Dark Earth: From Sea to Shining Sea

From Sea to Shining Sea Part 3

Roger Thompson blinked slightly as he awoke, then settled back in his plush bedchair and let himself awaken for the busy morn ahead. It had been a very smooth ride. Were it not for the large round window next to him that showed a lightening sky and a verdant landscape below, it would be difficult to countenance that he was onboard an airplane, let alone one cruising above the speed of sound at 42,000 feet. Air Force One was both the fastest and most luxurious transport of its kind in the world, modified from the new Boeing 717 and capable of carrying 60 passengers in sumptuous conditions across the Continental United States or the great oceans alike. The very finest in arcane engineering had gone into the design and manufacture of his plane and its three specialised stablemates, two of which now flew behind them in the five strong Presidential air convoy, carrying further staff, communications equipment and the bulk of his ubiquitous Secret Service protection detail, alongside the pair of C-137s that carried the accompanying press corps and a detachment of the US Presidential Guard Regiment. Before, behind and to either side of the group of great four-engine airliners flew their escort, a dozen F-110 Spectre fighters, more for show and spectacle than the actual necessities of defence, given the missiles and rayguns carried by his own aircraft and the layers of protective dweomers woven around them.

If he had felt like it, he could have retired back to his bedroom, which featured a full sized bed in an anti-turbulence cocoon, or through to the Presidential lounge, where he quite enjoyed the automatic sofa, as well as the more practical fittings of the holographic projection table and crystal screen that allowed him to communicate with the White House or any of the other key facilities in the country. Instead, he had stretched back in his study for a brief nap after another late night telemeeting with Indy and the Joint Chiefs back in Washington. What he wouldn’t give for a quiet twenty-four hours without crisis or disaster…

The Congo was going downhill fast, even though the Belgians refused stubbornly to let go and pull out of there, leaving almost 50,000 Belgian troops tied up in the Central African jungle; the British and the French were backing them up as well, which complicated matters. Oh, it was clear why they were doing so. They didn’t want the tide of independence to spill over into their own colonies or into Rhodesia and South Africa. They both had much more capacity to do something about it than Brussels and the Rhodesians had been getting extremely worried over the festering sore to their north. They were wrong though, in Thompson’s view and that of most of his advisors. It gave away a march to the Soviets and threatened to turn Africa Red when it did become free. The massive airbase that had been built up at Stanleyville in the early 50s in the hands of Moscow would be an absolute bodyblow. It was a wonder that the whole situation hadn’t blown up in all their faces yet.

There would be enough time for that after they landed. For now, he was winging his way towards a Seattle dawn and more domestic concerns. Sure, there was his tour of the Century Exposition 21 site, which was gearing up for its grand opening next April, but the largest part of his brief stopover on the way to California and Fleet Week in San Francisco was to go and fly the flag at the Boeing factories. As the largest and most important aerospace company in the United States, they had a heck of a lot of clout, given the range of what they produced – C-135 airlifters and tankers, the CH-47, the B-47, B-52, the XF-111 and now the Minuteman ICBM and the supersonic 2707. They had been stirring up some fuss over the VSTOL issue, the cancellation of the F6B and being knocked out of the big Air Force fighter contracts, so he found himself on his way to fly the flag and show that they were still valued.

An Air Force steward had noted that he had roused from his nap and now approached with a cup of fresh coffee straight from the presidential kitchen.

“Good morning, Mr. President. Would you care for some breakfast, sir?”

“Yes, send in the usual. And tell the Secretary of State to come in and join me if he is awake.”

He walked over to his desk and sat down, glancing through his briefing papers once again, particularly the most recent missive. Japan and China. China and Japan. Foes turned friends and friends turned foes. For all the focus on elsewhere in the world, the Orient still held both a fascination for him and was vitally important for future peace. Relations with the Empire of China had been glacial since the end of the Korean War and the tentacles of the vengeful Mandarinate had extended into every festering sore and emerging trouble-spot in all the corners of the globe. Their recent rocket tests had put a new and disturbing complexion on the strategic picture and all manner of strange reports continued to emanate from behind the Great Wall. Japan had arisen from the ashes of war quite literally, with her economic and industrial recovery being nothing short of miraculous. It had been Korea that kickstarted that explosion, just as it had thrust China onto the world stage once again. With their growth had come the rebirth of the Imperial Japanese Armed Forces and that couldn’t but slightly stick in Thompson’s craw, as it did with so many others of his generation. This latest news would definitely make matters complicated for the new administration.

“Howdy there, Mr. President. Got another one of those?” Jefferson Smith stuck his head around the corner of the presidential suite.

“Jeff! Come on in, have a seat and we’ll see about that cup of joe.” As if on cue, the steward returned with a loaded tray and set it down on the Presidential desk. It held his simple, typical breakfast of biscuits and gravy, grits, sausage, scrambled eggs and ham. He poured out a steaming cup for Smith and then beat a quiet retreat. “Help yourself to some. I thought we’d run through a few of the latest tidbits in from Tokyo ahead of the PATO conference.”

“Sure thing. I thought you might want to chew over that one when I saw it myself a few minutes ago. It is strictly an unofficial, back channel approach at this stage, but if it breaks, then there will be hell to pay.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Thompson furrowed his brow as he sipped from his tumbler of fresh orange juice. “My first instinct is to tell them no way in hell and my second is not to be so polite. The very thought of the Japs with atomic bombs is just unacceptable. As you say, the Anzacs won’t countenance it whatsoever, all of the South East Asian states still have very bad memories of the war and the Koreans and Taiwan would hit the roof. We gave the Chinese an assurance that Korea wouldn’t go nuclear and this would throw that to the dogs. But Tanaka is no fool and knows this. What do you think he’s up to?”

“Shoring himself up internally, I believe, Mr. President. The nationalist elements within his government are very strong, so he had to at least ask. I’d say he is going to follow up with what he is actually after in Vancouver on Thursday. It is probably going to be first line carrier fighters, F-111s - he’s made no secret of his preference for them in the past – and nuclear submarines.”

“That would work. Give cautious approval to the atomic submarine gambit, but act surprised when it comes up and fall over yourself to offer him Phantoms, as well as Eagle missiles. That will tithe them over until their new Zeroes roll out.” Good luck to Jack, playing their games day in and day out.

“Consider it done, sir. When I was over there two months ago, he reacted positively to our proposal for forward deployment of our atomic-armed fighters and the dual-key arrangement, or at least as positively as you can expect for the man who probably invented inscrutability.”

“We can definitely sell that, although the question of nuclear subs will be something for Kennedy to tackle. What about the ship names? Seems like much of the same.” The CIA intelligence brief had included clippings from The Japan Times blaring out the purported names of the three battleships and four aircraft carriers to be laid down over the next year.

“Yes, that would be the main part, as well as sending a message to China and the Soviets that their criticisms of his defence expansion haven’t stung, not least in the way they would have wanted. Only their Communists have made any noises against it and even they are muted. Yamato is a big name for them, not just a mere ship; it is more of their heart and spirit.”

“Damn big things, by the look of the reports.”

“That is what makes them useful. Counterbalances the Chinese and the Soviets. I quite like their lyricism and the lack of naming anything after politicians, even if it was one way of getting the money for the Fifty-Four for Freedom.”

“I was thinking a bit more on the carriers. By my reckoning, they’re re-using the names of three of the five flattops they lost at Midway.”

“As far as most of the world and our friends are concerned, it is just another case of Tiger trying to show his independence from the Americans. It would be like the Germans naming one of their new battlewagons Bismarck – not of great consequence, but it would keep the talking heads occupied for a few days. I want you to try and smooth over the Aussies and New Zealanders on the Jap fleet plans, though. Tokyo’s ships will help cover North East Asia if things boil over in Vietnam or Indonesia and we have to shift our focus there, not to mention that their Kongos counterbalance the new Chinese battlecruisers nicely.”

“Consider it done. The Japanese Foreign Minister will be sounding me out again over their proposal for a full security alliance again. They want a more robust role in the Western Pacific, but their neighbours are a bit less than enthusiastic about an active Japanese military machine reaching out in the region.”

“You always had a gift for understatement, Jeff. If we get involved with them, then it will be on our terms. Japan is both very much like Britain, but also very different.” He paused to chew thoughtfully on a piece of ham. “Both island states, both big industrial players, both big on sea trade. The Brits have an empire and more of a global role, though, making them much more useful to us. Japan was never big enough nor had wide enough reach to be vital to us, but was big enough to be a rival. Anyway, I advised Jack Kennedy to go for it if he thought it warranted, but to keep them close so they can’t cause trouble.”

“They are talking to the British about cooperation more and more over the last few years.”

“Let them. London can’t spare them the same money or forces we can and we’ve got the weapons they want and need. They’re trying to play us, but we’ve got more cards. Mention the oil offer to them and dangle the F-111s in front of them. That should push them over the edge towards us. Now what about China? Are they going to test?”

“It appears that they will. They don’t have anything to lose and, from Peking’s perspective, they have a lot to gain. They see it as forcing us and Moscow to acknowledge them as sitting at the top table, as well as establishing themselves as the power in the Far East. Their point of view has always been very different from ours.”

“CIA thinks that it will be an ICBM, whereas the Brits think it will be a space shot.”

“It could be either, but they are timing it to coincide with Vancouver. My gut is that it is the former and that it is a gesture aimed both outwards at us and inland at Russia. They have been smarting over Red Sinkiang for decades, after all.”

“No chance of them making a move at Tibet?”

“They wouldn’t dare. London has been exceptionally forthright about their determination to meet any incursion there, in Burma or towards Hong Kong with the bomb. Call it their post ’56 bristling phase – they felt that all of that trouble could have been avoided with a stronger stance. Fighting the last war again.”

An Air Force lieutenant appeared at the door and knocked softly. “Excuse me, Mr President, Mr. Secretary. We’re going to be commencing our descent in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, Jeff, I’d best get ready. The world below awaits.”

Give the man a Bentley! A very good guess, related to some of the strange experiments being carried out by Soviet scientists and wizards.

From Sea to Shining Sea Part 4

The landing at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport was characteristically smooth and several minutes after Air Force One had come to a halt, President Roger Thompson emerged into the bright sunshine of the crisp winter morning. He waved to the crowd of reporters, dignitaries and assorted hangers before descending the air stair to meet the reception committee as a band struck up Hail to the Chief. Once he stepped off onto the red carpet at the bottom of the stair, he turned to place his hand on his heart as they played The Star Spangled Banner. There were some traditions that he was definitely not going to surrender.

Security around the runway was extremely tight, with hundreds of policemen, uniformed and black suited Secret Servicemen and Presidential Guards from the advance party of his escort surrounding the immediate area. Several helicopters circled overhead as a pair of Phantoms flew circles high above them, whilst beyond the immediate perimeter on the ground, several USPG Commando armoured cars stood ready and a shimmering blue haze indicated that Secret Service wizards had established their protective screen. His security hadn’t always been so expansive, but ever since that socialist hooligan back in ’59, no chances were being taken.

“Mr. President, welcome to Seattle. Thankfully, the weather has been kind to us.” Mayor Clinton shook President Thompson’s hand vigorously.

“It has indeed. Hopefully it stays this way for the rest of my time here, however unfortunately brief that may be.”

“Seattle has always been strong Thompson country, Mr President, and proud of it.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Mayor. Everything seems extremely well organised today. Please pass along my appreciation to your Chief of Police.”

“Chief Quimby will be extremely gratified by your comments, sir. Now, may I introduce our exposition organizer, Mr. Edward Carlson, and the Archmage of Seattle, Professor Nicodemus Blackthorne.”

“Mr. Carlson, I hear you’ve done a marvel of a job here. I look forward to seeing it for myself. Professor Blackthorne, your reputation precedes you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I do hope you enjoy what we’ve got to show you today.”

“Indubitably. You’ll have to send me through your work on the wizardly war, Professor. Quite a bit went on above my level and it is always interesting to look back.”

“Consider it done, sir. I’ll have one of my apprentices deliver it personally to Washington.”

“Well, you’ll have to have him do it soon; I’ll be moving house in a few weeks, you know.”

A chorus of laughs ensued, quite more than what the mild joke deserved in Thompson’s view, but he had noticed that everyone seemed to find his wit both sparkling and hilarious since he had become President. Thankfully, the gladhanding was relatively short and he was soon ushered into the quiet of his presidential limousine.

Just as his airplane was the pinnacle of protection and luxury in the air, his Cadillac armoured state limousine was unmatched on the ground. More heavily armoured in some areas than a Great War battleship and weighing over five tons, it was fitted with specially enchanted tires, bullet and rocket proof steelglass windows, a unique turbine engine and an array of defensive guns and weaponry that would put some tanks to shame. Within, there was enough communications equipment to run a war, ranging from radiotelephones to a miniature telescreen. It pulled off ponderously in the great motorcade, lead by police cars and flanked by motorcycle outriders and fast armed Corvettes. He had been quite bemused to find out that there were no less than twenty-two vehicles in ‘his’ convoy, including a rather bizarre car with gull-wing doors that his scientific advisor, Dr. Emmett Brown, had insisted upon, vaguely proclaiming that it would ‘come in handy some day.’

Thompson stretched back in his seat and looked across at Atkinson and Burgundy, who were busily sorting through his latest correspondence. The work of the Executive arm of government never really halted and even the short pause for his arrival had been exceptionally busy.

“Have we set up that little talk with the Germans after we finish at Boeing?”

“Yes, sir. Von Hartmann and the Luftwaffe Chief of Staff are both over here for an air conference and we’ve managed to have them just happen to fly up from Omaha to examine some new planes at Renton.”

“Excellent. I hope that can get a bit more unfinished business wrapped up. Anything further from the Middle East?”

“All quiet on that front at the moment, sir; still no movement by King Ra’ad regarding a new government. CIA still thinks that it will be one of the safer options. It is still very unclear what is going to happen in Ethiopia. Our last report said that the loyal Imperial troops had control of part of the capital, but everything is still very garbled.”

“Get onto the British and see what they are getting from their station in Berbera and make sure that the Emperor knows he can count on our assistance if he requires it. We’ve got an airborne battle group standing by in Lebanon that can be down there in five hours.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Things seem to have died down in Arkansas. The State Police have taken over from the locals and”

“Darn right they should have. The Ku Klux Klan thinking it can raise its head again? On my watch? Golly. Tell Director Ness that he can take the gloves off. I’m not going to have a full-blown race riot blow up out of nowhere while I’m still President.”

“Very good, sir. Another telegram from Monty Burns just arrived.”

“What does the old man want this time? The AEC already approved his latest atom plant expansion plans. Not a single brick laid yet and he still keeps expanding it.”

“He expressed an interest in one of the new NASA facilities for Orion.”

“He’ll have to try his luck with Kennedy. I can’t approve anything that big while I’m a caretaker President; it simply wouldn’t do. Write him back and tell him that, but explain that I’ll put in a few good words for him with the new administration. We owe him that much for delivering Indiana as promised.”

The car began to slow and the light on the telephone next to his seat began to pulse with a glowing red light.

“Yes?”

“We’ll be arriving in thirty seconds, Mr. President.”

“Thanks, Davison.”

After they had halted, Thompson was ushered out of the car into the grounds of the fair, which were still under ongoing construction. The monorail was almost complete and the first towers that would support the Skyride from the fabulous Gayway to the exotic International Mall, if the garish signs were anything to go by. The Grand Science Pavilion lay on up ahead along the broad American Way and the official party proceeded towards it, surrounded by a screen of guards. Soaring high above them was the towering 600ft tall Space Needle, a twisted white tower topped with a platform that bore a striking resemblance to a flying saucer; that reminded him of one of his upcoming destinations down in the Nevada desert.

“It’s come together quite well, Mr. Carlson. You think it will all be ready by April?”

“Yes, Mr. President, we’ll get there with bells on. On time and on budget.”

“Impressive. Maybe I should have had you in my Cabinet.” Thompson grinned, enjoying the slight sharpness of the air, even if it did bring back memories of the Ardennes as it always had. Carlson and the others responded with laughter, humouring him.

The Science Pavilion itself was suitably grand, winding its way through several large introductory chambers on the development of science and the wonders of the modern world and rising up through a hidden elevator to the vast Spacearium on the floor above. Here, an array of illusions and holograms played, showing imagery of a rocketship ride up into space to the Moons and beyond to the distant planets.

“We’ve still got to complete the final touches on the outer planets, based on a combination of our best current knowledge and what will play well to a general audience. Some of the images of Saturn aren’t quite coming together satisfactorily yet.” Blackthorne’s explanation was a mixture of the exuberant and apologetic.

“It still looks absolutely bully, Professor. Hopefully we’ll see what it like one day soon enough. You ever been up there?”

“Only to Lunar City, Mr. President, not to Mars. You’ve got me beat there.” he demurred. Thompson had made some mileage out of being the first President to have visited one of Earth’s neighbours, even if it had been as a youth before the war.

The remainder of the exhibition was similarly well-made and detailed, ranging from the large model of the City of Tomorrow to a walk-through exhibit of the Home of the 21st Century. The latter struck Thompson as particularly optimistic; he could believe the automatic meal delivery and huge television screen and thought the robot butler quite straightforward (although surely lacey pinafores would be out of fashion by the year 2000), but the idea of having a computing engine that could fit in a reasonable sized room seemed arrant nonsense.

At last, the tour was done and they were once more away, sweeping through the streets towards Boeing Plant 2.

“That went quite well, don’t you think, Jack?”

“Yes, sir. The architecture was a bit too Googie for my tastes, though. We got some more in from Ethiopia.”

“How is it?”

“The British haven’t heard anything official, but some of their intelligence assets on the ground report extremely heavy fighting through the middle of the capital. They’re sending a Canberra over from Aden as we speak and have been getting in Haile Selassie’s ear as well, offering a Gurkha battalion that they’ve got down in Mombasa. His response has been the same – thanks but no thanks.”

“Alright, he’s trying to sort it out himself. Good move; if he had to rely on foreign troops to retake his throne without trying first, he’d be cutting his own throat. Still wouldn’t hurt to be ready.”

Thompson picked up the telephone next to him. “Get me the Secretary of Defense. Thomas? Get that airborne battalion in the air. Aden. We still have those C-130s in Libya? Send them on down to Khartoum. Good. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked across at Burgundy.

“Get onto Selassie and offer him our planes to bring in loyal troops from Asmara. Emphasise that we will act in a support role only – it is his show.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” He picked up his own telephone and began issuing instructions.

Good. Nothing like a little crisis management in the morning to get the blood flowing.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

The interior of the vast aircraft production plant was truly cavernous, reminding the President of the new underground bunkers being blasted out of the deep roots of mountains for NORAD and SAC that he had been to see this time last year. This space was filled to a far greater degree, packed with heavy machinery along each assembly line, one producing B-52s and one producing B-47s. Whilst the majority of both bombers were built elsewhere in America, the Boeing plant was their birthplace and held a special place for the history of Strategic Air Command. This was the building that had built the first B-17s that had been the backbone of the United States Air Force in the bloody campaign in the skies over Europe. It had produced the first B-29s that had blasted Germany and dealt the mortal blow to Japan, ending the long and terrible war.

He was shown along the B-52 assembly line, seeing dozens of the great Stratofortresses in varying stages of completion, including one that was due to take its first flight the next day. The sorcerous lights on the roof far above glinted off the silvery metal of the bombers’ skin, giving them a unique glint.

“How many have you got under construction in here at the moment, Bill?” Thompson asked the bespectacled, white haired executive who walked alongside him.

“Fifty-four, Mr. President. All of them -H models, the newest and best. We’re going at six a month here and another twelve in Wichita.” replied Boeing President William Allen.

“We’ll need you to keep that up over the next few years. Every one of these planes will be an important arrow in President Kennedy’s quiver as we stand firm against the Soviets.”

“We will do, Mr. President. We won’t let SAC, the Air Force or the country down.”

“I expect no less. How is the B-47 re-engining going along?” If the B-52s were the frontline bomber of the Air Force, the B-47s were its main force – all one thousand eight hundred forty two of them. Refitting them with four afterburning Pratt & Whitney J57s was one of two major ways their service life was going to be extended at least to the end of the decade, ensuring that American bomber strength would not falter or fail just as the Soviets were rising to the challenge. Thompson had expended considerable time and energy on the B-47 and the sleek Stratojet held a fond place in his heart.

“We had some initial hiccoughs, sir, but we’re turning the corner. The new plant in Utah is going great guns.”

“Capital.” The President looked up to see Sam Atkinson wiping his brow several times in a particularly ostentatious manner for midwinter.

Ah, the Germans were ready.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

After the ritual of his speech, lauding the essential and hardworking contributions of Boeing and its workers to the national defence and hailing their products as the pinnacle of American know-how and excellence, Thompson was lead off into a side building, ostensibly for refreshments and a presentation on the XF-111. He sat in the darkened boardroom for a few minutes, watching the introductory film, before being tapped on the shoulder by Atkinson and quietly leaving the room. A short walk through several offices and corridors later, they emerged into a windowless room.

Sitting across the other side of the table were an old man and a young man. The latter was easily six and a half foot tall and his heavily muscled frame seemed ill at ease in his immaculate black suit. His blond hair was clipped short in a severe style and his piercing ice-blue eyes would have unsettled Thompson if they had not belonged to an old friend, whose warm smile was followed by a quick leap to his feat and clicking of his heels. He had known Siegfried von Hartmann for fifteen years and to this day, he counted the paladin as one of the best men he knew; his dealings with the German Defence Minister had always been fair and forthright.

Beside him was a distinguished man of aristocratic bearing who appeared to be in his late sixties. He wore the splendid blue-gray dress uniform of the reborn Luftwaffe with practiced ease, but the considerable rows of medals and insignia across his chest indicated a more lengthy time in service. This impression was definitively reinforced by the blue and gold medal that he wore around his neck. The President had been introduced to him on several previous occasions at military functions on tours of Germany, but had never truly met the man until now. He rose and snapped his heels together smartly, inclining his head in a respectful bow.

“Siegfried! Baron von Richthofen! Please, sit down. We have plenty to discuss.”

From Sea to Shining Sea Part 5

“Herr President, it is very good of you to make time for us today. There are a few matters of a certain delicacy that the Chancellor wanted to gain an American perspective on prior to the commencement of the new administration.”

“You’re most welcome, Siegfried. However, I can’t necessarily provide anything concrete or you given my ‘situation’…”

“As a tame truck, I believe, Herr President.” intoned Von Richthofen.

“A lame duck, actually, but the effect is much the same.”

“Aber naturlich. However, we would still like to potentially explore the viability of a number of areas of mutual interest prior to raising them in the new year, so that we can expedite the most correct resolution.” Von Hartmann had a slight smile on his face as he ran through the formalities of the game. “We can agree with all four of the proposals regarding the Allied force structure and the general parameters for coordination and are even prepared to concede to the position of Marshal Leclerc as commander of forces in Central Europe, provided that German general officers take their rightful places in appropriate deputy positions.”

So far, so good. But you didn’t fly across the Atlantic to tell me that, old friend.

“That is a most welcome development, Siegfried. Now, what does Chancellor von Sternberg think he would need in exchange for these considerable concessions?”

“We will require a broad agreement on military aid, specifically focussed on the problem of air defence, as well the relaxation of certain restrictions still in place after the war.”

“The latter would be a more difficult political question that involves more than just you and us, Siegfried. As for the former, I’m sure that we can deal with them when they are closer.”

“It is comparatively easy, Herr President, to regard such matters as distant from Seattle, or Washington or any of your other cities here in the United States.” Von Richthofen said sternly. “Back in Berlin, I sit down in my office in the Air Ministry every morning one hundred kilometres away from 4000 Russian planes across the Iron Wall in Poland. Their closest airfields are four minutes flight time away. They also have several hundred missiles pointed directly at us, many topped with atomic warheads. This isn’t a question of politics for us, but one of national survival.”

“We do understand your situation, even if it doesn’t seem that way on your side of the pond. You lack strategic depth, are on the front line and are concentrated in such a way that an attack could be truly devastating. We’re all in the same boat now, though. The Reds are able to hit us as well with their intercontinental capacity.”

“It is more than simply the strategic dimension, even though that is the most existential.” Von Hartmann now joined in earnestly. “In every category of conventional weaponry, the Soviets and their puppets have a pronounced advantage in numbers that can strike at our forward units and bases with little to no warning. We cannot rely on reserves or mobilisation assets to the same degree as you or the British.”

“I know. That has been part of the driving forces behind CHECKMATE. Once we reach a full agreement with you and the other European states, there will be more than enough American and allied aircraft to counter the Red Air Force on the very best terms from the first moments of any conflict.”

“A heartening possibility, but the sands of policy and political will shift far faster than weapons development and procurement. We need our own forces present in sufficient numbers as they are what we can ultimately rely upon.”

Thompson nodded. Von Hartmann had him there. The Germans were being asked to make the third major shift in their strategic positioning and force projection in five years and had a right to be wary. It would take time and surety to build up their trust, both of which would have to come from another man; the least he could do was try to repair what he could of his own mistakes.

“Very well. Suffice it to say that we won’t look at the issue of relaxation lightly and will endeavour to assuage your concerns. What is the most vital element you need for your air defences at this point, Siegfried?”

“What we need is sufficient missiles for the Luftverteidigungskraft to field a new, modern successor to the Kammhuber Line as part of an integrated system of Western European air defence, as well as the best anti-missile systems you can supply.”

“You want Plato.” And something that doesn’t break quite like the Kammhuber Line did, he added in his head.

“Exactly, Herr President.”

“That will be contentious, but it may be possible in return for certain other steps, particularly an understanding regarding Silver Arrow.”

“What type of understanding?”

“Confining its use and deployment to a civilian space launcher. Essentially, cancelling Luftwaffe deployment of the rocket, at least for the time being.”

“That would be quite out of the question! Silberner Pfeil is the very centre of our future strategic posture and is the only means we have of striking deep into the USSR. We can never give it up. Never!” Von Richthofen fairly bristled with outrage.

“Calm yourself, my dear Baron. I believe that President Thompson is trying to say too much by saying too little and, after all, we are dealing with hypothetical discussions.”

“You got it, Siegfried. For example, say that, hypothetically, Germany, Austria-Hungary and Switzerland were engaging in some very quiet, very clandestine discussions and cooperation regarding atomic weapons development, then that would be a very, very unwise course of action to take. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” Thompson finished in words of pure ice and stared pointedly at his German guests.

Von Hartmann stared at him for a long while and nodded, whilst the Baron von Richthofen clearly seemed to wish he was elsewhere. The warning had been delivered, just as it had to be.

“Naturally, Herr President. Regarding Silberner Pfeil, how long would ‘the time being’ last for?”

“At least six years.” That would allow for the French to get their moves into play, if all went to plan.

“As the General rightly observes, this would be a particularly disruptive action for German defensive planning. Even with the most welcome guarantees supplied by a grand alliance, we would require some further concrete actions to deal with our security concerns.”

“That would indeed make for some interesting hypothetical discussion, Siegfried. What types of actions would you be thinking of?”

“Removal of restrictions on the size of the Heer and Luftwaffe, an advantageous deal on the Phantoms, sales of strike bombers, removal of the ban on arms exports, provision of dragons and the deployment of American theatre weapons to Germany to counter the Russian rockets in Poland.”

“Some of those may well be possible, within reason, particularly the deployment of our missiles to Europe. However, there would be less need for Germany to carry the entire burden of its defence within an alliance framework, so increasing the size of the active element of the Heer would be difficult.” Additionally, it would violate the backchannel agreement with the Soviets, but that was something he felt better to keep away from Von Hartmann at the moment; his strict code of honour and refusal to lie would make keeping that particular aspect quiet rather difficult.

“What specific proposals do you have regarding the strength of the Luftwaffe, Baron?”

“From our allies, we will need 350 F-110s for the tactical reconnaissance fighter role, enough to outfit the four current Luftwaffendivisions, along with reserves; 350 F-104s, 200 F-105s, up to 150 F-111s or TSR-2s and 100 C-130s. We plan to increase our frontline strength by eight Jagdgeschwader by 1965, in addition to the Jagdbomber 67 contract and the replacement of our older aircraft; these would be equipped with the Henschel attack fighter and the Gruber VSTOL fighter. In all, we would field approximately 3600 combat aircraft.”

“I think that we could get that by the French; they’re the real sticking point. The bombers may well be out of the question, as that gives the British the jitters as well, almost as much as rockets. I know why you want them, but they can fly west just as well as they can fly east, and that raises all manner of issues.”

“Be that as it may, we need to have a way of striking the Soviet tank armies and rocket bases in White Russia and Ukraine.”

“You’ll have them, in the form of us, the British and the French.”

“That makes sense sitting here in Seattle, Herr President, but to Germans in Hamburg, Leipzig, Frankfurt and Dresden, it seems like just another way we aren’t seen as a fully equal state.”

“To be frank, Siegfried, you aren’t fully equal. The war and its aftermath is too fresh in our collective memories. It may not be fair and it may leave a bitter taste in your craw, but that is the way things are. Give it another generation, perhaps, and things might be different.”

“Do you think we have that long as a world?”

Thompson had to pause and choose his words wisely to avoid unintentionally revealing anything about the…other business… “Yes, yes I do. With enough goodwill, cooperation and mutual understanding, we can do anything together.”

“That at least is heartening.”

“Indeed. Please pass onto the Chancellor that I’ve continued to raise the Saar with de Gaulle, but he is proving to be intractable on the issue. He doesn’t have a lot of room to move in the first place, domestically, what with the Socialists being the only ones to favour a deal.”

“I will do that, Herr President. It is a shame that we cannot rise above what divides us, but old enmity dies hard. This new alliance, should it come to pass, will be a first step towards cooperation and, dare I say it, unity. It is perhaps ironic that our two strongest supporters are the United States and Britain.”

“The Brits are friendly, Siegfried, but they aren’t looking for friends; they’re looking out for their interests, first and foremost. But at this time, you’re moving in the same direction.”

“They are quite keen on selling us every bit of equipment they can offer.”

“A fairly transparent industrial strategy; if they can get you using their gear, then there is less chance you’ll develop corresponding weapons systems that will end up competing with their own out in the big, wide world.” With that, Thompson rose up from his seat. This had been a relatively productive meeting, or least as productive as it could be under the circumstances. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must slip on back before watching eyes cotton on to my absence.”

“Of course, Herr President. As always, it has been an honour.” Von Hartmann bowed his head and shook Thompson’s hand firmly.

“Siegfried, I do wish you’d dispense with all this ‘Herr President’ nonsense one of these days.”

“That is one wish I do not think I can grant you.”

“There you go again; it’s a wonder you don’t need a special collar for that stiff neck. Baron von Richthofen, truly a great pleasure to meet you finally. Will you indulge me one query before I go?”

“But of course, Herr President!”

“There are a lot of stories around regarding how you were finally shot down back in September of 1918, before you were captured. Some say it was that Canadian fellow who shot you down, others that it was ground fire from the Aussies and others yet say that it was…”

Richthofen seemed to give a slight sigh. They always asked this.

“Yes. Yes, it was the beagle.”