Flynn led him into a quiet room. “Yes,” he said. “We have a full security suite in here, even though we haven’t met any bugs yet. We can talk about anything.”
Hanover’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry about Ibn Saud,” he said seriously. “I never meant to put you in that position.”
Flynn shrugged. “I saw what happened to a desert campsite when he and his people went through it,” he said. “It wasn’t hard at all.”
Hanover nodded. “You may have realised that this front is being wound up,” he said. “Attacking up north would strain our logistics to breaking point, which we cannot allow. We also have commitments to attacking in France, along with the Americans.”
Flynn blinked. “Sir, attacking in France would be repeating history – with the Germans knowing what’s coming.”
“I know,” Hanover said. “Officially, the attack’s target is France. Unofficially” – he outlined the plan – “we’re going elsewhere.”
Flynn sucked in his breath when Hanover had finished. “Sir, that’s…”
“Daring, yes,” Hanover said. “Unfortunately, there isn’t a better idea; we have the option of there, or places which will prolong the war into the next year.” He frowned. “There are signs that the Germans are getting desperate.”
“I heard about the rocket strikes,” Flynn said.
“Some of our media is blowing the whole thing out of proportion,” Hanover said grimly. “That, and the American strikes back against Germany. We were trying to avoid a bloody war of civilians, but Himmler has raised the stakes higher than ever before.”
Flynn frowned. “I would have expected Hitler to do that, but Himmler?”
“He knows that we are worming away at Stalin’s state,” Hanover said. He looked sharply at Flynn. “That does not leave this room, by the way.” Flynn nodded. “He may fear that Russia will collapse, which will leave Germany alone, or that the Russians will come into the war on our side.”
Flynn gaped at him. “Is that even possible?”
Hanover shook his head. “I very much doubt it,” he said. “The only thing we’re certain of is that the rise of resistance to Stalin’s rule is weakening him.”
“That must be why he ordered Zhukov to stand and fight,” Flynn said. “Are we going to be using the Russian prisoners as an army?”
“Perhaps,” Hanover said. “Given… what the Americans are planning, the USSR might come apart sooner rather than later. However, that’s beside the point.” He tapped the map. “Politics have been interfering in the military situation again,” he said.
“That always happens,” Flynn said. “Which politician has decided to stick his oar in this time?”
“Harry Truman, President of the United States of America,” Hanover said. “As I told you, the plan to invade Europe is growing into coherent form; a mixture of our finesse and American brute force.”
“The Citizen Force and the Janissaries,” Flynn said. He grinned. “They have become popular, haven’t they?”
“I wonder if Major Stirling is related to him,” Hanover said absently. “However, the issue at hand is command; who is going to command the mission.” Flynn lifted an eyebrow. “The Americans were very determined to have their own commander in overall control, so we argued them into accepting you as tactical commander.”
He held up a hand to prevent Flynn from saying anything. “You’ll have overall command of the invasion force, with Patton and Bradley as your seconds,” he said. “I came this far for one important reason; General, do you wish to accept the command?”
Flynn looked at him for a long moment. “Why me?” He asked finally. “Why am I honoured? Why not General Cunningham, or General Barrington-Smythe?”
Hanover considered the question. “You are the most successful commanding officer we have had in this war,” he said. “You have the confidence of the Americans, which is not to be overrated, and you are used to working with allies. You also understand modern warfare, something that the Americans don’t, not yet; they either see us as supermen or overrated.” He frowned slightly. “Both General Cunningham and General Barrington-Smythe hold high enough ranks to raise hackles at being subordinate to Eisenhower, while you don’t.”
He smiled. “Does that answer your question?”
“Yes,” Flynn said. “I accept the command.”
“Excellent,” Hanover said. “You’ll be flying back to Britain tomorrow. Colonel Jordan will take over your command here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Flynn said. “Will you be joining us for the mess dinner? They made it just like you had back in Iraq.”
Hanover laughed. “I’d be delighted,” he said. “Then we’ll have to head back to Britain.”
Shahan McLachlan removed his skullcap as he entered the room, leaving it carefully on the table, before washing his face and hands. He checked his appearance in the mirror; he wore a proper suit instead of his normal Muslim robes. He’d never been able to develop much of a beard; shaving it off had been a small sacrifice. He smiled as he looked at the picture his one-year-old daughter had drawn for him, and then he entered the room.
He shook hands with the man who was waiting for him, giving him a neutral smile that could be turned into charm or ice, depending. A bigger smile threatened to break out; the man reassembled one of the Green Lantern Guardians of the Universe. If he’d had blue skin, David Ben-Gurion would have been a dead-ringer for one of the little aliens.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” he said. Ben-Gurion controlled the Haganah, the Jewish Defence Force, which had fought fanatically against the Germans and some of their allies, including the now-dead Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. The famed Irgun – the most fanatically anti-British and anti-Arab force – had fought even harder… and had been defeated badly for it.
“I suspect that I will be not so pleased,” Ben-Gurion said finally. The Jew knew what would have happened – and what would happen if the situation deteriorated. “I imagine that you are here to tell us to clear off.”
Shahan shook his head. “Nothing of the sort,” he said seriously. “I have an offer to make to you, and a request.” Ben-Gurion lifted an eyebrow. “Allow me to summarise the situation as I see it,” Shahan said. “We are about to start shooting at each other – and that cannot be allowed.”
Ben-Gurion nodded his great head. “I would prefer not to have my new country torn apart by civil war,” Shahan said. “I suspect that you would feel the same way too. However – I am not prepared to tolerate a second state of Israel; it was a disaster for all concerned.”
“That depends on what books you read,” Ben-Gurion said. “Some sources state that the Jewish state was a complete success.”
Shahan lifted an eyebrow. A Jew in the Government somewhere must have shipped Ben-Gurion some future history books. He made a mental note of it and continued. “The situation on the ground is very different,” he said. “Like you did, I have the task of producing a government out of several different ethnic groups. A war with you would help that in the short term, but not in the long term.”
“We would tear Israel out and into existence if we had to fight you by any means necessary,” Ben-Gurion said. “You know that we would.”
Their eyes met. “You know that we would win,” Shahan said, “and in the process disgrace ourselves before Allah.”
Ben-Gurion smiled. “Is survival more important than the good opinion of God?”
“Is survival possible without the good will of God?” Shahan asked. “I won’t, I can’t, fight such a war… and yet it seems that I will have no choice, unless you agree to my proposal.”