“And they would hardly be pleased at us scattering radioactive waste across their country,” King said. “Perhaps Stalingrad would make a better target.”
Groves narrowed his eyes. “That’s out of range,” he snapped.
“Not if we fly from Turkey,” Eisenhower said. “We’ve been launching attacks on Russian positions from Turkey anyway, and we have drop tanks for the B-29s now. That’s how we bombed Japan.”
Truman nodded. “General Groves, please see to moving Fat Lady to Turkey, under conditions of strictest security. We won’t tell the Turks anything; their treatment of the Kurds is disgusting.”
“Aye, sir,” Groves said. King nodded; the Kurdish Genocide had sent thousands of Kurds into the Republic of Arabia. Perhaps in the long run that would be for the best, but for the moment… well, it made dealing with Turkey hard. No one had truly imagined what could happen with cameras the size of a coat button, or how the vivid imagery would affect public opinion.
“Thank you,” Truman said. He nodded at Eisenhower. “Ike, what’s the current status of the invasion plans?”
Eisenhower nodded and unfurled a long map of his own. “We have nearly sixty divisions in all, a mixture of armoured and infantry, moving into position in three separated locations,” he said. “There have been a series of skirmishes between our forces and Russian forces, but so far the Russians have seemed disinclined to attack us, and of course we haven’t pushed back hard.” He scowled. “Some of them have been division-sized clashes.
“General Flynn has been taking the opportunity granted by relative peace and quiet to reinforce our logistics,” he continued, pointing to supply dumps on the map. “We have nearly thirty thousand trucks now, all committed to moving supplies around through Germany to the front. Thanks to that effort, we’ll be able to smash the Soviet armies in the field, and then drive on Moscow.”
King narrowed his eyes. Like all of the future personnel, he’d become something of a history fan in the years since the Transition. “General, can you make it to Moscow before the fall rains?”
“We’ll give it a damn good try,” Eisenhower said. “The Germans of the other timeline could make two hundred miles in a week if they pushed themselves, we’ll be moving faster than they ever could. Given all of the unrest in the two SSRs closest to the front, we might well have allies there.”
“We have to treat them as friends,” King said.
“We’ve made arrangements to extend Operation Chowhound up there as well,” Eisenhower said. “We can make it to Moscow in a month, if we really press ourselves.” He tapped the map. “There are two main problems, and the atomic wild card. The Soviets have a powerful defence line near Warsaw, and they have a second line along the Russian border with Belarus and the Ukraine. We will have to smash the forces in both places, destroy them or capture them.”
“Once they are destroyed, then all we’ll have to do is make it to Moscow, and the so-called Union of Soviet Socialist Republics will come apart,” Truman said. “That would be the end of their manpower, now that the Siberian divisions are trapped in the Far East.”
King smiled. “The blasted city still hasn’t fallen?” He asked. “Perhaps we should use the nuke there.”
“There are Marines too close to it for comfort,” Groves said. “I have a request.”
Truman lifted an eyebrow; King gaped at him. “I… see,” Truman said. “What is the request?”
Groves frowned. “I would like to fly the first mission with the atomic bomb,” he said.
“Out of the question,” Eisenhower said sharply. “You know too much.”
Groves shook his head. “I don’t know anything that they won’t already know,” he said. “I… Mr President, the atomic project has killed me.”
Truman lowered his eyes. “How long?”
“The British doctor thinks that I’ll last around a year, if I’m lucky,” Groves said. “Sir, I’m the most experienced officer on the subject of atomic weapons, and I know how to use them. I’m also expendable.”
Truman studied him for a long moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “I’m going to regret this, but you may fly the mission, provided that the pilot of the B-29 agrees. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr President,” Groves said. “I won’t let you down.”
Forward Base
Polish-German Border
25th June 1942
Captain Dwynn stepped through the security checkpoint and entered the main office of the general commanding, General Flynn. The Forward Base was well established; it had once been a German base before the British Army took it over. There were forces, ranging from infantry to small tank groups, further to the east, but the five divisions based near Frankfurt were the most powerful force in the region.
“Captain Dwynn,” General Flynn said. He held out a hand for Dwynn to shake. “Thank you for coming.”
Dwynn knew that it was going to be bad. Generals didn’t shake the hands of Captains without a very good reason – and the reason was normally a suicide mission. “Your orders did say that it was urgent,” he said. “I brought the team, as per orders.”
“Thank you,” Flynn said. Dwynn shuddered; it was going to be very bad. “I have a rather dangerous mission for you.”
“I’ve been doing that every since I joined the SAS,” Dwynn said. “I was at Singapore, Iraq, Palestine, Norway and the Netherlands. Where next?”
“Back to Poland,” Flynn said. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is simple. Himmler, we believe, has a nuclear weapon. Your job is to find it and destroy it, whatever the cost.”
“Mission Impossible with a vengeance,” Dwynn said. “Where is the little bastard?”
Flynn tapped the map with a laser pointer. The red dot swept over the map before halting at Brest, deep within the Soviet Union. “Brest,” he said. “Far from being as exciting as the name suggests, they are based in an NKVD complex here. They’re very well hidden, but once we have some intelligence on them, we knew where to look for them.”
Dwynn blinked. “Intelligence, sir?”
“None of your business,” Flynn snapped. Dwynn didn’t mind; operation security was important. “The source is classified beyond my clearance, Captain, which should give you some idea of how dangerous it is.”
“Yes, sir,” Dwynn said, wondering who would order a commanding general left in the dark. The Prime Minister himself? “What intelligence is available on the target?”
“Not as much as I would like,” Flynn admitted, passing over a folder of satellite transmissions. “We sent a drone up to take a look, but they shot it down. Some new kind of rocket.”
“Fuck,” Dwynn said. He skimmed through the folder quickly. “Uncle Joe is allowing him his own private camp?”
Flynn nodded. “According to the source, Stalin believes that he can control Himmler, and I suppose that he could destroy him. Still, removing or destroying that weapon is of prime importance.”
Dwynn made a sudden realisation. “There’s no proof that the weapon is actually there,” he commented. Flynn nodded. “Oh, sir; that’s just dandy. No one can prove a negative, can they?”
Flynn shook his head. “We don’t know for certain that the bomb is there, Captain,” he said. “Quite frankly, some analysts suspect that the bomb doesn’t exist. The source – before you ask – claims that it does, but that could just be German misinformation.”