1945 (19 page)

"It could still mean Russia, though. The Germans know we'd tip them off."

"Russia!" Winston said scornfully. "You know as well as I do that it will be years if ever before the Germans nee worry about Russia again. Why should they bother with them now? The most likely — by far the most likely — explanation of all this is that the Nahsties," Andrew smile at Winston's deliberate mispronunciation, "learned about your bomb. They're going to strike first, as best they may. Assassination and sabotage for you, an all-out assault against us. They must deny you access to a base of operations against Europe, to say nothing of the not-entirely-insignificant military force of which we still dispose. And all that aside, we have irrefutable proof that those amphibious maneuvers on the shore of the Black Sea are a rehearsal exercise a-aimed d-d-directly at England."

Suddenly Harrison felt he was too close to agreeing with the English leader. "Winston, let's not get ourselves too far out on a limb here. I simply can't commit significant resources on the basis of what little we have. It's hard enough keeping the appropriations for the Army and Navy up as it is. The budget is just starting to get laid out for next year. It's at a very vulnerable point, and if we holler 'wolf' at this particular time a hell of a lot of people will accuse me of faking it just to jack up military funding. It doesn't even matter if they believe what they're saying. They'll use it as an excuse for
cutting
spending. For that matter, just keeping the money flowing to Manhattan is going to be hard enough."

"Andrew, apparently this letter is having a more profound effect on us than on you, the intended recipients," Winston said calmly. "For my part, I've ordered a secret alert for the Royal Air Force, starting at midnight. Also, the army will move its spring maneuver schedule up so as to increase troop strengths throughout England. I'm also going to make a speech before the House next week accusing Hitler of preparing to launch an attack against us."

"Winston, I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Why?"

"Because the 'America First' crowd will go to town on you, that's why. They'd claim it was part of an on-going plot to drag us into yet another European conflict. They'll say it was a repeat of what you and Roosevelt tried to do in '40 and '41. They'll say you're deliberately trying to provoke Hitler, that you came back to office intending to do just that, to finally drag us into a showdown with Germany. If you make that speech I won't be able to back you up."

A cold, static-laden silence was the only response.

"Even Roosevelt didn't start to move openly until after the '40 elections, you know," Andrew continued after a moment's pause. "You also know I agreed with him a hundred percent. I could see the threat as far back as the denouncement of Versailles and the move into the Rhineland. I knew then and I know now that the maniac son of a bitch would never stop on his own, and that nothing short of a full scale war with the United States could stop him. We should have been in it back in '41; if it hadn't been for that damned accident he'd have declared war on us after Pearl Harbor — he all but told me that himself. In '41 we'd have won easily. Now, he's ten times more dangerous."

"And yet you don't think he's about to strike us now?"

"No, I don't. He doesn't want a two-front war, and he suspects that Russia would turn on him while he's busy with us. At the same time he knows our two democracies are politically incapable of a pre-emptive attack while his forces are otherwise engaged. He'll finish Russia off, and then turn on us. Furthermore the balance continues to tilt in his direction."

"That analysis doesn't hold water, Andrew. It is obvious that Stalin will simply sit it out if Hitler goes against England and America. Both he and Hitler know perfectly well that once Hitler turns west it will be a very long time before he turns east again. And as for the balance of military power—Andrew, they know about Manhattan."

Harrison ignored this. "Winston, you mustn't go public. This country has just finished one war and still has two hundred thousand troops in China committed to a cause nobody outside of government feels is worth dying over. I'm losing more and more support in Congress every day on that. The last thing the American public wants is another fight, and if they don't see the cause for it just as clear as clear can be, they'll turn you down flat."

"The American people are tougher than you think. They will fight."

Andrew felt the sting of the rebuke and spoke more personally than he otherwise might have. "Winston, your mother is from the American upper crust, and for an Englishman that may give you some special insight into
my
people, but I'm telling you that without a clear enemy we will not fight."

"There is no clearer enemy than Hitler."

"We both know that. The Lord knows we do. But some of the characters up on the Hill will play this for their own political gain and the hell with what's best for this country, to say nothing of what's best for England. They'll wring their hands and talk about the coffins coming home from overseas adventures, and how England dragged us into the first war and almost got us into a two-front war back in '41. If you give them the ammunition, I will lose my majority. Consider what that would mean for England. Wait, Winston, wait for '47. We've got a lot of young fellows, veterans who know what it's all about, running for office. They will recognize the nature of the threat."

"By then, Andrew, all of us on this side will know, in the most intimate way, the nature of the threat."

Harrison winced, but his voice was clear and firm. "Maybe so, Winston, but I can't do my job on a 'maybe.' so I'm asking you not to rock the boat. Get your air force on alert, move up your maneuver schedule if you think you must, but don't make that speech."

There was a long pause. The crackling static rose and fell like waves.

"All right, Andrew, I'll hold back. But one more piece of evidence and—"

"We'll cross that when and if we come to it, Winston," Andrew replied quietly.

"Andrew, we will cross it sooner than you think."

"I think you are right on the facts, but not on the timing. We've got to play a close hand until there's a smoking gun."

"Must we await another Pearl Harbor?"

Andrew slowly turned his chair around to look out at the snow which was now falling thick and heavy. "If need be, yes," he whispered, "though anything on that scale would have to be aimed at you, not us."

"I'm aware of that," the war leader of the English replied. "Though I doubt the Germans shall find us so unprepared as the Japanese found you."

"Not with our example to guide you. Keep your guard up, Winston."

"And you yours, Andrew, and you yours."

Both men were certain they were prepared for whatever might come to pass. Both were in for a surprise.

April 13

Charleston Harbor

"America," Otto Skorzeny said quietly, nodding toward the lights of Charleston on the horizon.

Hans said nothing, spitting over the railing, suppressing yet another urge to vomit.

"We'll be landing soon, Hans."

"For Christ's sake, next time throw me out of a plane without a parachute," Hans moaned. Leaning over the railing, he dry-heaved once more.

Skorzeny struggled not to emulate him. The ocean was still rough, with seas at eight to ten feet, but it was a blessing compared to what they had endured for most of the crossing. Seasickness was the last thing he had ever worried about in his life and, as a paratrooper, the mere thought of it somehow implied a certain weakness. The fact that he had spent a fair part of the crossing either in the head or on his cot had filled him with self-loathing. His men knew better than to dream of saying anything, yet he could sense their amusement, even though half of them had suffered as much as he had. Well, he supposed that once back on dry land he might regain a sense of humor about it himself.

Right now, however . . . struggling with dizziness, he looked over at Hans.

If he would have no mercy with himself, that was reason enough not to spare anyone else. Besides, they had no time to coddle each other. "Remember the briefing, Hans. If anything happens to me, it's your job to take over."

Hans nodded. "Why the concern, Colonel?"

"Remember. We know General Marshall will be at the target along with a number of their top scientists from Los Alamos. Richer has the information as well. Regardless of that, he might get lost coming in. I want Marshall and those people hit. Do you understand me? You are to take care of it personally."

"Sir."

Skorzeny turned as the captain of the freighter approached him. He, along with the rest of the crew, was hand picked from the French Fascist Party, but it still made Skorzeny nervous that the captain knew his identity.

"My crew has been sent belowdecks," the captain reported. "Your pickup boat is coming alongside."

Skorzeny nodded acknowledgment.

"Get the men up, Hans."

Hans started to salute and then let his hand drop. Turning, he slowly weaved his way across the deck, the captain watching him with the mock sympathy that all sailors have for those who have recently sacrificed to the sea gods.

As Hans went below, Skorzeny joined the captain at the railing where he was peering into the fog and spray that hung low over the water.

"Anything on radar?"

"Some traffic, nothing suspicious. The Coast Guard has a cutter chasing down a small boat in distress about ten miles south of here. I think you'll have a clear run in." The captain laughed softly. "It's an open sieve, this country. You could run the
Tirpitz
right into the harbor and open fire before they woke up."

Otto said nothing. Unknown to the captain, the small boat the cutter was looking for was part of the plan. But even so, he'd not relax until they were ashore.

He heard the low muffled rumble of a diesel engine. From out of the wisps of fog and spray a fishing trawler emerged. Their pickup. Skorzeny looked back over his shoulder and saw his men coming up from below decks, each of them taking a deep gasp of fresh air as he finally 
emerged from the dank hold where they had stay throughout the crossing.

Skorzeny studied them for a moment, then turned back to his third in command. "Gear check, Gunther." Punctiliously they went down the list: radios, navigation beacons, signal flares, civilian clothing, personal weapons. ... As they did so, Gunther Rothmann slap the boxes that they had brought up from below.

At last, "Everything secured." Gunther knew that Skorzeny would have been shocked beyond measure to discover that a single item of equipment was missing or out of place; he also knew that unlike many officers Skorzeny would insist on this personal checkoff until the day he died, a day that might come much later, thanks to his careful habits.

As they were going over the equipment, the trawler had sidled up along the freighters leeward side, matching speed as her crew tossed fenders over the railing. With surprising delicacy, considering the chop of the sea and the masses involved, it brushed up against the side of the freighter, rebounded, touched again. The captain gestured for some of the commandos to help him manhandle a rope ladder over the side. Down on the trawler two of the crew grabbed the dangling end as it jerked back and forth.

While he and Hans were going over the list, the men had been busy hooking lines to the boxes. Now they began gingerly lowering them over the side. Skorzeny watched the operation nervously, breathed a sigh of relief as each one thumped the deck below and was hustled off to concealment by the trawler crew. Everything had been packed so that if a box were lost or damaged there was back-up equipment in the other boxes, but he did not want to lose any of that reserve.

When the last of the boxes had been lowered, Skorzeny ordered the group to line up for a final inspection. As they did so he asked, "You have all double-checked yourselves and then checked each other before coining up?"

They nodded in unison.

"All clothing is American? No personal identification on any of you? Not even a photo? You're all clean?"

More nods.

He walked down the line of seven men, looking over each in turn. Even though they were dressed as laborers, it was obvious from their conditioning that they were professionals. That was his one concern: their simple physical perfection would not bear the examination of a knowing eye. Had there been time he would have deconditioned them, forcing them to sit around swilling beer and eating great masses of greasy food while their comrades labored like demons. Perhaps had them constantly arm-wrestle each other, but only with their right arms to make them unbalanced, more like laborers.... A soldier's paradise, and how they would have loathed it. In a rare moment of humor that even overcame his seasickness he grinned at the thought.

Except for their remarkable physical fitness he had no fear for their ability to blend into the local population. Each spoke perfect American, and each had assumed and practiced a false identity for months in preparation for this mission. As for himself and Hans, they would pose as Polish refugees; few Americans could tell the one accent from the other. It was not a perfect solution, but it would serve, or so he hoped.