He shook his head. The author didn’t quite say it, but Yamamoto was skilled at reading between the lines. The resource curve would not allow them to complete more than one of the planned building program ships, which called for ten aircraft carriers and several more battleships.
“And even if we did build them, they would be sunk easily,” he said, passing the report over to Yurina. She was naked, her nipples hard in the cold air, but he ignored it. He was too tired for sex. “On the other hand, I have a cunning plan.”
He chuckled as she giggled, although he wasn’t sure what she was giggling at. For a long moment, he felt like a young irresponsible man again, one who had nothing and no one tying him down. He no longer had a navy to devote himself to, he no longer had a family thanks to the Army, but he still had his duty to Japan. The plan spun in his mind, cunning, clever… and it might just work.
He reached for her and was surprised to feel a rush of arousal. The plan would take time to put in place, and time to activate, maybe even months, but he felt a rush of pure hope. He kissed her, hard, and pulled her over to the bed. Her body responded willingly and he lost himself in her. It was just like being a young man again.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Return to Salvation
Salvation
Mississippi, America
6th June 1941
It was, without a doubt, the most dangerous and unpleasant weapon the United States Marine Corps had ever invented. It had been sheer luck that Marine Lieutenant Jones Robinson had even had a couple of canisters, they were normally kept under strict security, and with good reason. The Firelighter made the standard napalm or FAE bomb looked like a minor nuisance.
From his hiding place, Robinson gazed down at Salvation. The town was silent in the darkness; the black section of the town a burnt-out wreck. The newspapers had shrieked and moaned about the ‘black outrages,’ as Robinson had expected, but they had remained silent on the fate of the black citizens, who had been mowed down in the streets. It was as bad as the Soviet excuses for the invasion of Finland; how could unarmed and outnumbered blacks have committed the atrocities they had been accursed of, and then lynched without a chance to defend themselves.
Robinson sighed. This was the south, where the black man was a distrusted semi-animal in the eyes of the rich men who led the state, and the absolute bottom of the pole for the poor whites, who were at the mercy of the rich men and needed someone else to look down upon. Few of them had the courage to confront their beliefs; it was so much easier to hate and fear.
“Tell me, who do you think God punished?” Robinson asked himself silently, watching the town grimly. Weather prediction wasn’t as advanced as it had been in 2015, of course, but the British had made progress… and there was a surprisingly large amount of data in the files in Britain. There would be a strong northern wind tonight, according to the files, even though small changes had been observed already, mainly in the Balkans.
“Must have been the nuke,” Robinson muttered absently, before considering the quote again. The town in the story had lynched a black man and a white woman for falling in love… and then the town had been hit with a famine that had killed them all. It had been quite popular among children, but he doubted that they had understood the real message. What goes around… goes around… and bites you on the behind.
His grandpa had wanted to come along, along with some of the deserters from the Army, but he’d refused them. Their training was coming along nicely, but their stealth still left something to be desired. They would be hell on wheels when it came to fighting what he refused to admit was a terrorist war, but if they ever had to fight a stand-up battle, they would be in serious trouble. Not unlike the Jihadis, they thought of weapons as things that somehow made a man dangerous… and knew very little of strategy or tactics.
Worst of all, at least in his point of view, they were very eager to hunt down and hurt the people who’d hurt them. He didn’t blame them; it had been the constant barrage of racial harassment that had been aimed at Ambassador King that had started them along their dangerous course, but they had to be disciplined. When they finally achieved their political aims, they had to put down their weapons – although not to be disarmed, of course – and end the fight gracefully. Backing the enemy into a corner would only make the fight worse – and tear America apart.
How did I end up here? Robinson asked himself, as the wind finally changed, blowing north. Carefully, he set up the Firelighter, and then checked his body armour. If something went wrong, it would be his only protection. As soon as he was finished, he activated the Firelighter, which began to spray a mist into the air, drifting over Salvation. He glanced down at his watch, cursing; there was equipment for detecting the spread of the gas, but it was all back in Britain, or in 2015. Everything depended on him getting his sums right.
Five minutes passed, and then the Firelighter canister finished its task. An invisible cloud of gas was drifting over Salvation, settling to the ground. Carefully, he picked up the detonator and hurled it towards Salvation, throwing himself down on the ground as he did. There was a clang as the detonator hit the ground… and then a roaring blast of fire scorched over his head. The wave of heat was so powerful that he could feel it even though the suit, lashing away at his body before it faded slightly.
He pulled himself to his feet and stared into a scene from hell. Salvation was burning; the town had been almost destroyed. Every house and shack was burning and the fires were spreading out. He scowled; it was hot and the fire would burn for a while before it went out. He watched for survivors, seeing no one, before turning his face to the east and walking away from Salvation.
I’m going to burn for this, he thought, and felt something inside him die.
Bracken Industries
Nr New York, USA
7th June 1941
Cora walked into work with a new swing to her step, handling the day-to-day matters of the business with a new enthusiasm that came from having regular sex. Even without that, she would have been happier at Bracken; the business wasn’t having anything like the problems of some of the other companies around, now that the war had finally broken out.
She sat down at her desk and checked her inbox. Hoover – she muttered a curse as she read his message – had requested a meeting in surprisingly respectful terms. She made a note of his time, booked the meeting and forwarded the email to Oliver, who had gone on ahead. It still wasn’t socially acceptable for a mixed-race relationship to exist, even though everyone who wanted to had one.
She smiled; Oliver had quoted someone to explain the lack of consistency. “My position has been absolutely consistent,” he said wryly. “I’ve been a hypocrite all along.”
Quickly, she ran through the remainder of the emails. Several plant bosses, both black and white, were warning of increased racial friction in their plants, even though the firm had a strict policy of equal opportunity, if not equal outcome. It had been minor so far, they assured her, but one of them suggesting segregating the workforce. Ironically, that plant boss had been black.
Wonder what colour he is now, she thought angrily, and forced herself to keep working. She’d look at the Black Power site later. Instead, she brought up an email marked secret; the security patrol had found a whole collection of bugs, mainly 1941-constructed, within the various plants they owned.