tanker and lifted an eyebrow; to meet them it was entering the zone that it had been banned from, just to prevent the Germans bringing it down and reducing the RAF’s capability to fly longer missions.
“I wonder what all that was about,” he said, and they spent a happy return flight speculating like mad. Even odder, particularly for sensitive missions, they weren’t ordered to keep it to themselves, or even only to discuss it with their fellow flyers.
“Curious,” he said, and left it alone for the moment. There were other matters to attend to, and all of them demanded his attention.
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Brutal Friendship
The Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
5th June 1941
As he did every time he entered Stalin’s personal rooms, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov wondered if he would ever be allowed to leave. These days, the Kremlin was guarded by elite NKVD troops, commanded by the brave, loyal – and grossly incompetent – Kliment Voroshilov. They worshipped Stalin and would have had no hesitation in shooting anyone Comrade Stalin disapproved of.
Stalin’s face was dark, and Molotov’s nerves almost failed him. Only the certain knowledge that running would be worse than futile kept him in his place. There was no offer of tea, or anything else.
“Look at this,” Stalin snapped, passing over a piece of paper. Molotov cast his eyes across it; no wonder Stalin was mad. The message was stark, simple, and from the pen of a man that Stalin had ordered killed. In the aftermath of the Transition, the NKVD had lost track of him, until now…
Do you remember the days when the Tsar fled Russia, when debate was the order of the day, and everyone had a voice? Do you remember how good it felt to be free, to be able to say what you wanted without a spy taking note of your words? Do you remember when there was no chance of the army being committed to wars against people, purely for the Tsar’s pleasure?
Comrades – the Revolution has been betrayed, by Stalin! Lenin himself warned against him, against the man that destroyed any hope of Russia becoming the worker’s paradise it could have been! Do you want another Tsar on the throne; Stalin is Tsar, in all but name. Soon he will declare himself Tsar of all the Russians, and then the cycle will be complete!
Do you want to be free? Join the Revolution today!
Leon Trotsky. Reports of my death have been lies spread by Stalin and his lapdogs!
“I thought that he was dead,” Molotov said carefully. “Even so… can he threaten the Dictatorship of the Workers and Peasants?”
“The NKVD found hundreds of those scattered around the subways,” Stalin said. His face darkened still further. “Trotsky is in Moscow!”
“And he’s got some powerful support,” Molotov said. “We chased him out before; he would not have returned without some support from outside.”
“The British, of course,” Stalin said. “And, of course, the Americans, who are pressing the Germans hard.”
Molotov swallowed. That had been what he’d come to discuss with Stalin. “Hitler’s bootlicker” – he paused to allow Stalin an appreciative chuckle – “has been in touch with us. In fact, he flew directly to Moscow, which alone shows how urgent it is.”
He waited for Stalin to nod slowly. Whatever Stalin’s internal concerns, he was still a devious political manipulator. “Hitler would hardly have his… Champaign salesman make a house call unless it was urgent,” Stalin said finally. “What does dear old Adolf want?”
Molotov hid his reaction as best as he could. He’d never trusted Hitler, even before learning how the German would have launched a massive invasion of the Soviet Union… less than seventeen days in the alternate future. Stalin, of course, had been willing to believe Hitler’s professions of new genuine friendship… while preparing the defences, just in case. Unfortunately, many of the best divisions were tied up in the Middle East, along with the remaining best commanders.
He scowled inwardly. The NKVD had reported on German troop movements near Poland, more than were permitted in the treaty and certainly more than were required to complete the extermination of the Polish people. Molotov had believed that history was going to try to right itself… and that Hitler would challenge the Soviet Union again. Stalin, however, had been deaf to his concerns.
“Hitler needs us as an ally,” Stalin had said, and dismissed his concerns.
“Comrade,” Molotov said, “the Germans want us to launch an offensive in the north.”
“To aid them in defeating the Americans,” Stalin said. His heavy brow furrowed. “That would mean war with America to add to our current problem.”
Molotov nodded, adjusting his spectacles. “The Americans have been reluctant to challenge us at the moment,” he said. “However, the Swedes are moving towards them, just to avoid German domination.”
“Or ours,” Stalin said. He could say such unpleasant truths. “Interesting point; certainly any attempt to ally with the Americans is against the treaty we signed with them, is it not?”
“Yes, Comrade,” Molotov said. “Of course, they will claim that the treaty was signed at gunpoint.”
“Which it was,” Stalin chuckled. “We don’t want the Americans beating the Germans too quickly, do we?”
Molotov blinked. “Comrade?”
“The Americans will be facing the best of the German military machine,” Stalin said smoothly. He smiled darkly. “The longer they’re pointed at the Germans, the more time we have to learn about the future.”
“And the more technology we can extort from them,” Molotov agreed.
“Exactly,” Stalin said. “The Americans will certainly be receiving a great deal of British technology; wonder machines, computers, those super-bombs, those aircraft… and we need to catch up as quickly as we can. They’re starting to fly rockets to space, and we haven’t yet managed to get a single rocket off the ground!”