“It’s a dirty bomb, sir,” Bacon said. “I don’t think there’ll be enough radioactivity for them to be really worried about it, but the blast was awesome. Most of Manhattan must be in ruins.”
The phone rang. Gardner listened quickly. “Yes, sir,” he said finally. “The weapon was a dirty bomb, not a conventional nuclear weapon. Yes, sir, we’ll stand down from red alert now.”
He put the phone down. “The Government is going to offer assistance now,” he said. “As yet, they don’t know who to point the finger at, but there’s only one main suspect.” He scowled. “Transfer all our readings from the satellites into disc, so we can forward them to the Government and the investigation team.”
“Yes, sir,” Bacon said. “Sir… are they going to nuke the Germans again?”
“I have no idea,” Gardner said. “I imagine that they’ll make their decision quickly.”
New York, USA
22nd June 1941
Sergeant Tom Williams, New York Police Department, gazed out at a scene from hell. The entire harbour complex was burning; fires were spreading all over Manhattan Island and Jersey City. Tower blocks were burning brightly, spreading further horror across the scene; the smoke was choking people as they tried to flee.
“Get out of here,” he shouted at a group of would-be looters. He lifted his pistol, grimly prepared to shoot them if he had to, but they fled, heading away from the fires. He checked his radio; there was still no signal. The shockwaves had devastated the Island, and God only knew when it would be repaired.
An explosion detonated as the fires reached something explosive. The waves of heat increased, pushing him back as his radio finally started to work. He cursed the new technology, even as he gabbled out a report, asking desperately what had happened.
“We have to get everyone out of the city,” the superintendent said. “Organise rescue efforts as best as you can.”
He sounded panicky. Williams guessed that his boss had been caught in the blasts, whatever they were. He headed towards the nearest group of people, wandering around stunned, and started to issue orders, forging them into an impromptu rescue group. The group worked for hours, trying to dig people out of the rubble, even as the fires continued to rage out of control.
He shuddered. Whatever had happened was…
“Get the filthy nigger,” someone shouted. “He caused the blast.”
Williams glanced around sharply; a group of white men was chasing an older black man, who was panting desperately from too much smoke inhalation. As he watched, the man collapsed on the ground and the would-be lynchers gathered around him, kicking at his body.
“Stop that,” Williams bellowed. “Help the wounded.”
“Fuck you,” one of the men shouted. “Kill the nigger-lover!”
Williams lifted his pistol and the man laughed. Williams never saw the man lifting a second pistol… until the bullet slashed through his head and darkness took him forever.
The White House
Washington DC, USA
22nd June 1941
“This is the work of subversive communists,” Hoover bellowed. “Who else, but they would have the idea of using a radiological weapon?”
Ambassador King watched Roosevelt with concern. The satellite pictures of the devastation, and the British news crew that had flown in via helicopter, were having an affect on the President, making him shake in his wheelchair. He didn’t look good at all.
“Was it a nuclear weapon?” Truman asked, watching Hoover watching Roosevelt. “Did the Germans deploy a nuclear weapon?”
Colonel Palter shook his head grimly. “No, sir,” he said. “It’s a dirty bomb, a weapon designed to toss some radioactive material into the air in tiny dust specs, contaminating a vast area. We’re awaiting the results of Geiger Counters now – we flew some in from General Groves – but I don’t think that it was very radioactive at all.”
“That blast was not minor,” Hoover snapped. “Have you any sense of proportion, man?”
“They stuffed the SS Moskva with explosives,” Palter said. “Sir, if it had been a nuclear bomb, the entire region for five miles around would have been devastated.”
Hoover sniffed. “And are you sure that the British were telling the truth?” He asked. “They could have just done it themselves – hell, why didn’t they stop the ship in mid-Atlantic?”
“Because of our stupid neutrality laws,” Truman said. “The Soviet Union has clearly launched an attack against us. New York was an important harbour for us; even if the contamination was non-existent we’ll still have to repair the facilities. Now that the news reporters are reporting on radiation, with all the scare stories in the papers, we’ll never get anyone to work there.”
“We have to declare a state of emergency,” Hoover said. “Sir, the Soviet Union has launched a sneak attack against us. We have to declare war and we have to retaliate.”
Roosevelt looked up tiredly. “We have to minister to our people, Edger,” he said. “I will speak to the nation in a few hours, asking people to help those in New York. Until then, take no action that will only make matters worse.”
Hoover gaped at him. “You don’t want to round up the communist sympathisers?” He demanded. “Mr president…”
Roosevelt spoke with great force. “That will be enough, Edger,” he snapped. “You may leave.”
Hoover turned on his feet and stormed out of the room. King and Truman exchanged glances as Hoover left, both men sharing the same thought. Uh-oh.
The communicator was sub-vocal only, inaudible to anyone who wasn’t wearing a communicator, and the microphone could pick up his throat movements, but King would have felt safer back at the Future Embassy. The White House had been swept of Hoover’s bugs – and they still didn’t know where they’d come from – but the sense of… imminence was overpowering.
“We have a number of trucks moving near FBI headquarters,” one of his men reported. “I’m not sure what they’re doing.”
“Moving people around,” King said wryly. “It seems as if its about to hit the fan, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Palter said. “Do you want me to pick up Truman?”
“Yes, please,” King said. “We have to keep him safe, at all costs.”
Washington DC, USA
23rd June 1941
“Today, we take back our country,” General MacArthur snapped, as the massed team leaders listened to the general. “No more will we slip towards the evils of nigger communism! No more will we let them ruin our nation! Today, we’ll throw out the nigger-lovers and the communists from the White House and the Government!”
Sheriff Jefferson Buckley listened with cold delight. He had been the only survivor of Salvation, escaping because of his pursuit of a criminal away from the town. The explosion that had destroyed the town, burnt it down to the ground, had been visible for miles away.
“You all have your tasks,” MacArthur said. “Team one” – he nodded in Buckley’s direction – “you are charged with getting the president away from his evil advisors. The other teams will purge the communists, the nigger unions and the other parasites upon our great nation. God bless America!”
“God bless America,” they shouted back, lifting their weapons. Buckley studied his weapon with considerable interest; the AK-47 was very different to his rifle he’d used back during the… no! His mind refused to consider it. The weapon was lethal, far more dangerous than any other weapon he’d ever seen, and he smiled.