The Hindsight commanders had quickly selected a large, round table of their own in one dark corner of the mess that evening that was surrounded by armchairs and free-standing ashtrays. The ‘cul-de-sac’ had quickly become their own little retreat in the days following the destruction of Hindsight, and the regular officers at the base were happy to allow them the privacy of their own little clique: many had seen or heard about the strange contraptions these newcomers flew and operated, and many officers regarded them with more than a little suspicion and apprehension.
There was also the issue of the people themselves. Prejudice being what it was, compounded by a healthy does of ‘British Officer’ snobbery, few of the established mess-goers were pleased with Americans, Jews or women being allowed into their world of private relaxation, and many also considered the fact that the commander of the strange unit was a colonial as damning enough in itself. Possibly because of those mentioned facts, the Hindsight group tended to drink a little more than might’ve seemed appropriate, and were also often a little too loud, although no one else would ever have been uncouth enough to mention it to them — a situation the team played on with pleasure.
The recent inclusion of the German was almost the last straw, and regardless of constant reassurances from the base commander and placatory remarks to the mess duty officer from the Australian air vice marshal in charge, it was nevertheless a lot to bear. The man dressed in nondescript khakis, and wore the British rank insignia of a lieutenant-colonel, but his accented English and the tendency of he and the Australian to occasionally lapse into German for minutes on end while in conversation was considered quite offensive by many present.
That Friday night was a more subdued affair however for the Hindsight officers, although most still drank heartily and argued as much as ever. Major Michael Kowalski had arrived back on base that day, with the rest of his marines expected back within the next forty-eight hours, and all were happy to welcome his return with a few drinks. All the officers had gathered there — including Ritter — although the mood wasn’t as high as it might’ve been: there were serious matters weighing on all their minds… issues that weren’t easily overcome.
“I still don’t see why it has to be you flying the damned mission!” Davies growled over his whiskey, as much out of professional pride as concern for his friend. He felt personally slighted that it wasn’t his task to take on such an important ground attack flight, and also honestly believed his experience in the aircraft to be greater. Thorne, who’d been coaxed along despite a great deal of protest, and forced to take a drink despite even greater protest, allowed a long pause before replying to that statement.
“I know all that shit about ‘we can’t afford to lose you’… and ‘you’re too valuable’… and all that!” He began with an irritable dismissal, ignoring the fact those arguments were exactly the same ones he’d used to prevent Eileen from travelling south with Markowicz to tour British armaments factories. “I also know that I don’t intend to force anyone else to take responsibility for what we’re about to do! I’m not happy about carrying out an attack that’s potentially going to kill several hundred thousand people… maybe as many as a million… but I’m sure as hell not going to expect someone else to shoulder that burden either.” He took a short drag at his glass of rum, eyes alight. “Maybe I should be asking someone else to do it… but I’m not going to, and that is ‘end of story’.”
“On that subject,” Kowalski ventured uneasily, newly-arrived and only recently briefed on what they were planning. “Is it completely necessary to set such a high yield? We’re looking at wiping out a significant segment of the French countryside, and the population along with it.” Kowalski was as surprised as any of them by the idea that he’d somehow become the ‘pacifist’ of the group, but it’d certainly turned out to be the case. “Have we looked for other alternatives to a nuke?” He turned to Davies. “Jack, of all people, you know how effective conventional strikes were in Desert Storm and other conflicts…”
“Sure they were,” Davies shrugged, showing less unease than he really felt regarding the ramifications of what they were about to do, “and if you know where we can get hold of some Aardvarks with Pave Tack and bunker busters, do fill us in. You know knocking out their command staff is only half the issue — it’s equally important to let Adolf know what we can do if the asshole presses on with an invasion.”
“It doesn’t worry anyone that we’re thinking of deterring attack from a regime that killed six million Jews by killing a million Frenchmen ourselves…?”
“Of course it worries everyone!” Eileen snapped back, a little more harshly than she really intended. “I don’t want Max risking himself on this mission any more than you do… probably more so… we’ve know each other for ten bloody years, and I don’t want to lose him at all… but if you can think of some other way to stop a nutter like Hitler without a display of unadulterated, brute force, then we’re open to the suggestion.” She spoke quite animatedly, her hands moving in orchestration and almost splashing about the scotch in her own glass.
“Normally, I would agree with you, major,” Hal Markowicz entered into the discussion over his small glass of red wine, having listened to the proceedings with much interest. “However, we’re not talking about a rational enemy.” As he spoke, he scratched unconsciously at the sleeve of his left forearm, beneath which lay a faded set of digits tattooed directly into his skin. “I know first hand how little sympathy or consideration the Nazis have for anything or anyone other than themselves and their beloved Führer. As the war came to a close, this madman wasn’t turned from his ‘vision’ by either the might of the United States or the unstoppable Soviets… even as the world collapsed around him. Nothing short of the threat of total destruction will suffice to give us even a chance of preventing this invasion.
“The death of millions is never something to take lightly,” he conceded with a thin smile. “Of all people, a Jew perhaps understands this best… but if this is the first step in preventing the deaths of ten times that many? Well… sometimes people in positions of power have to make unpleasant decisions… painful decisions. The men who ordered the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki accepted that responsibility, and we must do the same now. If successful, this attack will decapitate the Wehrmacht and New Eagles, and that alone will mean any invasion must almost certainly be at least postponed. There’s only perhaps a month left at the most before worsening weather will make an assault across The Channel very difficult to execute and maintain, and if they postpone now, we may get another six or eight months to prepare.. In that time we can do enough to perhaps halt an invasion altogether, and if that isn’t worth a sacrifice of this nature, then I don’t know what is.”