“We need to play more hob with their supply lines,” General Cunningham declared. “What about the RAF?”
Stirling nodded. “We have five new squadrons of Hawk aircraft, armed with anti-tank missiles and FAE bombs,” he said. “Some units have been equipped with Deathcloud weapons, but the Soviets have been more careful about exposing themselves to those weapons.”
He shivered. Admiral Turtledove’s drones had produced horrifying images of the last time a Deathcloud was used on unsuspecting pilots. The expanding wall of burning fuel had swept the Japanese planes out of the sky without any chance of escape.
“They don’t have much of a choice,” General Cunningham said. “And the operational plan?”
Stirling adjusted the display. “Basically, it’s simple,” he said. “We will launch simultaneous strokes towards Basra and Baghdad, while the Turks hammer their way into Georgia, backed up by SAS units and one of the super-bombers.”
“We really ought to hurry up with the program to equip some B-29s with computers and flying them ourselves,” General Cunningham muttered.
“We won’t get sucked into city-fighting,” Stirling said. “We can do without a Stalingrad. As they’ve forced much of the population out of the cities and sent them fleeing into our territory, we don’t have to worry about keeping the city intact. We can either shell it to death or stave them out. Once we cut their supply lines for good, we can deal with them at our leisure.”
“A shame that the Thor weapons aren’t ready yet,” General Cunningham said. “Can they retaliate?”
“They have the NKVD battalions in the Caucasus mountains,” Stirling said. He scowled; he took no pleasure in killing for its own sake, but the NKVD forces needed extermination. They were slaughtering the civilians; countless thousands were dying as Stalin exterminated threats to the rule of his successors. Absently, he wondered what had happened to Khrushchev and the others who had denounced Stalin after he died.
“Not much of a threat, then,” General Cunningham said. “Sweden is taking up most of their attention.”
“So it would seem,” Stirling said, and then noticed that General Cunningham was looking thoughtfully at a background piece on Travis Mortimer. Mortimer had a personal stake in the war; his brother had died onboard a Royal Navy submarine.
“So he has a reason,” General Cunningham mused. “During your free time, I want you to look into the last hours of… HMS Artful.”
I have free time? Stirling thought with some astonishment. That was a surprise. Still, there was only one answer. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, and saluted.
Chapter Nine: Political War And Peace
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
3rd April 1942
“Will no one rid me of the troublesome politician?”
McLachlan gave Hanover a hard look. “You are a troublesome politician yourself,” he reminded him. “The young man is doing the same thing we did, back in opposition.”
Hanover scowled at him, but took the point. “The young man, then, is going to cause a lot of trouble,” he said. “Not being in official Opposition, he is free to shoot his mouth off at whoever can be bothered to listen.”
McLachlan nodded. It was one of the odder parts of the wartime British constitution, most of which existed only in the minds of those who took part. The Opposition – the party with the second-largest share of the vote – was briefed on events, even if they weren’t part of a war cabinet. In exchange, they didn’t rock the boat… too much. However, those who were in third place and below… they got to rant and rave all they wanted.
“He might have a point about our inability to rescue the hostages,” McLachlan said.
”Tell me about it,” Hanover sighed. They’d watched carefully for signs of where they were being kept, but the Germans were growing wise to the presence of SAS teams near their bases, coordinating strikes against what elements of the German industry had been uncovered. “That wretched Jasmine woman has finally managed to make an appointment with me this afternoon.”
“Perhaps Mortimer would like to have her on his party,” McLachlan said. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It’s hard to imagine her being a peace candidate,” Hanover said. “Still, he’s not going to get very far on a peace platform. Far more alarming, through, are his claims of military and governmental incompetence.”
McLachlan considered. “We could release the war game results,” he suggested.
Hanover shook his head. “That could – that would – give the Germans access to some of our capabilities,” he said. “They would learn what we could do.”
“They can’t access the internet,” McLachlan said.
“Famous last words,” Hanover said. “They certainly have agents in America, after all. Which leaves us to do… what?”
His mind worked rapidly. Short of a nuclear attack, there was little hope that the war could be brought to an end without an invasion and a march to Moscow. That left politics… he considered for a long moment the concept of sacrificing Admiral Turtledove, before dismissing it. Turtledove was needed; that was all there was to it.
A nasty thought struck him. “His brother served on the Artful,” he said. McLachlan’s face paled. “That… explains his odd behaviour.”
McLachlan looked as if he’d been out of the sun for a few weeks. “That’s why he’s making such a fuss,” he said. The talking heads had gone on and on about the loss of a SSN to the Japanese, without understanding the truth.
“It does make us look pretty bad,” Hanover said wryly. The brief spurt of amusement failed to dim the growing concern. “You know what could happen… if someone puts all of the picture together.”
It wasn’t a question. “We made a joint decision,” McLachlan said.
“I wasn’t trying to shift the blame onto you,” Hanover said, and mentally kicked himself. This wasn’t the time to engage in futile recriminations. “I don’t think that Mortimer will manage to put the pieces together,” he said. “Whatever else one can say about him, he doesn’t have access to the secret files, most of which have been removed in any case.”
He allowed himself a quick moment of consideration. If something happened, and it was never recorded at all, had it ever happened? “Some investigative reporter will have a field day, perhaps,” he said, “but all of the witnesses are… well, you know.”
McLachlan nodded. Apart from them, everyone involved was dead. “So, no need to panic then?” He asked. “We can continue the work?”
Hanover nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Now, what did the government of Iran have to say?”
“Well, the Shah wants Iran to be liberated by the Iranian forces in exile, but…”
McLachlan let his voice trail off. The Iranian forces in exile consisted of one rag-tag division, augmented by Iraqis from Basra. By the time that the Iraqi Government – which had perhaps been given its independence a bit too soon – had agreed to withdraw troops from the raging infernos of Baghdad and Basra, it had been too late to save many of them.
Hanover shook his head. “The demographic disaster has been terrible,” he said. Between the Russians and the Turks, it wasn’t clear if Iran and Iraq would remain functional nations after the war ended. “Knowledge of the future is a terrible thing.”