“Akron, Cincinnati, whatever, one northern town is pretty like another, same thing.” Hereford grumbled. He sniffed at the air with disgust.
Winston searched the other man’s face. “I never know when you are pulling my leg.”
The three military men were in civilian clothes again, only the time traveler had a briefcase. A large sedan pulled up and a railcar porter led them across the maze of tracks and ditches to the open door of the limousine.
The Taft family had dominated Ohio politics for two decades, their house, estate, occupied half a block in a nice downtown section, it was set back from the road by a wide strip of garden and a brickwork fence. The garage was obviously a converted stable, open on one side. A cobbled path lead to the kitchen door.
Inside, Robert Alphonso Taft greeted all four with a politician’s handshake and practiced smile. He wore a white shirt under a patterned vest, but oddly with no tie. To other people this was a mansion, to him it was simply home. He lead them past scurrying children up the stair and to a suite of two rooms that served as his office. An arched window overlooked the traffic on the street.
“You gentlemen are early,” he said with an easy informality, just as well,” he paused for effect, “I never know what to wear when meeting a throwback in time anyway.” He waved them to a motley collection of chairs. “What have you gentlemen been up to?” he began.
Larry recovered his notebook from an inside pocket, “We went to California to see the new DC-3, then up to Seattle pester Boeing. Some other things. We learned about small arms, dried blood plasma, some of the finer points of pizza.”
“Pizza?” Taft asked distractedly. “They are taking good care of you, I hope, Doctor Frederick?”
“Excellent care, sir. Safe as in my mother’s arms.”
“Grand, call me Bob, everyone does, you are an important man you know. Let’s talk about business, shall we? Tell me about ending this depression.”
“I am no expert, uh, Bob, but in my time nobody else was either. FDR tried a couple of harebrained schemes, eventually it was the war that brought us back to full capacity. Still, at least he did something.
He gained, will gain, a lot of support for that.”
“Capacity, exactly the problem, Ohio has thousands of idle factories that can’t hire people to make things people can’t buy, because they don’t have job because the factories aren’t hiring and so on. Too much capacity.”
“FDR started with relief efforts, then make-work programs, then the gear up for the war.”
“How will we pay for that?”
“Massive deficit spending, at some point things got, or will get, so bad that there was no other choice.
They called it ‘priming the pump.’ Not all the spending was wise, but it got money out there.”
Taft clucked like a chicken. “Borrowing money from people who don’t have money to give the money to people who owe you money. Again, it is circular. Still, if we accept that this overcapacity, this, collapse of prices, is much more than a temporary glitch we might have to borrow against the future, just like we did in the war.” Winston noticed Taft was not taking notes. “What sort of make-work are we talking about? Public works are the old standbys.” He yelled out the open door in the other room,
“Horace, tell your mother we need coffee and cake for four.”
“Yes sir, lots of farm-to-market roads, they helped a lot, the Saint Lawrence Seaway, port improvements, schools, silly things too, for us academic types they had a program of writing local guide books and histories. Filled up miles of library shelves in my time. There was even a Federal Theater Project.”
“Got to keep the professors and the actors going too Winston. Still, if we know we have to fight we can do a bit better. Always better to know what your goal is. Then you can take steps.”
An elderly servant brought in a tray with the coffee service and what seemed to be half a chocolate cake from last night’s dinner. “Thank you, Charlie.” Taft hacked at the cake in silence, passing plates around the table. “But that brings us to another matter. You, Charlie, the Negroes.”
“We prefer to be called ‘Black,’ sir, Bob.”
“Hell, I have been trying to get half the Senate to use the word Negro.” He poured coffee with a look of concentration on his face. “What is to be done? What can be done?”
“In truth, this is a time of opportunity.” Winston insisted. “Everyone is equal now, equally poor, now we can lift everyone at once.”
“My, you are the optimist, aren’t you? You are not grasping that in much of the South, where most Negroes live, they simply don’t exist. Politically that is. In the northern cities, Chicago, Detroit, New York, they vote as a block for the Republicans, the Party of Lincoln. So we have a Solid South of Democrats, we Republicans need to carry all of the north and most of the west to carry anything in Congress. Further, the Democrat have all the committee chairs, Southern Democrats have all the chairs.”
Now the senator was talking as if to himself. “We need a program I can push as Civil Rights, that the Democrats can sell as economic recovery and at the same time gets us ready for a fight. Ideas?”
The three military men were clearly out of their depth. One of them stirred his coffee with a noisy spoon.
“Does Hoover know about you?”
“No sir, he is not in on it.” Larry finally spoke.
“Shame, love to talk this over with Herbert, brilliant man.” He walked to the window. A large truck was passing by. “Only one thing to do, public works for two parts, the Federal government programs will aim toward preparedness, then we will have local development program in the hands of the local politicos.”
“How does that help?” Winston asked.
“Well you see, the unions are part of all this. You see the Wagner Act gave to much power to the unions.” He paused and smiled. “Excuse me I was about to make my American Legion speech. In any case, I will insist ‘that fool Roosevelt’ enforce equal pay for equal work on Federal projects. Further I bet we can waste a lot of money in the South, too many hospitals, too many schools, libraries and all the rest of it. Lots of that waste could be in the wrong parts of town. Now, we Republicans will allow this crazy spending scheme, but we can monkey with some details that could make all the difference.”
A woman in an old-fashioned flowered dress breezed into the room. “How many for lunch?”
A bright smile came across the senator’s face. He kissed her, she straightened his vest. “Martha, let me introduce my friends.” They all stood to shake hands. “Most especially, Winston Frederick, my guest of honor. We were talking about civil rights.”
“A pleasure, Doctor.”
“Sit down, my love.” She took his seat at the head of the table. He leaned on the edge of the oversized desk. “We are thinking of ways to spend money foolishly. What can we do to help the fair sex?”
She smiled and looked down briefly. It was obvious she had expected the question.
“Have you noticed, in all the speeches, all the politicians say they value women and motherhood? But in truth we are last in line for education, for health care for everything. Women die younger than men.
Most poor people are women. Women sit in homes across this nation, women with talent and ability and no way to express it.”
“Half the nation dancing backwards,” Her husband added.
“Gentlemen,” she continued, “if I understand the purpose of today’s meeting, the Republic is in danger.
First from this depression that reintroduced actual starvation into our nation, and then from the rise of these, militarists, in Europe. I ask you, do you insist on fighting for your lives without the help of your wives, your sisters? I suppose by civil rights you mean the Negroes,” she smiled at Winston. “Does the term not also apply to women? While we can vote, we are too often forgotten.”
“Yes ma’am,” Winston replied. She was the kind of woman who required an honorific.
“In truth the women
of America do not speak with one voice, while many of us are well-off, others are locked in poverty, and not women alone, but also our children. Poverty is the one problem all women agree on. Unless women are allowed to earn the same wage as women for the same work, too many children will grow up poor and ill-fed. Further, we must look to the men who abandon us and their children. Many women are forced to take public charity for the simple reason that their husband refuses to do his duty as a father, a man.”
A loud noise downstairs ended the interview, “Bill! What did you break? Excuse me gentlemen, lunch will be ready in half an hour.” With that she left.”
“You know gentlemen, people say she is the natural politician in the family. They don’t know the half of it.” Robert Taft smiled after she left. “What else gentlemen?”
“I am very concerned about Henry Ford.” Winston offered.
“Why so?”
“He is, or is going to become, something between a pacifist and little Nazi himself. In my time he held a lot of production capacity out of the war effort. I heard Hitler had a photo of the man next to his desk.
On the other hand, he won’t make it to Pearl Harbor.”
Taft shook his head, “Please don’t tell me anything like that again. It is, it seems, unchristian to know something like that. In any case, Henry is an old friend, a cranky old friend. I think we can deal with him.
What other crazed industrialists come to mind?”
“There was a famous picture of the boss of Sears being carried out of his office by soldiers over some sort of wartime obstructionism.” Winston replied. “I really can’t say what it was about.”
“We can keep an eye on it. Still, that just means there will be trouble elsewhere. What else? Anything that falls outside of this damned war that is hanging over our heads?”
“Well, Bob, since we are waiting for lunch, maybe I should say something about the environment.”
Taft lifted his eyebrows and looked up at Frederick.
“We have to do what we have to do to get production rolling, but a lot of the things we will do are not so smart in the long run. Lead in the air and water, even in house paint can be very dangerous, especially for children. Asbestos dust gets in the lungs and causes cancers. Not to mention cigarettes.”
“As you say Doctor, we have to do what we have to do, let’s keep our eye on the ball, but still we would be fools to hurt our own people needlessly. Can you give me a memorandum on that? I prefer to have technical matters on paper.” He stood. “I do believe I am getting over my cold. Perhaps I can make some phone calls this afternoon. I call a recess, nothing like a nice mean to give the mind a chance to absorb new ideas. Also I smell chicken soup.”
He led the group down the wide stairs towards the dining room, “You know what really worries me, Doctor? How many other people are there just like you? Where might they be?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that Senator,” Larry replied.
Chapter Six: Elsewhere
The Aide-de-Camp to the Japanese Navy Minister found a note on his desk when he arrived. He read it and ordered an assistant to call the number indicated.
“It is done” assured the voice on the far end. The long-distance line was full of static.
“Very well. Under no circumstances must anyone know about that freak.” The commander replied.
“She would have had us bow down to the foreigners.”
“She will not trouble us again.” The other voice had a hard finality to it.
The Aide-de-Camp hung up the phone and began to review the two books of interrogation notes.
Stalin’s office was shaped like the letter ‘L.’ overlooking a small snowy courtyard. His desk was covered with green baize that almost matched the olive of the walls. In front of the desk a brigadier general of the NKVD stood at a rigid position of attention.
“Speak frankly, comrade general, this is an odd situation and I must know all that you know.” Stalin said.
The soldier slightly relaxed his position and brought a small notebook up to waist level. “His name is Ivan Petrovitch Markov, he appears to be in his late fifties although he claims to have been born in Leningrad in the year 1958.”
“A nice trick,” Stalin muttered. He opened his leather tobacco pouch.
“Born in 1958, graduated from Moscow University with an advanced degree in history in 1982, gained a professorship there six years later. He claims he woke up in a steam bath near the river twenty-something years before he was born.”
“Your opinion, general?”
“Certainly a madman, Comrade Stalin,” he lied poorly.
“The cases of madmen do not come to this office. If he is just a madman, than so is Comrade Beria for bringing him, and you to my attention. Think again,” there was no need to be threatening. The office itself did that.
The uniformed man shook his head and brought his open palms to each side of his chest. He was a picture of confusion. “There is no explanation, Comrade Stalin. When he was arrested he had certain technical devices, documentation, we cannot explain it. Even his clothing was like nothing we have ever seen before.” He placed an Russian identity card on the desk and tried to regain his composure.
Stalin held the card in his stained hand, it was covered with some sort of waterproof coating, it included the man’s name, date of birth and a color photograph. more alarming was the red-white-blue tricolor flag that served as some sort of watermark for the document. What did that mean? “Very well, so you questioned him closely did you?”
“Yes, comrade. Very closely.”
“So what does he want? What can he tell us from his future?”
The Checkist braced to attention. “He simply wants to kill you and overthrow the Soviet state, Comrade. He has tried to explain his reasoning for this to each of his interrogators. He is an anti-Soviet agent, an instigator.”
“I presume you are still loyal to the Soviet state?” Stalin smiled with his yellow teeth.
“Of course, sir, as are all my men.”
“Relax general, you have served the people well, his crime is not yours. I want you to keep this man under your care, and treat him well. In a few days we will transfer him someplace more secure. You and your unit will go with him of course. You will prepare reports to be sent to Comrade Beria for my direct attention. Get everything you can from this man. This is a most important project. Very delicate. You and your men need not fear me, you have done all that I have asked and I will protect you from any repercussions.” Stalin lied very well. “Comrade, before your leave Moscow, I will have delivered to you a more correct uniform for your new rank as a major general. You have certainly earned it.”
“Thank you, Comrade Stalin, I serve the Soviet people.”
“We all do, Comrade general, we all do.”
Don Erlang was put up in a nice country estate somewhere in the Home Counties. Soldiers wearing bulky civilian overcoats patrolled the low brick wall making it an actual obstacle to anyone trying to get in. Or out for that matter. Inside his regular team of handlers, sort of official friends, had settled into a regular routine. Each afternoon they reviewed the day’s newspapers, military journals and other documents in an attempt to learn all they could about his time.
Apparently the Royal Navy had their turn at Erlang this afternoon, and the objects at hand were a number of aerial photographs. David Helmsford handed them over one by one. “These were taken last week by an ‘accidental’ overflight of the yards at Kiel. Our fellows have already looked at them, but what do you make of it?”
“Lots of activity, every available slip has something being built in it. One, two three, about a half-dozen destroyers, a lot of U-boats.” Don replied.
“Ah, but tell me what you don’t see. What isn’t there? The navy man teased. Then he answered his own question, I’ll tell you what, no cruisers, no battlecruiers. I noticed that myself yesterday,” there was an amused pride in his voice.
“The Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau? Th
ey were just wastes of resources. They never lived up to their billing, everyone knows that.”
“Well not everyone knows that Don, we do, but only because you told us. How does Hitler know?”
“Butterflies?” Don suspected where this conversation was going. A knot began to form in his stomach.
“Maybe, but we have made only very subtle changes so far. Also, look at this.” He handed over a series of photographs taken at ground level, a team of uniformed aviators posed with proud smiles in front of their plane. A red rectangle adorned with a swastika decorated the tail fin. “They call it the Heinkel He-177, this is the crew is celebrating its first test flight.”
“A four-engine bomber? That is not right. The Luftwaffe is supposed to be focused on tactical support of the army. What do you think this adds up to?” Don knew the answer.
“The have someone just like you, Don. They have a visitor from the future too.”
Konrad Herrman was a portly man, and sharing another evening tea party with Adolph Hitler did not help. That on the other hand was the least of his concerns. Hitler was in a well-made brown suit, his tie perfectly knotted, Herrman knew he would not adopt a uniform tunic until the war began.
“Tell me, Professor, all we have talked about, I have never learned where you were born.”
“Dresden, Mein Fuhrer, about twenty something years from now.” He could see the politician doing the math in his head.
“Of course I read your report on the terror-burning of Dresden. Rest assured my friend, your city will be safe this time. Horrid, first the Anglo-Saxons, then the Bolsheviks.” He clapped his hand on Herrman’s knee. “Things will be very different this time.”
“I certainly hope so.” Herrman replied.
“Already, I have a plan to restore whatever damage the British may do to our cities. We must use this as an opportunity, an opportunity to rebuild our towns on an altogether higher order. I have in mind a series of public parks for example.”
Herrman settled in for another long evening.
Paul Adkins Page 3