“Then we can proceed with the vote,” Madam Speaker said. “Cast your votes ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ for rejecting the German peace terms.”
Hanover voted, and then watched as the numbers stacked up. The ‘ayes’ outnumbered the ‘nays’ by better than four to one.
“The German offer of a ceasefire will be rejected,” Madam Speaker said. “The war will go on.”
How melodramatic, Hanover thought disdainfully, as the session ended.
Hanover read the note one final time and smiled to himself. It would be transmitted to Portugal and then onwards to Germany, but it would also be broadcast over Germany. If they were lucky, Stalin and Himmler would have a major falling out over it; perhaps they would even end up shooting at each other.
Fuhrer Himmler; we categorically reject your offer of a truce and peace talks on your terms, which would have left you with control over Europe. Your government is vile; your methods of controlling the restless enslaved natives barbaric beyond belief. Your attempt at betraying your comrade – Comrade Josef Stalin – is pathetic; do you really believe that any civilised nation would abandon an entire continent to whichever of you wins your inevitable confrontation? Your choice is simple; you may offer your surrender, or you can fight to the last.
To the people of Germany – it is not too late. If you want to avoid the savage roar of war being fought on your soil, overthrow the Nazis and sue for peace. You will have to give up the lands you seized, but we will give you in return a just peace. The choice is yours… but time is running out.
Hanover smiled to himself. He would have found such a message infuriating; he was certain that Himmler would have found it maddening. Perhaps he would order an airborne invasion of Britain, one that would be shot to pieces without ever getting close to land. Perhaps he would purge the most imaginative German officers from their positions of power, ending their threat forever. Perhaps…
Hanover shrugged and picked up the phone, tapping the command that would connect him instantly to the American President. Truman picked up on the second ring; the phone line was directly to Washington, relayed through three satellites.
“This is Hanover,” Hanover said. “The peace was rejected, three to one.”
“Good,” Truman said. “Can the 5th Air Force go into action?”
Hanover smiled. Even losing Bomber Harris hadn’t deterred people from believing that strategic bombing was a serious threat. Still, if the USAAF hammered German positions in France – giving the French a taste of war – they would be unable to react fast to the landing… when that began.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll inform the RAF and the other UKADR stations. Harry, give them hell.”
“That’s one order we will be delighted to follow,” Truman said wryly. He sounded relieved. “Perhaps it was a bad idea fighting you.”
Hanover snickered. “Silence colonial,” he said. “Now get back to being taxed without representation.”
Truman chuckled. “Up yours,” he said. Hanover laughed. “A good bombing raid should convince the Germans that their peace has been rejected.”
Chapter Nineteen: Ghosts from the Future of the Past
Forward Base
Tikrit, Iraq
25th April 1942
General Robert Flynn examined the map with some degree of satisfaction. To an amateur, it would have looked bad; red icons were dotted around the cities of Iraq and Iran. He smiled; it wasn’t anything like as bad as it looked. Admittedly, the borders between Iran and India were nowhere near as secure as they would have become in the future, but with some of the newly-equipped units of the Indian Army poking their way into Iran, he was confident that the Indian renegade could be caught soon.
He checked the locations of his tank columns. The Russians were retreating, heading north to Tabriz, where he expected that Zhukov would make his stand. In the week since the campaign had begun, his forces had made powerful advances through uninhabited territory, seeking out and destroying enemy forces outside the cities. With the Russian forces trapped in the cities, they could press the offensive as fast as they could, hammering and harrying the Russians as they fled.
“I think this must be the first time we came here as liberators and were welcomed for it,” he said, smiling wryly. The Russians had levelled Tikrit, taking extreme care to slaughter all of the young male children, trying to kill their later… semi-ally. The boy who would become Saddam Hussian had vanished in the bloodshed, along with thousands of others. By the time the 1st Forward Recon had slashed the Russians out of the town, they’d almost depopulated it. The handful of remaining citizens, mainly young women, had been saved.
Flynn sighed. The British Army was far too professional to take advantage of them, even though they had offered – it had been all they’d known since the Russians had overrun the town and slaughtered the defenders. They’d been sent back to Arabia; perhaps Shahan McLachlan could find help for them.
“Yes, sir,” Colonel Toby said. The display flickered as the 2nd Armoured Division overran a Russian convoy and destroyed their vehicles. “We just took three thousand more prisoners.”
Flynn nodded. “Anyone interesting?” He asked. One body, apparently carefully prepared for Stalin’s contemplation, had been identified as Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, who would later have threatened the world with the Cuban Missile Crisis. He shuddered. What sort of mind would have gloried in making an old man fight in the hellhole of 1st Basra?
“Some Ukrainians,” Colonel Toby said. Flynn looked up. “Nearly two hundred of them were from the 113th Ukrainian Infantry, which had apparently been deployed down here on suspicion. They want to join up.”
“I thought they might,” Flynn said. Politically, he understood, the British were working on forming a Ukrainian army, and with the amount of Soviet weapons and supplies overrun and captured, arming one wouldn’t be a problem. The main problem had been in securing the dumps; hundreds of maundering Arabs were riding around the battlezone and they didn’t need more weapons. After helping to clean up after a Saudi attack, Flynn understood the Republic’s concern.
Colonel Toby nodded. “What do you want us to do with them for the moment?”
Flynn scowled. Despite the best efforts of the combat engineers, it would be a long time before the new rail network, the result of nearly two years work, would be extended as far as Iran. With the Turks in a… questionable mood, he wasn’t keen on asking them for help; even through they were supposed to be allies.
“Have them held in POW camps where they are at the moment,” he said finally. They’d had to learn how to set up POW camps at a moment’s notice as the Russian position disintegrated; it was that, or let them die in the desert. God alone knew how many Russians and their subjects had already died of heat and dehydration.
“Separated, I assume,” Colonel Toby said, making a note on his PDA. “Fed and watered?”
“Yes, I think we better had,” Flynn said. Mistreating the non-Russian POWS, short of beating them to death, was almost impossible; the Russians had been hard taskmasters. “Have them well treated; find an interpreter and explain to them that we have to keep them until we can arrange transport.”
Colonel Toby made more notes on his PDA. “Once we have transport freed up, have them sent to the camp in Egypt; they can choose their paths then.”