by David Roy
‘Well, you don’t need to yet then. I’ll tell you if I think it becomes important.’
1945
The Red Army was on the move, spreading over Europe like an enormous puddle. The T34s with their eighty-five-millimetre guns and the new Josef Stalins with their hundred-millimetre guns poured into Poland, Romania and Slovakia. Infantrymen rode on the hulls, ready to leap into action and ready to die. Certainly, many believed in their cause and wanted to draw German blood but many others now just accepted that their deaths would be the natural consequence of the war against Hitler. If the Germans didn’t get them, then their own officers, hounded by the commissars, would. Death seemed certain and every day that you didn’t die and maybe got a hot meal and some vodka was a bonus. Every tank that brewed up was replaced by another which didn’t. Every Soviet soldier who died was replaced by ten who wanted to avenge his death. The Wehrmacht used sophistication to counter the crude nature of the Red Army’s tactics; manoeuvre, close support from the air, man-portable anti-tank weapons and automatic rifles. The new Tigers and King Tigers were beautifully engineered with powerful and accurate guns. Their crews were still well trained, if not in the niceties of being German soldiers, then in the necessities of fighting the Russian barbarians.
One German in particular was gaining prominence at this time. Colonel General Heinrici was proving to be adept in the rather unfashionable art of withdrawal. His time had come and his peers looked to him for inspiration as, by depressing increments, they realised that the war was lost.
In the Pacific, the USA was retaking the islands that had been over-run by the Japanese. Each battle was hard fought and bloody but the outcome was inevitable. Yet still they - the Japanese - fought on.
The Japanese forces, which had been derided by Europeans for years, put up an incredible but futile defence for little scraps of land that no-one would have wanted were it not for their presence on them. The Commonwealth forces fought a long and arduous campaign in Burma and the Royal Navy supported the US Pacific Fleet. The remaining British soldiers were dispirited for the most part, wondering exactly what the point was of their continued participation in a war which they felt they had already lost. They could beat the Japanese - it seemed certain that they would - but so what?
Churchill liked President Truman just as he had liked the late President Roosevelt. They were both men he felt he could do business with and he enjoyed the influence that he had, especially when one took into account that was essentially stateless. He was a frequent visitor to the White House and enjoyed his privileged position with the Missourian. He still hoped that someday the US would help to liberate his country, although he could see no practical way in which this could be done. That was about to change.
‘Stalin is making good progress through Europe.’
‘Yes. He seems bound to win’, replied Churchill.
‘You don’t think he can be stopped?’
‘He can be delayed. But Hitler hasn’t got as many allies as he would like. Much as the peoples of Europe abhor Communism, they must surely hate Nazism more. The Germans have never exactly been a lovable race and they have brought about so much suffering. I think that resistance will stiffen when the Russians get to Germany. But the Russians will prevail and then the German’s resistance will crumble.’
‘You seem rather sure about this, Winston’, said Truman.
‘Yes. Well, I have had rather a lot of time to think about it.’
The President stood and walked over to the map of the world that was laid out on the table of the Oval Office. He drummed his fingers on the table top.
‘Have a drink, Winston’, he said with a casual wave in the direction of the decanter. Truman’s tone was oddly distracted. He spoke hesitantly at first, as if still assembling the words he wished to speak in the correct order.
‘What is the state of the ‘Resistance’ in Britain?’
‘Dormant’, said Churchill with grim emphasis. ‘More or less’, he added. Truman nodded. The addition of the words ‘more or less’ had not escaped him but he chose not to refer to that for the meantime.
‘The truth is that I have advised against any resistance because it can’t help their situation at the minute. Unless there was a widespread, armed insurrection throughout Europe, any form of resistance will only lead to reprisals and gain us absolutely nothing.’ Again, the President nodded thoughtfully.
‘Have you heard of the Manhattan Project?’, said Truman, cagily. Churchill smiled, mischievously.
‘I have my contacts, Harry. It sounds rather like our own Tube Alloys project. It was transferred to Canada in 1941.’ Churchill paused, sipped on his whisky and chuckled. ‘I don’t doubt that you have heard of that!’
‘Yes. We still play our cards close to our chests, don’t we?’
‘Our closest Allies you may be, but we need to have secrets for the future. Maybe someday you might need us to help you with something.’
‘Well maybe the time is here already. We plan to use the atom bomb this year to end the war against Japan!’, said the President. Churchill’s mouth fell open for a moment until he regained his composure.
‘You have been busy.’
‘Well once we get stirred up about something…. but there is a problem. We think that Germany is also working on an atomic weapon. They have a heavy water facility in Norway, all sorts of research facilities in Germany itself. They have some superb scientists in this field. Our biggest worry is that they might combine this with their new rockets. If they do this they can hold the world to ransom. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow but someday.’
‘How long before they can do any of this?’
‘We don’t know - that’s the problem.’
‘You would think that the Russians will have over-run them before any of this comes to fruition.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Either way we still have a problem. We might be on speaking terms with Stalin but is he any greater friend to us than Hitler? I suspect he is not. There is every chance that this Nazi technology will fall into their hands. We can’t win with either scenario. My guess is that Stalin has only been so equable with us because he might have needed our help at some point. It seems unlikely that he ever will now and then he will be able to do whatever he chooses.’
‘Hold the world to ransom, as you put it?’
‘Exactly. It doesn't matter who takes control of these weapons. Germany or Russia, the net result will be the same.’
Churchill was silent. Truman paced the room, his hand clasped behind his back. He’d only been the President for a few months and yet here he was discussing matters that would profoundly affect the future of the whole planet.
‘Do you know just how devastating a weapon we are talking about, Winston?’ The Prime Minister made no reply. ‘One of these bombs could destroy an entire city.’
‘So, whoever controls weapons of this type wields a lot of power….’
‘Except if the other side had similar weapons, of course, in which case you have a stand-off.’
‘So, it would be the USA versus Germany or Russia’, said Churchill taking another sip of his drink. He choked slightly and winced as the whisky bit his throat. ‘So why do you need to know about resistance in Britain?’
‘I have a sort of plan forming in my mind, Winston.’
Churchill nodded. He was cheered by the fact that the Americans appeared to need him. He spoke gravely to the President.
‘When it became clear that France was going to fall in 1940 I gave the order for the formation of units of stay-behind resistance groups. In the event of the UK being conquered by Germany they could be activated to cause mayhem for the occupiers. These men would commit acts of sabotage, disrupting the railways and communications or whatever tasks they saw fit. In the event it seemed pointless to issue any orders to them for fear of the reprisals which the Germans would undertake. They have very successfully suppressed underground resistance in other countries. One German killed equals ten loc
als killed, that sort of thing. I had to ask myself what was the long-term gain in making them operational and there was none.’
‘But these units were formed?’
‘Oh yes and thoroughly trained and equipped. The men in one cell do not know the identities of the men in other cells. They have caches of arms and explosives and know exactly how to use them to the greatest effect. And something else you should know, Harry.’
‘Yes?’
‘We have begun to activate them. Not all of them, but some.’
‘Really? I wonder if our thoughts are about to converge on a certain important matter?’
‘Well, you start Mr President. You hold more of the aces than I do.’
‘Okay. We believe that the Nazis are in the process of building an atomic weapons' facility. Whether it will be used for research, or production, that is another matter. We have no idea but we think and fear that it is the latter. In any case we are using that as the basis of our contingency planning i.e. we are going to assume that they are ready to make the bomb or that they will be soon. They have moved the factory as far from the Russians as they can make it. In a big city with plenty of skilled labour, good port facilities…. and perhaps the last place anyone would look.’ Truman was reaching his denouement but Churchill couldn’t help but interrupt.
‘It seems that what you are about to say rather tallies with our own suspicions’, he said.
‘Belfast?’
‘Belfast’, confirmed Churchill. ‘And what’s more we have a man working on it!’
Belfast
‘It’s going to be some size, this place!’
‘It’s bloody huge.’
Roy pulled Sam to one side as a tipper truck of immense proportions rolled past. The factory had foundations and a base layer of bricks laid out. Men scurried about with tape measures and plans, pointing, frowning, nodding - the business of building a factory. Under camouflage nets to the west of the site, stood several batteries of anti-aircraft guns, the harbour bristled with warships and freighters. New guards - this time from the SS had been drafted in. The nearby airfield was now a fighter base with three squadrons of Me 262s.
‘I get the impression that you know what it is, Roy.’
‘Sammy!’, he said feigning shock, ‘How could I know that?’
‘I don’t know but this is an important place and you’ve known that all along.’
‘Even if that’s true, you and I just get on with our work. We’re trusted now. Good money, keep our heads down see everything and say fuck all.’
They stopped talking to watch two fighters in a practice dogfight over Black Mountain. The Messerschmitt jets wheeled and swooped, like two swallows but at incredible speeds, their engines emitting a ghostly wail.
‘It’s like Flash Gordon or something’, said Sam. Roy nodded and scratched his chin. It was time…. or nearly.
‘We need to talk, Sam’, he said.
‘Okay.’ Sam turned to face the ex-farmer.
‘But not here.’
‘A pub?’
‘Worse.’ Roy bent and reached into the side of his boot to retrieve a slip of paper. ‘Put this in your pocket and meet me there tonight.’
‘Roy, I’m….’
‘No excuses. And once you’ve memorised that address get rid of it.’
The street was well lit, the houses clean and orderly. Sam hadn’t realised that Catholics also scrubbed their doorsteps. It was a shock. The bus lurched to a halt outside a white-painted pub, ‘The Avon’, and several would-be drinkers rose from their seats to take advantage before returning home from work. Their wives would faint the day they came back without having taken a drink.
Sam got up with them but didn’t join them in the pub. Instead he made his way up the slight incline to number 177, past a police car and a little row of shops. Drapers - 171, butchers -173, bookies (boarded up now) - 175. 177. He knocked on the door and within seconds it opened and he stepped inside. It stank of mildew. It was overpowering, as if it exuded some kind of toxic dust that settled in the air passages. Green, patterned wallpaper hung patchily on the walls and sundry pieces of stair carpet upholstered the floor as crude soundproofing. The weak lighting did nothing to alleviate the sense of dank gloom - in fact it just made it worse.
‘Is this your house?’, he asked. Roy didn’t reply but instead beckoned him into the back room. This room was better lit, had a proper carpet, a table and four chairs (three currently unoccupied) and had heavy curtains which stopped any light escaping. It was bereft of any form of homely touch. No ornaments, no paintings, it was the epitome of neglect. A man whom Sam didn’t recognise sat on one of the chairs. He didn’t look up and seemed unhappy at Sam’s presence. He was about the same age as Roy - about forty - with very blond hair. He looked ‘sort of’ average in that unquantifiable way that the term 'averageness' implies. Unremarkable. Could blend in.
‘Have a seat Sam.’ It was an order. ‘This is John’, said Roy. He said it in such a way that it was clear that ‘John’ was actually someone else. ‘We both belong to a resistance cell that was set up in 1940 to fight the Germans if Britain came under their occupation. Originally there were four of us but the other two got picked up and we haven’t seen them since. We were both ex-soldiers but had to sit out the war being trained for this job. We have weapons, explosives, radios and various things for sabotage - all cached away safely but until now we haven’t been activated. We have just sat waiting for word.’ Roy looked over at the other man as if giving him the opportunity to speak - an opportunity which he evidently wished to decline.
‘You now have the power to warn the Germans that there is an organised resistance movement left behind in Britain. But I’m telling you all this because I don’t think that you will do that. In fact, I am trying to get you involved in it. We need new blood.’ Roy paused to let this information sink in. Sam’s mind went immediately to Nancy and the future she talked about - the future which he had almost decided that he wanted. It offered as much security as there could ever be again. To conform was to survive perhaps.
Roy's offer, when viewed in that context, was much less attractive. ‘Survival’ wasn’t a word which sprang to mind when people talked about resisting the Germans. He thought of all the advice he’d been given. Keep your head down, say nothing…. That was the way to do it. He puffed out his cheeks and sighed heavily.
‘The fact that the other two got picked up…. doesn’t that make you think that your cell, or whatever you call it, has been…. can’t think of the word….’
‘Compromised.’ It was John who spoke. That one word gave away his accent - Ballymena Scots. His reply was shot through with venom, as if he was most displeased to have to explain this to an outsider like Sam. Sam shrugged and nodded. ‘Compromised’ wasn’t a word he used often but it sounded right for this purpose.
‘Well, we did think that to start with but this all happened years ago. We’ve just sat tight since then, waiting and nothing has happened. It could be that it was just coincidence that they took them. Thousands of people were sent off to camps. They weren’t necessarily tortured or anything so maybe we got away with it’, explained Roy.
‘So why do you want me? Just to make up the numbers?’
‘More or less. We need someone reliable, experienced….and you just happen to be an insider at the new factory.’
‘And that’s what it's all about, isn’t it? The factory.’
‘Yes. The problem is that we can’t really do anything much until the factory is finished. We’d only be risking capture for nothing if we tried to destroy it before it’s even built. We can do more damage if we wait until it is finished or nearly finished and then destroy it.’
‘So, you know what it’s for then, do you?’
‘Yes and no. It is going to be used to build some sort of weapon. This is what we’ve been told….’
‘By?’
‘We don’t know’, interjected the man called John. ‘And we don’t need to know.
It’s someone outside the country. Someone with good information.’
‘But how do they get in touch with you? I don’t understand any of this’, said Sam.
‘Sam. Forget the details. It’ll become clear as we go along. We need to train you in certain things and it’ll become clear then. For the minute just listen. This factory is going to build some sort of weapon. It’s something incredibly powerful that can change the whole course of the war.’
‘Hold on, Roy. How can it? We’ve lost the war. If the Germans have this weapon - which, by the way, sounds like a load of old bollocks to me - how does that change anything? We can’t lose the war any more than we have already done.’ Sam’s tone was incredulous but even as he spoke he wondered about his own motivation. Was he simply looking for an excuse to duck out? He wished that they had asked him before he had got so involved with Nancy. He was itching to hit back at one time…. but now….
‘Okay. Firstly, it's not bollocks. Whatever this thing is - and we haven’t been told because….’
‘You don’t need to know?’
‘Correct. So, whatever it is, is so powerful that it can cause huge amounts of damage. I don’t know if it’s a bomb or a….’, he held his hands up and shrugged helplessly. ‘I just don’t know, but it has to be destroyed. You have to trust us. Secondly, the Germans aren’t winning the war. The Russians are crossing Europe. They’ll be in Germany soon if they aren’t already. The Germans need this weapon to defeat them.’
‘The Russians?’, said Sam. Both men nodded. ‘So…. we could get over-run by them next?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that better or worse?’
‘Who knows? The factory is being built here because it is further from the Russians than any other German occupied territory.
‘Fuck me! I can’t take this in.’
‘Well, you just have’, said John. His tone was one of warning. ‘You breathe a word of this and we’ll kill you. Do you get that?’
‘Aye, okay’, said Sam. He found it rather hard to warm to this other man, especially since he hadn’t asked to be a part of whatever they were planning.