Zhukov was not pleased. He would need everything possible to defeat the Allies. The armies from Siberia would take a long time to arrive, while the movement of the air armies and the antiaircraft batteries to the Caucasus would weaken his air support. Worse, the two air armies would use up precious fuel, both when traveling to their new stations and when flying patrols over the Caucasus. When he started to protest, Stalin silenced him with a glare. He had gotten more than enough, the look told him. He would win with the resources available or not at all.
“One last comment,” said Stalin. “I would hope that your armies will not be totally inactive during this wait along the Weser.”
Zhukov was glad to change the subject. “Hardly, comrade. Marshal Rokossovsky has been moving his forces so they now directly confront the British.”
The move of those armies had also been at great cost in fuel, Zhukov now thought grimly. He could only hope that Rokossovsky could crush the British fairly quickly and, hopefully, push them out of the war. The British had been retreating slowly under limited pressure from Rokossovsky for some time. Now let’s see what happens when the full fury of the Red Army hits them.
With the meeting concluded, Stalin sat alone in the little room. He was satisfied. As usual, he had contrived a situation in which he could do nothing but win. If Zhukov overcame the problems with American tenacity and his own lack of fuel, then the Allies would be defeated and he and the revolution would be the masters of most of Europe. The rest of the continent would fall shortly after.
If Zhukov failed, a potential rival would have been disgraced. If Zhukov wins, Stalin thought, it will be necessary to eliminate him anyhow. But even if he failed, the cost to the Allies would still be huge and the Soviet Union would remain in control of almost all of Germany west of the Oder to at least the Weser. Probably all the way to the Rhine, he thought. He was confident that, whatever transpired, the Allies would be too weak to attempt a reconquest of Germany, and Zhukov would not be a potential rival.
Stalin smiled. Outside the open door, Molotov saw the expression on his leader’s face and wondered what terrible thing would now occur.
CHAPTER 20
Brigadier General Leslie R. Groves was ushered into the Oval Office. He saluted briskly and Harry Truman returned it. Groves was powerfully built, stern-faced, and had a well-trimmed mustache that was becoming his trademark. More important than his appearance, Groves was a brusk and no-nonsense administrator who spearheaded the Manhattan Project-the building of the atomic bomb. Along the way, he had offended a number of very sensitive academics and scientists. At one point, Groves had gotten so frustrated that he had proposed drafting all the physicists into the military and prohibiting them from speaking with one another in order to protect the project’s security. His lead physicist, J. Robert Oppenheimer, had sat him down and told him just how scientists worked and how they needed the free flow of information to turn ideas into realities. Groves had grudgingly relented. He knew there was a war on and the first priority was to win it. Then he would kill the damned scientists.
Prior to taking on the Manhattan Project, Groves had been in charge of the construction of the Pentagon.
Truman had decided to speak with Groves and not one of the scientists, such as Oppenheimer or Fermi. Although very well read and self-educated-he read the classics in Latin and even spoke the dead tongue-Truman’s formal education was that of a high school graduate, and he knew next to nothing about nuclear physics. He was concerned that the scientists would either condescend to him or talk in terms he would not understand. The pragmatic and honest Groves was an obvious choice to function as an intermediary, a task he had ably fulfilled since the inception of the Manhattan Project.
“General, be seated.” Groves did as he was told but still managed to remain at attention.
“The bomb, General. Where do we stand?”
“Specifically, sir, we have three bombs. One is scheduled to be tested next month at Alamogordo in New Mexico. As you are aware, the test is called Trinity.”
“Three bombs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when will we have the fourth, fifth, and so on?”
“Sir, what we have now are prototype weapons. Each is unique, and we have no idea which will work best. Nor,” he admitted reluctantly, “are we totally confident either will work at all. This is all unexplored territory. Someday we may be able to wheel atomic bombs off an assembly line like Ford does cars or tanks, but not now. I doubt that we could have any more bombs for another several months.”
Truman thought that over. “Then we cannot afford to run leisurely scientific tests, can we?”
“Sir?”
“General, I do not think we can afford to waste one third of our atomic resources on a field test. The scientists may think it desirable, and, under other circumstances, I would also. But we do not now have that luxury. How long would it take to crate the things up and ship them off to Europe?”
If Groves was surprised by the idea of them going across the Atlantic he didn’t show it. While the whole atomic bomb project had been started to counter the possibility of the Nazis having an atomic bomb ahead of America, the apparent collapse of the Third Reich had changed everyone’s focus from Germany to the Pacific. Now the president wanted them shipped to Europe, with the Soviets as the new target. God help the Russians. Did they have any idea what they were getting into? For that matter, did the United States?
Groves explained that the scientists were in wide disagreement over what might happen when an atomic bomb was detonated. Some felt it would simply be a large bomb, a big bang that left a large hole in the ground, while others forecast the end of the world. As a practical man, Groves leaned toward the former opinion. A lot of the scientists were concerned about radiation, something he barely understood, but many leading scientists said it would dissipate quickly and be of little or no consequence. The simple truth was that no one really knew what would happen when an atomic bomb detonated. Theories were wonderful things, but the truth would come out when the first bomb went off. If it went off.
Groves took out a notepad and scribbled. “I’ll have to check. If we shipped them by boat, perhaps the scientists could work on them en route.”
“Good.” Truman decided he liked the testy but aggressive Groves.
“We will have to get the B-29s off Tinian.” Groves referred to the squadron that had been rehearsing carrying and dropping very large bombs and was now in the Pacific. Only their commander, Colonel Paul Tibbetts, knew what type of bomb was contemplated. “If you’re not aware, Mr. President, we planned to use the B-29s because of the bulk of the bombs, as well as the range of the planes.”
“I had wondered, and assumed something like that.”
“The B-29s also require much longer runways. I spoke with General Marshall, and he assures me that runways in England are being lengthened as we speak. Some Eighth Air Force staffer actually used his brain and anticipated the arrival of B-29s.”
“Excellent. Now, General, in your opinion, do the Russians know what we are doing?”
Groves paused. The scientists were all security nightmares. They had little understanding or concern regarding the political world. Many were so downright utopian regarding the universality of science, they’d be on the phone blabbing everything they knew in a minute if they hadn’t been sealed off in New Mexico.