Truman nodded grimly. “I know that the Russians lose ten missiles for every hundred or so that they fire at us,” he said. “However, these constant pinpricks are proving… irritating. In fact, Congress is in uproar; being bombarded from space is not what they want.”
Hanover scowled. “What do they want?”
“They want me to use the bomb on a Russian city,” he said. “While Vladivostok seems temping, it would be rather bad for the soldiers nearby. If the Germans detonate a nuke, the Fat Lady will be used.”
Hanover smiled grimly at the weak joke. “On the Russians, I assume,” he said. “Which city in particular?”
“Congress wants Moscow,” Truman said. He blinked at Hanover’s expression. “Is that a problem?”
“Given that Moscow is the centre of our efforts to knock Stalin over without fighting our way to Vladivostok from Berlin, then yes,” Hanover said. “Are you serious?” Truman nodded. Hanover looked up at the map. “Saint Petersburg,” he said.
Truman lifted an eyebrow. “Saint Petersburg?”
“It’s called Leningrad here,” Hanover said, mentally cursing the error. “Stalingrad itself wouldn’t make a bad target, if you were determined.”
“It would be easier to hit Saint Petersburg,” Truman said. “That sounds better than Leningrad. I have to warn you, I think, under the treaty.”
Hanover nodded. “On the record, I can’t say that I approve,” he said. “Off the record…”
“Good luck?” Truman guessed. He smiled. “So, we move east in two weeks, assuming that there are no further problems. Is General Flynn making sufficient allowances for Chowhound?”
Hanover nodded. “We’re bringing in thousands of tons of food from America,” he said. “Thank you for that.”
“It’s no problem,” Truman assured him. “That Briton who’s become one of our citizens has done wonders for arranging the entire operation.”
Hanover smiled. It had to have been Oliver. “I don’t suppose that you knew who killed Hoover?” He asked. “As far as we can tell from the SS records, it wasn’t a German operation.”
“I didn’t think it was,” Truman said. “Quite frankly, I can’t decide if I should encourage the hunt or not.”
Hanover grinned. “Not my problem,” he said. “Seriously, if there’s anything we can do to help…”
“Thank you,” Truman said. “We’ll talk again in a week and review progress?”
Hanover nodded. “Nice talking to you,” he said. “Chat soon.”
Governing House
Hamburg, Germany
20th June 1942
General – he supposed that he was now Reichskanzler – Rommel had moved the headquarters of the Bundeswehr to Hamburg, which had been quick to surrender when surrounded by British and American troops. The town had rapidly been transformed into a base of operations, which the food supplies for Operation Chowhound being distributed there while the German transport net was rebuilt.
Professor Horton sat on the bench in the Hamburg Park, just enjoying the sunshine. He supposed that he was being silly – and the tales of black men going white if they spent long enough underground were nonsense – but there was just something about soaking up the sun. For the first couple of days, he’d had an escort, but he’d protested.
“I want to go see my family,” he’d insisted, but he’d been refused transport home. There were simply too many demands on the Allied transportation network to permit him to return to Britain, even though he could talk to Jasmine whenever he wanted to. She was fine, and very relived that he was safe.
“I’m going to give you the biggest blowjob ever,” she’d promised, and the thought of it was enough to make him horny for the first time in months. Living in the Fuhrerbunker didn’t improve a man’s libido. So he lay back, enjoying the sun, and wondering what would happen next.
“Mind if I join you?” A woman’s voice asked. The British accent was familiar enough for him to open his eyes; it was the reporter from the Fuhrerbunker. He’d hated her on sight, or so he recalled now, but he’d heard about what she’d been used for by Himmler.
“I suppose,” he said, shifting to make room for her. Some of the female citizens of Hamburg, short on food, had offered to trade their bodies for food, but Horton had always refused them. He’d always been faithful to Jasmine; he wanted to have her by his side for the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry about interviewing you like that,” Stewart said. “I could have refused.”
“You were an idiot,” Horton said, not entirely in the mood to be generous. “Why did you come?”
She shifted slightly. Horton noticed the places on her body where she felt sore and winced. “I wanted to be known as a great reporter,” she said. “Even Himmler didn’t understand what the media could do.”
“You lap up what they give you with your tongues,” Horton said. It wasn’t a condemnation; he didn’t have the energy to condemn anything. “If evil wears a smile, its good evil; evil we can safely ignore. If evil is skin-headed and black, then the police have to be called, even before trouble breaks out.”
“I’ve known a lot of skinheads who were good people,” Stewart said. “Did you see Herman?”
“If I were you, I’d be trying to forget him,” Horton said. “He said he loved you before he died.”
“I never loved him,” Stewart confessed. “I fucked him because I was recoiling from meeting Hitler, and then it just went on and on.”
Horton chuckled, even through the pain it caused him. “I’m not your father-confessor,” he said. “I’m not even catholic. If you want to make repentance, go find a priest.”
Stewart shook her head. “I learnt a great deal while I was at Mengle’s mercy,” she said. “I was raped every day, merely to find out if I could get pregnant or not. I may never be able to have children now, just adoption if I ever get married. I was less than a woman to him, not even a sex object.”
“Welcome to reality,” Horton said unsympathetically. “In everywhere, but democratic countries, women and men have face that same simple truth; their lives mean nothing to their oppressors. Just for being wrong; the wrong sex, the wrong race, the wrong religion, the wrong colour, they are toys to the rulers. They are fit only for rape, or slavery, or for simply being exterminated for existing.”
He held her eyes. “That’s the truth that thousands of people faced in the future, the truth that people like you kept from the public because it would have meant losing your access. We live in our nice safe worlds – what does it take to remind us that the universe is red of tooth and claw and she will punish the unwary?”
Stewart shrugged. “What will happen now?” She asked. “With the war and everything?”
Horton wondered if she knew about the atomic bomb threat. He didn’t intend to discuss it with her. “I hope that we’ll end Stalin’s regime as well,” he said. “People like you, of course, will go on and on about how wrong we are to attempt to save people from evil and…”
“You sound bitter,” Stewart said. “I’m sorry…”
Horton laughed harshly. “People who don’t learn from history are condemned to repeat it,” he said.
“We did repeat it now,” Stewart said. “I’m sorry for being born.”
Horton snorted at the plaintive tone in her voice. “I hope that we can rebuild a democratic society in Russia,” he said. “There will be people who’ll have survived the economic experiments of Lenin’s time; they’ll be capable of adapting. Given sufficient investment, outside assistance and nuclear power, they might just manage to build a working country without more bloodshed.”