The Long Hard Road

Chapter Eleven: The London Conference

Heathrow Airport

London, United Kingdom

10^th April 1942

In the future, the American president – the most powerful man in the world – would travel around in a massive airliner, escorted by an entire flight of stealth warplanes and even a number of warships. For the moment, President Truman and his entire entourage travelled in a British 747 airliner, escorted by a set of the new experimental jet fighters from America until it passed beyond their range, and met by a flight of Eurofighters as they neared Britain.

Truman watched with awe as the aircraft passed over London. In many ways, it brought the fact of the Transition home to him in ways that meeting people from the future hadn’t; London was far larger and wealthier than he remembered it from his past visit.

“Please fasten your seatbelts,” an attractive Indian woman said. There were too few planes for the President to have been given one of his own; they were needed for the trans-Atlantic run. The crew had been nervous about the guns his bodyguards carried, even though they had been granted permission by the British Government.

Truman stared as the ground came closer and closer, the field near the airport giving way to a lighted runway. The plane touched the ground, bounced once, and ran along the runway, slowing down to a stop.

“We’ve cleared the airport for you,” the stewardess said. Her badge read SUMRITA. “There’s going to be quite a press experience, though.”

“Thank you, Miss Sumrita,” Truman said. He smiled as she left him and the plane came to a halt. His bodyguards, already nervous in the futuristic surroundings, headed for the egress. He allowed himself one moment of relaxation, and then pulled himself to his feet.

“Once more into the breach,” he said, and walked slowly to the end of the plane. The hatch was opened and mated with a corridor; Sumrita was waiting for him beside the hatch.

“I’m to escort you into the arrival room,” she said. “I believe that someone is waiting for you there.”

Truman blinked at the informality, but allowed her to lead him along the corridor, his bodyguards taking up positions as he walked. He smiled to himself; more of them were watching the exotic girl than their surroundings. She was pretty, in a slight kind of way, but he had other concerns at the moment.

“Ah, Mr President,” a voice said, as they reached the end of the corridor. He gazed around a room of stunning luxury, and finally looked at McLachlan, who was standing up to greet him.

“John,” he said, shaking hands. “I was wondering if I had been forgotten about.”

McLachlan laughed and dismissed Sumrita with a toss of his head. “No, we just wanted to allow you time to settle in,” he said. “It’s been… pretty bad for the Contemporaries and the others who have come here.”

“Thanks, I think,” Truman said. He stared around the room; every surface spoke of astonishing wealth. “Is this where your King leaves your country?”

McLachlan shook his head. “No, this is the luxury suite for people with more money than sense,” he said. “A lot of the businesses here have either been pressed into service for the war effort or placed in long-term lockdown. It’s hoped that once we get enough of your planes, some of them can reopen business.”

“You don’t use trains for travelling around, these days?” Truman asked. “What about cars?”

“Trains have been in a bit of trouble over the past few years,” McLachlan said. “As for cars, we were in the process of switching over to hydrogen when we… came here. Everything was rationed for the first few months, then we started to move again.” He coughed. “Anyway, we can discuss that later. Tell me, are you feeling fine?”

Truman nodded. “Why?” He asked. “Does jet travel cause problems?”

“Only airsickness and jet lag,” McLachlan said wryly. “We do have a program for you; a meeting with the Prime Minister today and an interview with a lucky reporter, but those can be postponed if you need a rest.”

“I see,” Truman said. “Which one first?”

McLachlan led the way to a large black car. Truman looked rather dazed as he looked around, there were countless items that he couldn’t understand as they passed through the airport. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness and nearly fainted.

“Culture shock,” McLachlan said sympathetically. “Are you sure you don’t want a rest?”

Truman shook his head. “Do I get to choose which one first?” He asked. McLachlan nodded. “I choose the interview,” he said.

McLachlan grinned. “On your own head be it,” he said. He opened the door of the car and waved Truman in. His bodyguards got different cars. “We’ll go see the reporter first.”

Charlene Molesworth had never met an American President before. She’d heard of them, of course; she’d marched against some of their policies, but she’d never met one, even in her career as a reporter. Until recently, she hadn’t been allowed to do much interviewing, and she found the constant prompting from her supervisor annoying. What was wrong with her hard-hitting questions, as opposed to the ones he wanted to ask?

She allowed herself a full smile, nearly hugging herself with glee. The Government had decreed, much to the annoyance of almost the entire reporting population, that there would be no major press conference, but one reporter would be allowed an interview on the condition that the interview was shared. She might not get an exclusive – not like her interview with Travis Mortimer – but it would be hers. She giggled once, checking her appearance in the mirror.

“You may follow me,” the Asian girl who was her escort said. Charlene giggled and followed her; all Asian girls were ridiculously formal to her, even the ones who worked for the mandarins of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. She didn’t even have make-up on; her only ornament was a badge celebrating the foundation of the Republic of Arabia.

Charlene sneered inside. A couple of female reporters had been beheaded in Iran and she didn’t see the Republic of Arabia as being any different, just another place for women to be oppressed. Why wasn’t the world safe for reporters?

She put her widest smile on her face as she stepped into the room, seeing President Truman sitting on a sofa, facing another sofa. He stood up and bowed to her, gently kissing her hand as she extended it. Charmed, Charlene turned up the wattage of her smile a bit more and took her seat, regretting her long skirt. From where he was sitting, he could have seen right up her favourite skirt… and that loosened a man’s tongue like nothing else.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, checking her camera. She’d planned to catch Truman’s first reaction, but Bruin – who’d also made her swot up on Truman’s career – had forbidden it. “May I turn on my camera?”

She hoped that Truman wouldn’t come up with another quote for her to puzzle over. She’d nearly looked an idiot before. “You may,” he said, nearly making her panic.

“Thank you,” she said, tapping the camera. Truman examined it with interest; it didn’t look like any camera he’d ever seen. Charlene smiled to herself; the ball studded with sensors had to look futuristic to him, and daunting. “Recording; this is an interview with President Truman of the United States, conducted by Charlene Molesworth.”

She smiled at him. “Mr President, might I ask what your plans are for the future?”

Truman lifted an eyebrow. “To defeat the Axis powers,” he said. “Past that, to build a better world.”

“Ah,” Charlene said. It had been impossible for anyone, even Bruin, to predict possible answers, but they’d worked out as many as they could. “Do you then support the creation of a United Nations organisation?”

Truman considered for a long moment. “It seems fairly evident that the United Nations failed in the original history,” he said. “While a form of… world discussion centre is perhaps a good idea, I see no reason to repeat the mistakes of the future past.”

Charlene blinked. That was blasphemy, as far as she was concerned. “The United Nations did a lot of good,” she said. “It was only when it was ignored…”

“Which was all the time, according to the histories,” Truman said. “I see no reason to repeat the same mistake, even through… my past self was apparently keen on the idea.” He frowned. “I would like to meet him.”

“Some people have been doing that here,” Charlene said. “What future do you see for black people in America?”

“I have been following policies designed to bring them fully into the mainstream of society,” Truman said. “I will allow them neither to become second-class citizens again, or to be forced into dependency. Of the new divisions we are raising now, most of them will be mixed-race, while the Government will not do business with companies that do not have an equal opportunities policy.”

“An interesting concept,” Charlene said. “Now… the Ministry of Space has basically declared a policy of claiming any object in space, once it gets there and sets up a station. Do you approve of this?”

“Personally, yes,” Truman said. “However, control of a rocky airless world would hardly help them.”

“Space travel is a waste of resources,” Charlene agreed. “However, does it not belong to the world?”

“With an attitude like that, America would never have been settled,” Truman pointed out. “The Military Space Agency supports the British view, however, and they’re the experts.”

Charlene made a face. This wasn’t going well. “And do you intend to defeat Stalin as well?”

“Yes,” Truman said flatly. “Perhaps the United Nations can work without Stalin, but we’ll see.”

“Let’s hope so,” Charlene agreed. “In the future, America will make many mistakes. Will you be attempting to correct them?”

“Of course,” Truman said. “We won’t get involved in Vietnam, for one thing. While we do hope to develop ties with Iran, once it’s liberated, we won’t become involved in the Middle East and – hopefully – less dependent upon oil.”

“Your oil companies must love that,” Charlene said. “Serve them right.”

Truman looked faintly puzzled. “Perhaps,” he said. “Any more questions?”

Charlene thought bitterly for a long moment. Many questions had just… vanished against Truman’s personality. “What do you want from this conference?”

“I want an agreement on how to end this war in the shortest possible time,” Truman said. “I want a joint plan to end the war before we run out of time.”

“And the Germans develop something really unpleasant,” Charlene agreed. She decided that the interview was over. “Thank you for your time.”

She caught Truman kissing her hand on camera this time. “Thank you for an interesting experience,” Truman said. The hell of it, Charlene realised, was that he meant it.

“You handled that pretty well,” Hanover said, as the two leaders sat down over drinks. Truman had been curious about future coffee, but it seemed to be weaker than he liked, while Hanover drank tea.

“I tried,” he said wryly. “This coffee is odd.”

“There was a fad, back in 2005 or thereabouts, for coffee shops to sell nice-tasting coffee,” Hanover commented. “Of course, that misses the point, and there was a big to-do in the papers about coffee debts. They felt that students were spending too much money on designer coffees and that coffee shops should be shut down on general principles.”

Truman took another sip. It was as bad as the first one. “So, what happened?”

“Nothing much,” Hanover said. “The fuss died away, it normally does. The key to governing in a media environment is to remain calm and keep thinking five steps ahead of the mob.”

“I’m glad that America isn’t like that,” Truman said sincerely. “That… child reporter was very imprudent.”

Hanover shrugged. “There’ll be a bigger media conference when you leave,” he said. He made it sound like a threat. “They’ll be all over you. It won’t be long until some bugger decides to set up CNN a few decades too early.”

Truman put down his coffee and took a cup of tea instead. That tasted more like he was used to. “Now, seeing we’re alone together, and we’re talking…”

“Having been carefully briefed by the staff we’re meant to be in charge of,” Hanover said wryly.

They shared a grin. “We should discuss the future,” Truman said. “It is a policy of the American Government” – by which he meant Congress – “to bring the war to a victorious end as soon as possible. I assume that you have a similar objective?”

Hanover nodded. “But what do you mean by a victorious end?” He asked. “We’ve seen enough half-assed American attempts at war.”

Truman, who’d read some of the histories, shuddered at how… weak some of the future Presidents had been. Hoover had even assassinated Bill Clinton’s parents during the Wet Firecracker Rebellion; the man had been disgustingly liberal for his tastes.

“We want democratic governments imposed in Germany and the rest of Europe, including Russia,” Truman said. “We want to make certain that nothing like New York happens again, and we want to ensure that nuclear weapons stay in only our hands.”

“We can be trusted with them,” Hanover said, without irony. Truman nodded. “Between you and me, some of our operations have been aimed at taking down Comrade Stalin’s government from the inside, as it were.”

Truman nodded. The OSS had similar plans; they were just hampered by a lack of agents already in place. “As long as they become democratic, I don’t mind,” he said. “We would, of course, want everyone involved in war crimes hung.”

“No arguments there,” Hanover said. He grinned wryly at him. “Isn’t it wonderful when allies are in agreement?”

“Yes,” Truman said. “As you are no doubt aware, we are currently preparing fifty infantry divisions, fifty armoured divisions and fifty other types of division,” he said. He smiled. “The War Department likes big numbers. We’re also working on our logistical framework, using the knowledge of the future to aid us, and we hope to correct some of the mistakes before they were ever made.”

He opened his briefcase and pulled out a map. “This is a military secret, by the way,” he said. “With the massive build-up in Norway, we plan to launch an invasion of Sweden to evict the Nazis, before turning to face the Soviets. From Sweden, our bombers can pound Germany, as well as Leningrad, bringing the cost of the war home to the bastards in a big way.”

He scowled. “Ideally, we would like to launch an all-out invasion of Europe itself in June,” he said. “We’re working on surge-deploying the army to Britain – if you’ll have us – for May, and then landing in June. What we don’t know – or perhaps they haven’t told me – is where we will land. Did your people have any suggestions?”

“They were very keen on staging a raid on the Netherlands, capturing the ports, and using them to bring in the army,” Hanover said. He picked up his PDA and accessed a file. “It would be tricky, they said, but it might just be possible. Once we broke out, we could go for Berlin and then head onwards into Russia, unless the plan succeeds.”

“Perhaps the pressure of an invasion would convince your allies to move,” Truman said. Hanover nodded. “Or… can your people take the ports?”

“The SAS commander was very confident that his people and the SBS could do it,” Hanover said. “They’re the people who paved the way for Gallipoli and you know how well that worked out.”

“The War Department was astonished,” Truman said. He smiled; Admiral King had been pressing for the Americans to develop their own special forces for that sort of task. Thinking of Admiral King reminded him of King’s suggestion. “They were rather envious.”

“Norway was pretty impressive as well,” Hanover said. “Now, I assume that you’ll want precision support?” Truman nodded. “We have plans as well.”

“I expected that,” Truman said. He knew that Hanover wouldn’t like some of his plans. “Iran?”

Hanover nodded. “We were planning to kick off Operation Sunrise next week, depending on supplies getting there in time,” he said. “Basically, it’s a combined assault to defeat the Soviet field forces in the field and seal off the cities. The Soviets make lacklustre field soldiers, but they’re very tough in cities, so we won’t fight them there if it can be avoided.”

He scowled. “You’ve seen the pictures of what happened to the citizens?”

Truman nodded. The horrifying images of civilians fleeing the Soviet forces, or being gunned down from the air, had horrified the public on both sides of the Atlantic. Eleanor Roosevelt, the widow of Franklin Roosevelt, had organised charity efforts for the refuges. It made something called the ‘Palestinian Problem’ seem minor by comparison, more like the images of Africa from the future.

“The only benefit from that will be if we have to go into the cities, there won’t be many civilians in the way,” Hanover said grimly. “I’d prefer to stave them out and concentrate on forcing them all out of Iran in a massive lightning campaign. If everything goes to plan, we’ll have completed the main part of the operation by June.”

“You do move fast,” Truman said, not sure if he should be awed or terrified. “And the future?”

“It took an American force thirty days to take Baghdad in 2003,” Hanover said. “We’ve only gotten quicker in the future. That’s how future wars are won.”

Truman nodded. “The State Department was very keen on American forces taking part in the campaign and on an independent Iran afterwards,” he said.

“They want some oil rights?” Hanover said. He smiled. “We’re not engaging in a land grab here, you know.”

“I know that,” Truman said, even though he didn’t know if he did. “What are your plans?”

“It would depend on the final outcome,” Hanover said seriously. “Iran would either become an independent democratic state, or part of the Republic of Arabia. Either way, we want a democracy there.”

“So do we,” Truman said. “We won’t let the Shah ruin it.”

“Again,” Hanover said. “Now our staffers can work on their plans.”

Truman smiled. “There’s one final point,” he said. “Admiral King had an idea to hit the Soviets in a month or so, at Vladivostok.”

Hanover blinked at him. “Have you seen a map?” He asked. He sounded astonished. “Japan’s in the way.”

“Admiral King assures me that the fleet can get past any Japanese attack,” Truman said. “The point is; once we get Vladivostok, we can start arming their Zeks from the gulags nearby.” He smiled. “It might bring us into conflict with Japan, but without a navy, how much threat can they be?”