Weapons of choice

She paused briefly to glance up at her audience. Most of the faces were neutral; some, such as her own captain's, were even encouraging. For the first time, however, she noticed that two men were openly scowling at her; contemporary Royal Navy types, to judge by their uniforms. They sat next to Captain Halabi from HMS Trident, who was acting on Kolhammer's behalf while he was away in Los Angeles and Commander Judge was briefing MacArthur. Their body language betrayed the insurmountable gulf that she would be asked to somehow cross. Unfortunately, her presentation wasn't likely to cheer up the Brits.

"A massive series of battles around Kharkov and Sevastopol, under way at the present time, will eventually see nearly one million Soviet troops killed or taken prisoner. Sevastopol will fall to the Germans on the first of July, two days into the German summer offensive, Operation Blue."

As she spoke, a PowerPoint show filled the giant wallscreens. Two-meter windows displaying archival footage of combat on the Eastern Front played in one corner, directly over a panel listing the various German and Soviet formations that would be involved and their losses over the period of the campaign. Rachel snuck a quick peek at the two sour-faced Royal Navy men. No, they weren't looking any happier.

Oh well, she thought, here goes…

"British attempts to support the Soviet war effort through shipment of materiel via convoy will be severely hampered by the poor judgment of the first sea lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, who is suffering from a brain tumor that will kill him within a few years-"

She got no farther, flinching in surprise as somebody smashed an open hand down on the table.

"How dare you! I've had just about enough of this!" barked the Englishman seated next to Captain Halabi. "We've sat here all night listening to a bunch of darkies and shrews tell us what we've been doing wrong and now this… this… bloody coolie child has the nerve to come in here and insult Sir Dudley, a man who-"

"Admiral Murray," Halabi said through gritted teeth, "I would appreciate it if you would shut the fuck up and listen to the lieutenant, who, I can assure you, is infinitely better informed about these matters than you are."

Ah, that'd be Rear Admiral Sir Leslie Murray, CBE, thought Nguyen.

"I don't have to listen to this!" Murray declared.

"No, you don't," agreed Halabi. "You can leave anytime you want."

Rachel could see that Halabi was only just containing her desire to strangle the man. She won the battle of wills, however, and Murray returned to his silent glaring.

The acting commander of the Multinational Force spoke to Nguyen in a much calmer tone. "Please go on, Lieutenant. I believe you were about to discuss the destruction of Naval Convoy PQ Seventeen."

"I was, ma'am, thank you."

She composed herself, and returned to her notes, determined not to lift her head again until she was finished. "PQ Seventeen is scheduled to depart Iceland for Archangel on June twenty-seventh. It would consist of fifty-six freighters, an oiler, six destroyers, and thirteen other vessels. Admiral Pound, wrongly assuming the German battleship Tirpitz was loose, ordered the convoy to scatter and the escorts to withdraw. Aircraft and submarine attacks then sank twenty-four unprotected ships, carrying nearly three and a half thousand motor vehicles, four hundred and thirty tanks, more than two hundred aircraft, and nearly one hundred thousand tonnes of supplies. The losses, coming at the most critical juncture just before the summer blitzkrieg, and the subsequent refusal of the Western Allies to force the convoy route again for many months, lead to a severe strain on the relationship between the Allies and the Soviet government."

Rachel drew a breath and peeked up. Commander Murray still looked furious, but kept his own counsel for the moment. About two dozen strong, her audience was a study in parallel but contrary natures. Nobody looked comfortable or remotely assured. She'd nearly majored in psych before switching to postgrad history, and would have loved to watch a video of the whole meeting, to tease out the personal clashes, to watch alliances take shape as the various interests maneuvered for dominance.

What a pity the outcome was so far from academic with thousands-if not millions-of lives dependent on the decisions that would be made in this room. She was glad the burden of choice did not fall on her.

"In North Africa," she continued, "the Afrika Korps under Rommel are due to press an offensive to El Alamein…"