The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “An undertaking from the United States that we would in turn make no further aggressive moves against Europe,” Roosevelt answered instead, and Davies sensed a little displeasure in his tone as if he’d been ignored in the seeking of advice from a subordinate. “An undertaking that there would be tacit – if not official recognition of German claims of sovereignty over the continent.”

  “What…? Sir, you can’t be serious…? Recognise German territorial claims over Occupied Europe?”

  “Not officially, colonel: the Brits would never accept it, and right now we need ‘em too much to piss ‘em off that badly,” Donovan stated bluntly, not pulling any punches.

  “But surely none of that’s necessary now,” Davies suggested with renewed enthusiasm as another thought occurred to him. “You have Lowenstein now, sir,” he added, directing that observation directly toward Donovan. “With the date the New Eagles arrived in the past, Hindsight will be able to intercept them and set everything to right…” He almost smiled as he thought more on the subject. “Everything can be back the way it was…”

  His voice trailed off however as he caught the less than enthusiastic expressions on all three men standing and sitting before him.

  “If only it were that simple,” Donovan said softly, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, Doctor Lowenstein has advised us he knows nothing about the exact time and date. He was apparently kept isolated for months after their arrival from the future and had none of the information we need…”

  “I can’t believe it…” Davies muttered, staring at the floor with a hollow emptiness in his tone. “It can’t be…”

  “It’s a tough pill to swallow, son,” Stimson nodded sagely, trying to sound genuinely sympathetic. “But you see, with no hope of a quick victory through your Hindsight boys, we’re left to deal with things as best we can, and that means ensuring we have a secure Eastern Seaboard while we deal with the Goddamned Japs!”

  “Again with all due respect, gentlemen, why did you order me here from Nevada?” Davies growled, suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of defeat and emptiness with the news that the opportunity of success had been so savagely snatched away from him and the rest of the Hindsight team. “You’ve asked me nothing that couldn’t have been answered by anyone in your own intelligence agencies, and you’ve left me knowing some serious information that is going to seriously hurt our Commonwealth allies…” He managed to keep the glare out of his expression, but his frustrated tone bordered on insubordination, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the others present.

  “Colonel,” Roosevelt began slowly, choosing to ignore the man’s tone for the time being, “it’s your thoughts on how the Commonwealth – particularly Hindsight – is going to react to this news that is the reason we’ve requested your presence here today. Waiting outside is the Australian Envoy Extraordinary to the United States, and judging by the perception you’ve already displayed here this morning, I’ve no doubt you already know that! Now we’re not in the business of hiding things from our friends, son, but there are ways of breaking news like this and there are ways, and I am asking you for your help in this… for your advice as someone who has a unique insight into the challenges we’re currently facing…”

  The President of the United States let that hang in the air between them, fixing Davies with a proud, unwavering gaze as the weight of what had just been said sunk in. A direct request of assistance from one’s Commander-in-Chief was something no career officer could ignore, nor fail to be moved by.

  “Mister President, I…” Davies began, faltering as he found himself momentarily at a loss for words. “I am not a historian, and even if I were, none of this is anything like the history I knew as a kid. I have absolutely no idea how the Brits or the Aussies are going to react.”

  “Well, colonel, I’m guessing you’d have a pretty good idea how one particular Aussie is going to react…” Donovan chimed in, moving away from the far wall for the first time and moving across to take the empty, upholstered chair beside the President’s. “All the intel we currently have suggests that Max Thorne is one of the most influential advisors to King George… Christ, that kid he’s taken in is going to school with the princesses! You tell us how you think Thorne will react, and we’ll have a pretty damn good idea what the response will be from Melbourne as well…”

  “Sir, he’s gonna be pissed…” Davies stated categorically without any hesitation whatsoever. “He lives for Hindsight and our mission, and he’s not going to stand for anything that gets in the way of that. Finding out Sam Lowenstein doesn’t know the time and date will crush him, and he doesn’t usually take that kind of thing lying down.”

  “So how do we ease the impact of this news, colonel?” Stimson asked shrewdly, eyes narrowed as he slipped on his glasses once more. “The fact that this Lowenstein knows nothing is no fault of ours – anyone can see that – and I also fail to see how our reaching some kind of temporary détente with the Krauts is going to impinge on Hindsight’s ‘holy crusade’ either. If anything, a thawing of relations between the US and Nazi Germany might even improve the chances of finding out what he wants to know.”

  “Maybe, sir,” Davies conceded with a grimace and a tilt of his head, “but no matter which way you spin it, the Brits are going to see any rapprochement with Germany as betrayal to a standard Benedict Arnold would be proud of…”

  “Ironic choice of analogy, considering who we’re talking about here,” Stimson observed wryly, “but I take your point, colonel. We expect exactly that kind of reaction, of course, and for that reason we’re not intending to inform the British Government at this point in time.”

  “But – but, sir…”

  “‘At this point in time’, colonel,” Donovan emphasised, repeating Stimson’s words. “That does not mean ‘ever’. We intend to extend the courtesy of notifying the Australian Government of the basics behind the situation, and also our belief that it would be inopportune to inform the British, along with the reasons why we believe this is the case.”

  “And if they refuse to play along,” Davies asked pointedly, not sure he could believe what he was hearing.

  “Then they refuse, and we’ll have some ‘issues’ to discuss with Melbourne as a result,” Stimson answered with a shrug, as if the matter was of little significance. “We can’t force the Australians into anything; we can only appeal to their better judgement.”

  “I think you underestimate the level of attachment they have to the King and the Empire,” Davies observed quietly, thinking over what little he knew of Realtime post-war Australian history.

  “Perhaps, colonel, but we’re willing to take that risk,” Donovan advised with a half-smile of his own, pausing for a moment as if thinking about what to say next before adding: “What we don’t need, however, is some loose cannon ruining the whole thing for everyone… a wild card like Thorne.”

  “Max Thorne is not a ‘loose cannon’, sir,” Davies shot back immediately, a little too quickly to be completely convincing. “The man is unconventional and incredibly gifted, but he’s also completely dedicated to the mission of beating the Axis and putting history back to right again.”

  “We know the man’s a friend of yours, son,” The President soothed carefully, nodding in acknowledgement of the pilot’s words. “We’re not for a minute suggesting he and the whole of Hindsight haven’t been invaluable in assisting the United States’ technological and industrial advancement: credit where it’s due, we have an entire new generation of tanks, aircraft and warships coming into service because of the help they’ve given us. All we’re saying is that the man has a reputation for being ‘unconventional’… you said so yourself. Do you deny he also has a reputation for ignoring the orders of his superiors and acting impulsively on occasion?”

  “No… no, sir…” Davies answered reluctantly after a long pause. He’d heard from several sources of the disaster that had occurred in North Africa at the end of September, and how Thorne had deliberately ignore
d orders to evacuate, barely escaping with his and Donelson’s lives after recklessly remaining in the combat zone until almost too late. “No, I can’t deny that…”

  “And that’s exactly why we don’t want Hindsight involved…” The President explained, choosing his words with extreme care. “As we’ve already indicated, the current situation with Nazi Germany has no bearing on the completion of the unit’s mission one way or another, so there’s absolutely no reason why there need be any mention of it.”

  “But, Mister President…” Davies ventured almost plaintively, “…I am part of Hindsight…”

  “Son, I’m not talking to you as a member of Hindsight,” Roosevelt continued, going for the coup-de-grâce. “Right now¸ I’m talking to you as an officer and an American; and as your Commander-in-Chief, I’m asking you, as a duty to your country, to never allow what’s been discussed today to leave this room…”

  “Mister President, I…”

  “Just think it over, son,” The President suggested magnanimously, waving away the pilot’s faltering response. “Can’t expect an honourable man like yourself to give a snap decision on something like this. We’ve booked a hotel for you across the river where you can rest and take some time to think… go see the sights, take in a show or something while you get your head around what’s goin’ on here.” He paused for a moment as Davies stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts, and the pilot completely missed the finger Roosevelt raised off the arm of his chair that instantly silenced the words Bill Donovan was about to utter beside him.

  “I just want you to think on one more thing for me, colonel,” The President suggested, taking a long drag on his cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke high into the air. “You got a loyalty to your friends and your fellow soldiers… any man in uniform understands that… but you’ve also got a higher loyalty: that of allegiance to country and the flag you serve under. You’ve been a member of Hindsight for maybe two or three years, but you’ve been an American all your life. You were an officer in the US Air Force before you came back to this time, and you’re an officer with the Army Air Force again now, and have been these last two years or so. I’m not asking you to betray your friends…” he added finally, deftly delivering that final stroke with all the skill of the career politician he was. “…I’m asking you to do right by your country, and right now your country needs you.”

  Jack Davies left that office in a daze a few moments later, not certain of exactly what had even been discussed as he was escorted out of the building by an aide and bundled into a waiting cab, to be taken back to his large, luxurious room at the Hamilton Hotel on Washington’s 14th Street NW.

  “You didn’t tell him about the promotion, Mister President,” Donovan observed the moment Davies late departed, raising an eyebrow.

  “Bill, that boy’s no fool,” Roosevelt pointed out quickly with a thin smile. “If we go tellin’ him he’s being promoted to brigadier and getting and an office of his own in The Pentagon – whenever the hell it’s finished – he’ll know damned well we’re tryin’ to buy him off.” He shook his head slowly. “If he even thinks we’re pulling a trick like that, he’ll go running back to Thorne and the rest of his crew in a flash. We need to have a little patience here,” he added as Donovan and Stimson both nodded in acknowledgement of what he’d just said. “I know a true patriot when I see one, and I’m confident that boy’s gonna make the right decision… when he does, then we give him his star and tell him his country needs him more here in DC than it does out in the middle of some desert. Fact is, boys,” The President added with a grin, “I think it might even be true. Have to hand it to you, Bill; you picked a fine officer there, and I think he’s gonna go a long way now he’s got you watching over him…”

  “I do believe so, Mister President,” Donovan agreed with a nod and a thin smile. “Now… what do we do about Sir Owen?”

  “Bill… you just leave him to me…” Roosevelt advised with a grin of his own and a puff of his cigarette, before turning back to. “Send him in, Henry: let’s get this over with…”

  25nm north-west of Waigeo Island

  Northern Halmahera Sea

  December 10, 1942

  Thursday

  (West of the International Date Line)

  Schiller stared out across the calm, clear waters at a distant shoreline that, even as a silhouette in the pre-dawn darkness, seemed somehow alien to anything he’d ever before experienced. The faint glow of an impending sunrise had begun to glimmer on the eastern horizon, but it was at least an hour away as yet and there was a chill in the air that seemed quite uncharacteristic in that tropical environment, despite it technically being winter just 150 miles north of the Equator. A moon that was still mostly full hung low on the horizon, lighting up the ocean from the west with its stark, cold brilliance.

  He’d been unable to sleep, already ill-at-ease and completely unable to get comfortable on a bunk that slowly rolled this way and that in concert with the surrounding ocean. The ship’s quarterdeck was little better, but at least it afforded him somewhere relatively private and out in the open to light a cigarette and consider silent thoughts as dark as the sea below that he was staring into.

  A sister-ship to the heavy cruiser Haguro, Nachi was a large ship with a powerful armament of ten 8-inch guns and a mass of smaller anti-aircraft weaponry. In the darkness around her, the carriers Hiyō and Junyō headed a fleet that also included two light cruisers, fifteen destroyers and a brace of other ancillary warships including seaplane tenders, submarine chasers and patrol boats.

  Behind them, a second, smaller fleet followed on, made up of the invasion force itself: troopships and landing craft carrying over five thousand men taken from units of the 38th Infantry Division HQ and 228th Regiment under Major General Itō Takeo, along with marines of the 1st Kure and Sasebo SNLF (Special Naval Landing Force).

  They’d left Palau thirty-six hours earlier, and if Schiller was being honest, he would have to admit that he was frightened by the idea of possibly going into combat for the first time in his life.

  What madmen are we? He asked himself silently. What is the madness as human beings that we put such effort into killing one another?

  He thought of Rachael again, as he often did when his mind dwelt on darker subjects. He remembered the pain of it ending – of her storming out of his Berlin apartment and away down that avenue beneath an almost Hollywood-like cliché of pouring rain. He’d have done anything to make her turn around, make her come back to him, yet that would only have forestalled the inevitable in the end. She would never have come back with him – would never have understood what they were trying to do – and even if she had, it would’ve been too dangerous… for both of them.

  Where would I be now? Where now, if my life had taken that turn instead? She’d been so much younger than he: barely in her twenties and at least ten years his junior. They’d enrolled in the same history course at university, and had connected almost immediately despite the disparity of their ages. He’d always felt she seemed wise far beyond her years – certainly wiser than he was ever likely to be – and he wondered now, in hindsight, whether it was the experiences of her parents and grandparents that had provided that timid, almost fragile wisdom.

  He’d never meant to become involved… his departure from Realtime had already been scheduled months before. But it had happened all the same, and in the way of such things, Albert Schiller had rather foolishly fallen in love. They’d been together for five months when she found the Wehrmacht uniforms and had stormed out, at least saving him the extra heartbreak of saying goodbye a fortnight later. His ironic sense of humour pricked the hint of a grin out of him.

  What had you expected from someone named ‘Weinberg? But there was little to laugh about. It had been the ultimate life choice: purpose or love. At thirty-five he’d never loved anyone before, and there’d certainly been no one since. She’d fallen for him too, despite knowing he was an officer of the Bundeswehr at the time.
She had lost both grandparents to the Holocaust and was a dedicated pacifist, hating anything to do with the military of any kind.

  She’d still been a toddler as the Berlin Wall came down; how could he have explained to her what it meant for a German to live through the years before reunification… to soldier through that? Yet they’d loved each other and he’d come close to walking away from it all… from The Directors and the New Eagles and everything it represented. He’d been going to tell Kurt at the end of that week… tell him that he couldn’t go through with it any longer.

  But that wouldn’t have been enough, would it…? He pointed out silently, disgust and self-loathing boiling in his mind. Even if he had left, the New Eagles would’ve continued their mission and Realtime would’ve ceased to exist. To truly save Rachael, it would’ve been necessary to destroy everything… to bring them all down… to betray the very man he’d worked for his entire life: a man he viewed as a hero.

  He was roused from his dark memories by the sound of footsteps behind him on the deck, and he turned, cigarette in hand, to see Carl Ritter approaching out of the darkness.

  “Can’t sleep…?” The pilot inquired with a smile and a nod of greeting as he drew near, standing at the same railing and also staring out at the dark water. “Neither can I… having second thoughts?” He added, mistaking Schiller’s expression for one relating to the dangers they were about to face.

  “I’ll admit I was a good deal more confident regarding our involvement in all this while we were back on Palau,” Schiller conceded, quickly able to recover his ‘usual’ persona of dry irreverence once more now there was an audience to perform for.

  “Things are always a lot clearer – a lot more black-and-white – when monitoring an operation in an office or briefing room,” Ritter nodded sagely in agreement. “Not quite the same when you’re in the field, however.”