“The President will not make that move,” Ambassador Turtledove told him.
“Of course not,” Volker agreed, dryly.
It was what he would have done, he suspected, if the positions were reversed. The risk of a madman like Holliston firing on America was not one to be taken lightly. No one really knew how good the American ABM system actually was or how it would fare in a genuine shooting war. And besides, it would take years for the Americans to build up the logistics they’d need to support troops in Eastern Europe. They couldn’t have positioned enough stockpiles in Britain to make it happen in a hurry.
He shrugged, as if it was meaningless. “What can you do?”
“We can send you more medicine and food supplies,” Ambassador Turtledove said. “But there are limits to what we can do. Certain… factions… within the voting populace insist on trying to get concessions out of you first.”
Volker sighed. Most of the intelligence networks within the United States had been run by the SS, but the Economic Intelligence Service had operated enough agents — overt and covert — for him to have a good idea of the ebb and flow of American politics. The Polish vote shouldn’t, logically, have been important, but there was an election coming and the President needed to appease them. And the Poles wanted their motherland back, a motherland that few of them had seen, a motherland that no longer existed…
“There’s something you should bear in mind,” he said, bluntly. “Would you rather deal with us — or Führer Holliston?”
“That’s not an argument that will appeal back home,” Ambassador Turtledove said.
“Then it should,” Volker said.
He understood the value of giving one’s populace as much freedom as possible. God knew he intended to ensure that the first elections to the Reichstag were as free and fair as he could make them. But there was something utterly absurd about allowing a tiny minority of people — most of whom were no longer truly part of that minority — to dictate foreign policy. What sort of idiot believed he could run a foreign policy based on wishful thinking? Poland was gone, as completely as the American civilisations that existed before Columbus… it was high time they accepted it and moved on.
And yet they cling to it, he thought. Do they really think they’ll be able to go home one day?
“We cannot launch a second offensive until late spring at the earliest,” he said, bluntly. “By then, our economy might have shattered completely. And if that happens, any further operations will be postponed indefinitely. I cannot run a war and deal with a starving desperate population, a population who may start to listen to Holliston’s claims.”
“I understand your problems,” Ambassador Turtledove said.
“Then I suggest you start considering the implications,” Volker said, flatly. “Because I am not going to destroy the Reich in order to save it.”
Ambassador Turtledove looked at him, sharply. “Are you planning to make peace?”
“I don’t know,” Volker said. “Right now, we cannot make peace with Karl Holliston. But if there was an alternative, we would have to take it.”
He looked back at the American. “Would Lincoln have fought the civil war to the bitter end if the survivors would wind up envying the dead?”
“I do not know,” Ambassador Turtledove said. “But I will do everything in my power to ensure that your government gets the aid and support it needs.”
Volker sighed, inwardly, as the American rose and left the office. The Americans were trying to help, he had to admit, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. Even sending American troops to reinforce the front lines and spearhead the offensive wouldn’t be enough, not when Holliston had nuclear weapons and he was willing to use them. But Holliston couldn’t be trusted…
And if he thinks he’s lost, he thought, he might just try to take the entire world down with him.
“Make sure you keep taking your pills,” the nurse said. “If you get any symptoms at all, inform me at once.”
“Thank you, Fräulein,” Herman said.
His unit had been well away from the blasts, but they’d still been in danger. Thankfully, he’d had the wit to order them to take shelter as soon as it began to rain, yet getting back to the front lines had been a nightmare. Luckily, the soldiers at the rear had been ready for them; they’d been quarantined, given a list of symptoms to watch for and then ordered to remain in a tent and wait to see what happened. It hadn’t been pleasant — Herman had had to break up a couple of nasty fights — but they seemed to have missed the worst of the danger.
He opened the pill box he’d been given — neatly marked with the stars and stripes — and took one of the pills. They’d been assured that the pills did something to boost their immune systems against radiation, but Herman hadn’t understood the explanation. Medicine had never been his forte. He knew how to do some battlefield medicine and that was about it, even during his later career as a police officer. But the doctors and nurses seemed confident when they handed out the pills.
And it keeps us from feeling abandoned, he thought, as he swallowed the pill. The first one he’d taken had tasted foul; now, he just tried to get them down as quickly as possible. And wondering just what’s going to happen to us.
It wasn’t a reassuring thought. He’d seen men throwing up helplessly, others shaking with fever in the middle of a snowstorm. And they’d been closer to the blast… what would happen if the wind changed, blowing the radiation towards them? Or towards Berlin? He wished, suddenly, that he’d asserted himself enough to send his wife westwards. She’d always wanted to go to Paris and she would have been well out of the way of any nuclear cloud. But instead she was still in Berlin.
He shook his head, slowly. Adelinde was the mother of a member of the Provisional Government. She would have been in the bunker — and even if she hadn’t been in the bunker, she would have been taken to the bunker as soon as the warheads detonated. She’d be amongst the safest people in Berlin, with an escape tunnel she could use to get out of the city if it was turned into radioactive rubble. She would hate being carried out of the city, he knew, but at least she’d be alive.
But what, he asked himself, are we going to do?
He shook his head, again. He didn’t know. If the offensive had been pushed forward in line with tactical doctrine — and tactical doctrine hadn’t changed since he was a paratrooper — the blasts might have wiped out hundreds of panzers and thousands of soldiers. And thousands more would be injured, sick or dying from radiation poisoning. Calling the offensive off had really been nothing more than a formality. Everyone had known that it was doomed to failure after the nuclear blasts…
…And now the snows were falling to the east.
He shuddered, bitterly. He’d heard plenty of horror stories about fighting in the ice and snow, legends from the days Germany had invaded Russia and crushed the Communists in a series of savage battles. Could the offensive be resumed before spring? He doubted it. And could the Reich hold together long enough to resume the offensive?
Herman cursed under his breath. He might never know.