Final impact

Kolhammer watched them enviously. They were the undisputed kings of the air, at least for the next little while. He doubted the Germans would ever build anything more advanced than the 262s they were desperately throwing into the skies over France, but it was a righteous certainty that old Joe Stalin would have armies of engineers playing catch-up with the West. The intelligence reports he’d read implied that the Commies had done a great job so far.

Before long-range bombers flying out of Tabriz in northern Persia had destroyed it, the Demidenko facility had apparently delivered a huge boost to the USSR’s research base. It was another of the enduring mysteries they faced. What the hell had the Germans been doing there when everyone-even the Russians-knew the Reich was going to turn on them at first opportunity? Kolhammer had lost count of the number of theories he’d heard. He might have been better placed to answer such questions if he’d been able to keep his own covert teams in place in Russia, but he’d ordered Ivanov’s people out eighteen months ago on the direct orders of President Roosevelt.

What a dark fucking day that’d been. The admiral shook his head as he recalled the meeting.

FDR was furious.

The president had dismissed all of his aides from the Oval Office as soon as Kolhammer arrived. It was the first week of the new year, and Washington was very quiet, with snow lying heavy on the lawns of the White House, deadening the sounds of the city. The heavy blanket of white powder was a given at this time of year, but the exact snowfall and temperature weren’t predictable in the way they had been immediately after the Transition. Meteorologists had been left to twiddle their thumbs for at least six months back then, because archival weather data proved to be more accurate than their forecasts.

And then, in December 1942, a typhoon had blown through the New Hebrides during a week that had originally been recorded as having been “sunny and warm.” Global warming had nothing to do with it, but the Transition must have. After that, the archives were of less use than the various weather sensors on the ships of the onetime Multinational Force, and the division of those assets became something of a political cage-wrestling match.

Roosevelt didn’t smile when Kolhammer entered. He didn’t return his salute or bid him to sit down. There was nowhere to sit. The president remained in the chair behind his heavy wooden desk, his legs kept warm by an old three-bar heater pointed through the well in the center.

Kolhammer waited.

Roosevelt said nothing for a long time after the door closed behind his secretary. His lips were pressed so tightly together that all the color was forced from them. Muscles knotted along his jawline, and he repeatedly clenched his fingers with such slow deliberation that Kolhammer wondered if he was in pain.

“You did not tell me, Admiral Kolhammer, that you were running a black operation within the Soviet Union.”

“Ah,” Kolhammer said, understanding at last. “No, I did not, sir.”

“And why not?”

“Because then you would have known.”

If possible, the president looked even angrier. “Is that your idea of a joke, Admiral?”

Kolhammer shook his head. “No, sir. But it has been my experience in dealing with the executive level of government that they prefer to remain ignorant of operational details when such knowledge might prove unworkable.”

“Unworkable, or uncomfortable?”

“Both. Sir.”

President Roosevelt looked no less irate, but at least he didn’t appear to be getting any angrier. He was still clutching at an imaginary stress ball with his left hand. He seemed to notice the unconscious gesture, and deliberately placed both of his palms on the top of his desk, which was clear of any papers.

He sighed.

“Tell me what you were doing in Siberia, Admiral. I can’t imagine you’ll have a good explanation.”

Kolhammer resisted the urge to look around for a chair. It would have been an expression of weakness. He stood foursquare in front of the president and delivered his bad news straight, as he had twice in his own time, in this very room.

“When we discovered that the Dessaix had arrived here, out of sync with the rest of the task force, it became necessary to ascertain whether any other twenty-first assets might have come through in a similar fashion, and fallen into enemy hands. So I authorized a small covert team to enter the Soviet Union and begin searching.”

A noticeable tremor ran through Roosevelt’s upper body.

“You authorized a hostile act, against a friendly power, which could easily have led them into declaring war on us? When we already had our backs to the wall because of your arrival?”

“I did, sir. Although I respectfully submit that you should probably stop thinking of the Soviet Union as a friendly power, and accept that there is a war coming. Sooner, rather than later.”

Roosevelt’s nostrils flared as he sucked in air to control the flash of anger that showed in his eyes.