“Of course sir.”
“It was a bust, until the Brits put a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine in it. And it helped win the war.”
“How about the Liberty ship?”
“Ah, yes sir.””
“Would you say it was important to winning the war?”
“Well, of course, Mr. President, but they were all made here in America by American workers from top to bottom. The British had nothing to do with their production, or…”
“It was a British design! One that we saw was better than anything we had, so we built them to win the war.”
“Edgar, please name some more for the good Secretary.”
“Oh course Mr. President. Let’s see… we used their 6 pounder anti-tank gun quite extensively. It was renamed the 57-mm M-1. The gyro gun sight, short wave radar, proximity fuse, Bangalore torpedo and, of course, they jump started our jet engine and atomic bomb program. Then there’s plastic…”
“We get the idea, Edgar. Here’s what we’re going to do. I want this war over with before winter of 1947. We need a tank now that can put down the Red jobs, and be reliable. We have a lot of fast, mobile operations coming down the pipe and the M-26 Pershing is not up to the job. There is no time to figure out a replacement. I don’t have time to fool with our boys’ lives. We are going to take up the Brits on their offer, and we will shift production to the Centurion! I want it done now!”
“Sir, the political fallout will be tremendous…”
“Bullshit! You didn’t even know about the Liberty ship being a Brit design, and neither will the American public. Name the damn thing the Patton. Make some minor cosmetic changes and get the right weapon in our fighting men’s’ hands for a change. I’m not suggesting this… I’m ordering it to happen.”
“Yes sir, Mr. President. Come to think of it, I did hear that their current version with the 20-mm coaxial cannon was not working too well. Perhaps, if we used a .50-caliber instead, and made a few cosmetic changes…”
“That’s the spirit, Mr. Patterson! Remember the ‘Buck Stops Here,’ and I will not put our troops in needless danger. Am I understood, Mr. Secretary?”
“Yes Mr. President.”
The Pentagon
Outside Washington, D.C.
“Have you heard the news?”
“What now?”
“The top brass is dropping the M-26 and going with a British tank.”
“No shit? Which one?
I think it’s called the Sentry, or Centurion, or something like that. There making the switch, like, almost overnight. The Brits sent over engineers and designers, and they’re gearing up in Detroit, like no one’s business. They’ve also decided to increase the numbers of the M-36 Jackson. It’s a fast son-of-a-bitch. It can hit 50 miles per hour in the straight away, and it packs a 90-mm wallop. I guess the thinking is that the Centurion can go toe-to-toe with the Soviet heavies, while the Jackson can out-maneuver the bastards and provide a more mobile defense. Kind of like using the best of the best for grabbing ’em by the nose, and kicking ’em in the rear.”
“Patton would have liked that.”
“Now that you mention it, I think I heard they’re going to name the American version of the Centurion the Patton.”
“Huh. I wonder what made them change their mind so fast and act so decisively. It’s very strange behavior for a bunch of top brass.”
“I heard Churchill had something to do with it, plus, the fact that the M-26 is getting quite a nickname for itself, anyway.”
“Yeah? What are they calling it?”
“They’re calling it the ‘Pushing,’ because you have to push ’em out of the way.”
Chapter Fifteen:
Where Are The Americans?
Marshal Rokossovsky’s Headquarters
July 27th, 1946
09:49 Hours
“We are having more and more contact with the Americans. Logic would dictate that they will try and make a stand soon if only to show their oppressed masses that they are trying to stop the all-conquering Red Army.”
“You can stop the communist rhetoric Nikolai, the commissar is not here. I think your assessment is correct. We must see if we can disrupt their plans. Send the OMSBON Operational Groups ahead, and order them to press forward, until they have passed through the mountains ahead. What is the name of that mountain range again?”
“The Pyrenees, Comrade Marshal.”
“Why can’t I ever remember that name? How much of an obstacle will they pose for our armored units?”
“They are a formidable barrier into Spain. They have not been tested since the days of Charlemagne. Their reputation has been enough to deter any invaders that have contemplated an attack through them. Any modern armies would most certainly have used the relatively easier terrain on either coast. I do recall an anti-Franco faction that tried a route through the middle of the mountains in late 1944. The name Vielha comes to mind.”
“Despite the small victory by the air force on the NATO battleships, they will still be available near the coasts. Our flanks will always be in the flux if we make a major attack on either end of the Pyrenees. I have no doubt that we can accomplish our objectives but at a great cost.”
“Send a heavy reconnaissance force to this city of Vielha, and see if the Americans have defended it yet. Give them as much air support as we can, and let’s see what we are facing. If they can force their way through, then be in position to follow up swiftly. If not, then we will have to prepare a general assault on the various other passes through the mountains. If these fail, we will have to figure out another way to neutralize the NATO navies and go around their flanks.”
“May I suggest, Comrade Marshal, that we start operations in Italy and in Greece. Our allies are anxious to get their share of the spoils of war. Their knives are sharp, and the Bulgarians are eager to make up for past deeds done to them by the Greeks. The Romanians are compliant and will do whatever we ask of them. They want to please their Uncle Joe.”
“I personally hope the Turks give us reason to attack them. My family owes them for what they did in the old times.”
“Yes, we all have those old grievances, eh? Family stories about this massacre, or about that expulsion. It’s not easy to keep them all straight, but we all seem to have them.”
“I will recommend that we begin operations in Italy and Greece, but we must wait for the order to attack from the Kremlin. Comrade Marshal Stalin prefers to stay focused on the task at hand.”
Ponder, Texas
9:04 am
“Hey Joe, whaddaya know?”
“That gets real irritating, especially after the first ten years Ralphie!”
“Ha! That’s why I do it. Well! Look who’s here; the war hero! Hey Mr. Murphy, how’s civilian life treating you; all the girls flocking to touch your medals? Say all kidding aside, I really do want to thank you for what you did for us over there; Medal of Honor and all that; pretty amazing. It must have been rough though…”
“It was just the luck of the draw Ralphie; just the luck of the draw.”
“I suppose. The bullet with your name on it just wasn’t made. I’m old enough now to join up. You think this dust-up with the Reds will last long? I mean, can’t we just bomb ’em to hell with our atomic bombs and all?”