Axis of Evil

Chapter Forty-Four: Interludes and Examinations

The White House

Washington DC, USA

12^th July 1941

It wasn’t his house yet. In the attendant confusion following the defeat of the coup attempt and making as clean a sweep as possible of the criminal elements in the south that had nearly plunged the United States into a second civil war, Harry S. Truman hadn’t managed to move his possessions into the White House, let alone place his stamp on the building. To almost everyone in America, the White House was still FDR’s home – and everything that had happened in the coup a nightmare.

Truman shook his head. It had taken a great deal of luck – and Bankhead’s decision to make certain that he had records of everyone involved – to be able to make as clean a sweep as they had of those involved. For the moment, political opposition in the south was quiet; ironically, it was the north that was making the most fuss. The war against Germany and Russia was their priority; what did they care about social justice, even punishing those whose only crime was the company they kept?

Truman chuckled bitterly. Several thousand members of the southern governing class had been taken into custody to avoid them being lynched by both whites and blacks. Others – including Hoover and his so-called lover – remained underground, hiding from the revenge of his political enemies and those he had blackmailed. In the two weeks since the coup plot – the Wet Firecracker Rebellion – Hoover had managed to avoid all searches, no matter who was doing the searching.

“Mr President?” Truman looked up as his new aide entered. Captain Bosco, the former Marine, had been offered to him as a bodyguard during the first terrifying week, when the country had teetered on the brink of destruction. “It’s time for the ceremony.”

Truman nodded. The ceremony, the awarding of various medals to those who foiled the coup, would be unusual; for the first time black and white men would stand together as equals. Also – an Englishman would receive the Medal of Honour; the British Prime Minister had flown in for the ceremony.

“We will prevail,” he muttered to himself. Roosevelt – God bless his memory – hadn’t been able to take swift action to end the entire race crisis before it had almost destroyed the nation. Truman, in the middle of a war, knew what needed to be done… and was prepared to do it.

“Yes, Mr President,” Bosco said, passing him his speech. Truman smiled; it would be a while, he was certain, before a political opposition arose again in the south, resistant to change… and by then most of the hard work would have been completed.

“Let’s go hand out the awards,” Truman said. Bosco himself had declined an award, even with Truman had insisted. “We all have to remember our heroes.”

The Americans still think highly of Lee, Hanover thought, from his seat at the front of the room. The British view of those who had fought on the wrong side during their civil wars wasn’t anything like as accepting; with the exception of Monck, most of the senior officers in the Republic and Protectorate had been executed.

The thought made him smile, keeping him amused enough to keep smiling as Jim Oliver accepted his reward. The Bracken Consortium had it made; with the favour of the President, what could it not do? Already, there were new contracts for expanding into the south, developing new industries that would be turned against Russia, and contracts for redeveloping New York.

Bastard, Hanover thought, and altered his strategy slightly. He grinned; this was what chess playing was really like, moving pieces around until they fit the plans of the player. The thought amused him again, keeping him awake as Truman – and the much-reduced Senate – passed a new version of the Civil Rights Act, attempting to end the racial tensions in a stroke. Hanover doubted that it would be anything like as easy as Truman made it sound, but… well, he was allowed to be optimistic.

Tell me, how many masters have you served, Jim Oliver? Hanover wondered, as the other awards were passed out. Idly, he wondered if Ambassador King would be offered the post of Vice-President, but he doubted it; would the post-rebellion United States accept a black Vice-President?

Afterwards, the President and the Prime Minister sat together in Roosevelt’s old study. There would be time for formal war conferences later, for now the two leaders could renew their alliance and take one another’s measure. Hanover smiled; he’d met Truman before, but this was their first private meeting.

“Apart from Hoover himself, I think we made a pretty clean sweep,” Truman said. “It won’t be painless, but in a year the United States will be free of their evil.”

“Perhaps,” Hanover said, who knew that several thousand had applied to go to South Africa. Fortunately, the Smuts Government hadn’t sought the approval of His Majesty’s Government. “I’m glad to know that everything will be fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” Truman said sincerely. “Now… we have a war to wage, against Germany and Russia. The Generals were very impressed with your success in the Middle East.”

Hanover nodded. Nearly four hundred thousand Germans had surrendered; a handful more had tried to fight and died in place. The Turks were now allies of the British – and he was certain they would ask the Americans for an alliance as well – and the Axis position in the Middle East could be unravelled and mopped up in the rest of 1941.

“It had its price,” he said. “We’ve burnt through pretty much the entire war stocks of advanced weapons, from Tomahawks to JDAM bombs.” He smiled; the Turks had complained bitterly about the use of such firepower on Gallipoli. The famous peninsula had been completely renovated. “It’s going to take several months to build up again.”

Truman nodded. “So, no advanced weapons for Scandinavia,” he said. “We’ll have to win that one without the weapons.”

Hanover nodded grimly. Uncle Joe Stalin had finally decided on his response to the American declaration of war – an all-out invasion of Sweden. Between the Red Army in the north and the Wehrmacht in the south, the Swedes had tried to fight, but had been overwhelmed. Hanover cursed; the distraction of the coup and the need for some Americans at home had allowed the allied dictators to get a hold on Sweden, sending thousands of Swedes fleeing into Norway.

“We’ll press the offensive against Zhukov,” Hanover said. “He must be a little strapped for equipment since we nuked his supply lines; he’s not attempted anything clever for two weeks.”

Truman nodded. “So… what do we do? The General are divided; some say that we should concentrate on Germany, some say we should concentrate on Russia. What do your people say?”

Hanover smiled grimly. “Germany remains the dangerous threat,” he said, “even if they do have Hitler leading them. They’re the ones who are most likely to successfully develop atomics of their own, which they might use against you – or even us. They’re also behind in the bioweapon department, although Nazi ingenuity is better than I care for.” He snorted. “Given the logistical problems, Germany remains the easiest target, seeing that we’ll have to march to Moscow.”

“That’s pretty much what Patton said,” Truman said. “He wants a major landing in France in 1942 and a direct march to Moscow, taking Berlin on the way. It’ll be a nightmare.”

“It needs to be done,” Hanover said, refusing to discuss the space program. Perhaps it would provide an easier method of defeating Stalin, perhaps not. “By 1942, we should have enough advanced weapons and soldiers to make victory possible.”

“Let’s hope so,” Truman said. “Now, about the post-war world.”

Hanover smiled as they began haggling. It wouldn’t be hard to give up British interests in Mexico; there were hardly any in any case. If Truman was willing to expand American jurisdiction to the Caribbean, the British had few complaints. Edward might complain, but Hanover found it hard to care.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Truman said finally. Hanover nodded in agreement; he’d gotten what he wanted out of the agreements. “I understand that you wanted to talk to Mr Oliver?”

“Ah, the new recipient of the Medal of Honour,” Hanover said. “I would very much like to meet with him.”

Jim Oliver gave Cora a chaste kiss on the cheek – he’d shocked Washington society by bringing her, even if Ambassador King was being honoured as well – and followed the butler into a single room, guarded by a man he recognised as being Special Forces. Expecting to meet the new President, he was astounded to find himself looking at Prime Minister Hanover, sitting on a chair facing him.

“Good evening, Mr Oliver,” Hanover said calmly. Oliver wasn’t fooled; there was a hint of cold ice under Hanover’s voice. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Finely honed instincts warned of the presence of other men behind him, cold-blooded killers from the SAS or one of the police’s SWAT teams. He took the seat quickly, studying Hanover; the Prime Minister watched him through cold blue eyes. His dark hair was longer than he remembered it; perhaps in all the planning needed for the battles in Turkey he’d forgotten to cut it.

Hanover watched him just long enough to make him very uncomfortable. “During your… imprisonment in Germany, you agreed to serve the Germans,” he stated. Oliver opened his mouth; Hanover spoke over him. “You sent them information on the future that allowed them to purge… rebellious elements from their own ranks, and you sent them information that allowed themselves to leapfrog forward.”

Oliver started to protest. “Once you came here,” Hanover continued, “you continued to work for the Germans, supplying information that helped them on their quest for world domination and supplying them with some of our technology. That technology cost lives, Oliver.”

He doesn’t know about Hoover, Oliver thought desperately. “I was sent here by Mr Bracken…”

“Who doesn’t exist,” Hanover snapped. “It was a good trick, Mr Oliver, but it proved far too thin under the concentrated gaze of MI5. Except… you’ve done something remarkable, Mr Oliver; you’ve made it real.”

Oliver felt, oddly enough, a flicker of hope. If the British had been able to charge him openly, they would have recalled him or asked the FBI to arrest him, or if they hadn’t wanted to risk the explanation, they would have sent someone to shoot him in the night. The mere presence of Hanover – the Prime Minister – indicated that they wanted to deal.

“You are in an interesting position, are you not?” Hanover asked. “You’re a hero to President Truman and Ambassador King. How pleased do you think that they would be to discover your work for the Germans? You probably cost them some of the lives in New York.” Hanover glared at him. “However, you have control over an important aspect of the American industry, something that we cannot allow to become disrupted.”

“Not with the Dupont Group being nationalised for their crimes,” Oliver agreed.

“This isn’t a debate,” Hanover snapped. “I have an offer for you. You will work directly for us. You will feed the Germans snippets of information and bits of technology that we will give you. You will assist us in penetrating the American economy still further.” He looked sharply at him. “This will, of course, depend upon your cooperation, but you would become very rich indeed, most of which will be funnelled into further development.”

Oliver blinked. “Of course,” Hanover said, “this offer does not apply to your allies in Glasgow. Most of them will be rounded up and sentenced to life in prison, or perhaps suicidal duties, under the Defence of the Realm Act. After all, they’re all traitors, like you…”

Oliver looked at him for a long moment. “What guarantee do I have you you’ll keep your word?”

Hanover laughed. “How many masters have you served?” He asked wryly. “Your guarantee is this; if you work for us, you will remain useful. It’s up to you.”

Oliver sighed. “I accept,” he said.

“Splendid,” Hanover said. “A few of my staff will meet you in your offices next week, where you will go through everything that was sent to the Germans with them. Beyond that… just keep expanding your business, I’ll let you know when we need you.”

Ambassador King was the centre of attention, now that President Truman had left for a private talk with the Prime Minister, and was enjoying it. Not all of the attention was friendly, of course, but it was attention.

“Ah… Ambassador,” Senator Griggs said. The Texan was trying hard to avoid calling him ‘Mr.’ “Can it really be proven that the bandits Black Power have ended their campaign?”

King smiled. “Well, there haven’t been any attacks, have there?” He said. “It’s been very peaceful for two weeks, right?” Griggs nodded. “Quite frankly, Senator, they started the campaign because they were being denied the rights of citizenship, but now that there are new laws in place, they’re willing to give them a fair chance.”

“It’s hard to trust them,” Griggs complained. “What with all the raping and looting and pillaging that was going on… the women can’t sleep soundly in their beds these days.”

“As you sow, so shall you reap,” King said, and swept away before Griggs could formulate a reply. He looked around for someone interesting to talk to and spied Colonel Palter, who was trying to escape the attentions of a woman who looked old and tough enough to have fought in the Civil War. “Ah, Scott,” he said. “Sorry to butt in, Madam, but I need the colonel.”

“That’s quite all right, young man,” the woman said, and she left.

“Thanks, sir,” Palter said. Some of the men closest to them were horrified at a white man calling a Negro ‘sir.’ “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” King said. “It’s odd to be able to circulate freely again.”

“Yeah,” Palter said. “Did you know that some jerk in Britain is already producing counterfactual histories of a successful coup?”

King laughed. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “We have to worry about the future first. Tell me, have you been thinking about the war with Russia?”

“Only that we could sail across the Pacific and hit them in the rear,” Palter said. “It’s bloody stupid; the Japanese might engage us or they might not. It would be a lot easier if we were at war with them as well, particularly with the British having crushed their main fleet.”

“I tried to convince the President,” King said. “Bottom line; unless Japan does something suicidal and very stupid, which isn’t impossible with their militarists in control, we remain at peace with them, even as we supply arms to Australia and the rest of the British Empire.”

Palter nodded. “Speaking of which, is that going to stay around?”

“Looks like it,” King said. “The President was going to discuss the matter with the Prime Minister; bottom line there is that the British will recognise our primacy in Latin and South America, with the exception of territory they already control, in exchange for us making a similar agreement for the Far East.” He smiled. “China, of course, is likely to be open season.”

“I heard the Japanese were moving people over in vast numbers,” Palter said. “Can’t the British stop them?”

“Depends if they want to,” King said. He chuckled. “They have to be really worried; on one hand they can invade Japan, but at awesome cost, on the other they could start nuking Japanese cities until they surrender or become exterminated. I’ve seen some of the casualty figures; they’re horrific.”

“Sooner them than us,” Palter said. “Perhaps they’ll just let them starve.”

“True,” King agreed. “Our priority is to expand into the South American states and start building democracy before we end up with the same morass we had the last time around. The British can worry about the Japanese.”

Cora had had one of the most remarkable nights of her life. Not only had she been able to talk to Ambassador King himself, but also some members of the NAACP union and several businessmen, who didn’t look at her colour or her breasts. Making a handful of minor business deals, including an improved Internet system for the black union, had kept her busy, while she waited for her lover.

“Guess who’s back?” Oliver said. She glanced up; Oliver looked tired, but happy. “How are you?”

“Just been making some deals for you,” Cora said. “They don’t mind about the colour of my skin.”

“They care more about the colour of your money,” Oliver said dryly. “As the new Assistant Director of the company, your money and goodwill is worth more to them than your skin.”

Cora smiled. “So, what’s new?”

Oliver grinned. It was a strange expression, like a man who had been freed from a dreadful fate. “We have contracts to start mass-producing heavy bombers and fighters,” he said. “The USAAF wants jet fighters, but we can produce propeller fighters quickly enough to match the hordes of Russian aircraft, particularly if the Russians get some German aircraft designs.”

He considered for a long moment. “The Navy, not wanting to be left out, is going to be placing orders for carriers and more surface ships, and we’ll get some contracts to equip them. We may not build carriers, but we’ll build radios and radars and enough technology to give the USN a significant fighting force, even against a modern fleet.” He chuckled. “They’ll want missiles as well, of course, and seeing we’re building some of the rockets for the space program, building rockets for them as well should be easy.”

He gave Cora a hug and led her from the building. Above their heads, the stars glittered in the darkness. “I foresee an endless future ahead of us,” Oliver said, and kissed her gently as the night passed away. “All that matters now is the long hard road to winning the war.”