“I have considered that as well,” Stalin said. “We run a risk by engaging them. However, they will not be induced to share their technology, and they will be working on deploying more of it to the rest of the world. We have an opportunity; one that won’t come again.” His voice darkened. “The Germans are developing atomic weapons,” he said.
Molotov winced. The Soviet Atomic program was far behind the fascist program, even though they had information from America. If the Germans developed an atomic bomb, the Soviet Union would be at their mercy.
“We need time,” he said.
“Indeed,” Stalin said. “We will deal with the Germans and oppose the British. If it goes wrong, we will retreat from Iran and sue for peace; they will sue when they realise that the Japanese are also moving against them.” He smiled. “Should their war go badly, we will have a chance to snap up North China.”
Chapter Eighteen: The Other Side of the Hill
HMS Warspite
Near Sicily
28th July 1940
It was a sight that Admiral Somerville had never gotten quite used to, despite having met several different incidences. The Town-class light cruiser HMS Manchester slipped though the water in formation with the Type-42 destroyer HMS Manchester. The carrier HMS Ark Royal, his own carrier rather than its future counterpart, was stationed ten miles west of the force as they approached Sicily, its flight decks still packed with Fairey Swordfish, Blackburn Skuas and Fairey Fulmars. Captain Holland had asked for Harriers, but there was a shortage of the VTOL aircraft.
Still, it wasn’t as if Ark Royal was completely as primitive as HMS Manchester made her look. Both Contemporary and 2015 personnel had worked hard to modify her, building a complete C&C system into her, and duplicating it on Warspite. Two large propeller-driven aircraft from 2015 had been converted into miniature AWACS and based in Libya now that most of it had fallen to the British. Their coverage of the Mediterranean, complete with radar beacons, navigation beacons and far improved surveillance, made him feel almost like a god.
“Order Valiant to prepare to open fire,” he said calmly, and the 2015 officer leapt to obey. Warspite itself began targeting the Italian positions on Sicily, preparing to start pounding Mussolini’s people out of the Island. In the original history, Sicily had been taken in 1943; here they would simply cut it off and devastate the military bases.
“Valiant confirms,” the officer said. “Recon drones suggest that there are no Germans on the island, apart from the air bases.”
“We’ll target them first, then,” Somerville said. The Italians had mounted shore-based guns on Sicily, but he was dismissive; they were nothing like as powerful as the cannons carried by Warspite, he doubted that they would be able to hurt the battleship. The smaller ships would hang back, just in case; their armour was nowhere near as powerful.
He smiled. “Open fire,” he said.
Warspite shuddered as its main guns fired. Blasts of fire and smoke appeared around Valiant as the second battleship fired; seconds later explosions blasted up from the shore. Flickers of light showed that the Italians were trying to fight back; towering bursts of water rose up from where their shells landed.
“Missed,” an ensign shouted. He’d been young; young enough to adapt to the new technologies without too much shock. He wasn’t married; he would marry within the future Britain and avoid the pain of loss.
“One hopes they’ll keep missing,” Somerville said gravely, and glanced at the reconnaissance results. The Italians were producing smoke at a terrible rate, trying to disrupt the sensors of the drone, but they couldn’t hide the infrared signature. Fires were exploding all over the target zone; plumes of oily fires suggested they’d hit old dumps.
“Captain, incoming aircraft,” Ensign Jason snapped. Somerville watched as the Captain gave orders to prepare for incoming aircraft; a flight of ninety German aircraft rising over Sicily.
“Contact Malta and Captain Holland, ask them to send air cover,” Somerville said. The German aircraft were visible now, diving down to launch torpedoes rather than dive-bombing, jinking to and fro to avoid being struck by the radar-guided anti-aircraft guns.
“Manchester is shooting,” Ensign Jason reported. The 2015 crewman looked delighted as four Sea Dart missiles lanced across the waves and shattered a handful of German aircraft, the close-in chain gun engaging the enemy craft as they closed in, dropping torpedoes into the water.
“Independent manoeuvring,” Somerville ordered, as the fleet began to move, trying to avoid the torpedoes. A Contemporary destroyer was struck and started to list to starboard, the aircraft that had scored the hit falling to Warspite’s pom-poms. Somerville swore suddenly; the swarm of German aircraft were concentrating on the 2015 warship; the Manchester was under heavy attack.
“Fuck,” he heard Ensign Jason breath. One of the German aircraft had been hit by Manchester; instead of exploding it slammed into the future ship. For a long moment, it seemed as if the ship had survived, and then it exploded.
“The aircraft are retreating,” Ensign Jason said. Somerville nodded grimly as the wreckage of HMS Manchester settled into the water; they’d managed to take out one of the most powerful ships on the water and damaged several more.
“Secure from battle stations,” he ordered. “Get me a direct link to Admiral Turtledove. He’d going to have to know about this.”
Undisclosed Location
Berlin, Germany
28th July 1940
The Americans hadn’t exactly declared war on the Reich; they hadn’t sent bombers to hurt the Reich, they would send no soldiers to conquer the Reich. What they had done was order units of the hastily reactivated Atlantic Fleet to escort convoys that just happened to include ships going to Ireland; a legal fiction that fooled no one, least of all Hitler.
“This is intolerable provocation,” the Fuhrer thundered. Generaladmiral Erich Raeder, the unfortunate who’d brought Hitler the news of the American decision – and the news of the sinking of a u-boat at American hands – winced. “The degenerate Americans have not the nerve to risk war with us. Generaladmiral, can your ships sweep the Americans from the seas?”
Himmler shuddered internally. The reluctant Professor Horton had compiled a long report on why they’d lost the war; declaring war on America had been one of the reasons. It was bad enough having to hold meetings in this building – the British missiles had struck many of the known government buildings in Berlin – but to run the risk of war with America before the new forces were ready…
Himmler took his life in his hands and coughed. “Mein Fuhrer, we should ignore this provocation,” he said, as carefully as he could. Hitler’s mood had swung backwards and forwards when the war with the future had begun; he wasn’t safe to be near. “Can the Americans produce the wonder-weapons of the future? Of course not. Once we hold the future Britain in our hands, we can use the weapons to defeat the Americans. If we fight them now, they will send their troops to England and make defeating them impossible.