The Proteus Operation

by James P. Hogan

  But the analysts advising Chamberlain and his government knew nothing about that, of course, and had produced gruesome forecasts of the numbers of dead and maimed to be expected on the first day of hostilities and through the following six months. Haunted by visions of entire city populations driven to hysteria by bombs, gas, and a collapse of social and medical services, the government had laid secret plans for the mass disposal of bodies by dumping them in lime pits and from hoppers at sea.

  Even Churchill had mollified his views about Chamberlain when Bannering pointed out these facts. "If that is what he believed would be the alternative, it makes it easier to be more charitable before glibly accusing him of moral cowardice at Munich," Churchill conceded. "I still believe we should have fought, but I can see why he would consider the year that he purchased to be worth its high price."

  In the team's world the Luftwaffe hadn't been turned on England until the end of 1940. "If that pattern is adhered to in this world, and if by the grace of God I should come to have any influence over the course of events," Churchill promised grimly, "we will be ready. And this time, come what may, we will never surrender."

  Winslade stared for a second. "Do you really believe there's a God?" he asked curiously.

  "It doesn't matter," Churchill said. "One should behave as if there were, anyway."

  They then went down to the shelter a hundred yards or so along the street, taking with them a bottle of brandy and some of Churchill's other "medicinal comforts." The incident turned out to be a false alarm, and they returned after half an hour to the flat.

  Later that afternoon, Chamberlain spoke to Churchill again to offer him, as well as a seat in the War Cabinet, the post of First Lord of the Admiralty—the position that Churchill had held at the outbreak of the Great War in 1914. Churchill accepted at once, and by six o'clock in the evening was back in his old office and chair, with the same wooden map-case beside him that he had had made during his previous tenure, and inside it the same charts of the North Sea on which Naval Intelligence had recorded the movement of the Kaisers High Seas Fleet. The signal WINSTON IS BACK was sent out from the Admiralty to all ships and bases of the Royal Navy.

  So as far as major historic events were concerned—what had happened and when—the net effect so far of the Proteus mission had been to delay Britain's entry into the war by three days. Chronologically speaking, it didn't amount to very much.

  But in terms of the underlying "how" and "why," there was all the difference in the world—grounds for hope, possibly, that the changes the team had been anxiously awaiting for many months might suddenly start coming in a torrent.

  CHAPTER 23

  WITH FIVE OF THE team—Bannering, Anna, Selby, Winslade, and Warren—now in England, demand for the vehicles at Gatehouse had slackened. So Ferracini and Cassidy, along with Ed Payne, borrowed the sedan for a night out on the town—a black, 1936 four-door Packard, built as solid as a tank, with a split windshield, rounded fenders, a grilled front, and a luxurious leathery smell pervading its inside. After crossing the river to Manhattan, they stopped at Max's to collect Janet, Pearl, and Amy, and then drove north out of the city, heading for the shore of Long Island Sound beyond Eastchester Bay. Going to the Glen Island Casino had been Ferracini's idea. He had been curious to see the place ever since Winslade described it to him in a limousine en route from a submarine berth in Virginia, seemingly a thousand years ago. Ferracini had particularly wanted to make it that night because the Glenn Miller Band was playing.

  The parking lot around the building was nearly full when they arrived, and more cars were coming in through the gates by the minute. They spilled out, already in high spirits, and joined the stream of people converging upon the doors. The evening was warm and calm, with barely a breeze stirring the surrounding trees. The Casino stood out in floodlights against the smooth waters of the Sound, rippling silvery in the light of a half-moon set in a jet-black, cloudless sky.

  They reached the door behind a party of people blowing squeakers, wearing party hats, and making a lot of noise. One of the girls with the group had a bunch of balloons and held them out invitingly. "I just got married today. Have a balloon.'' Amy took two and tied them to the front of her dress, and Janet screamed with laughter. Cassidy was wearing a derby that he had acquired at Max's somehow. Pearl had been celebrating something or other since early evening and was already a little tipsy. It looked as if it would be a good night.

  The hall was packed and boisterous. The musicians, on raised tiers under spotlights at the far end, were wearing maroon blazers with black ties. They were already in full swing with a thumping, exuberant rendition of "Little Brown Jug". The lighting was soft, the air smoky, and the floor a mass of bobbing, twirling bodies clad in everything from white-jacketed tuxedos and evening gowns to tartan shirts and dungarees. A long bar crowded with people ran halfway along one of the sides, and tables, mostly taken, filled the remainder of the area around the floor.

  As they began threading their way through the room, Glenn Miller himself rose to take the trombone solo. Ferracini stopped moving and stared. The distinctive profile, familiar now from the many photographs that he had seen since that day in Norfolk, Virginia—clean-shaven, high-browed, receding hairline, gold-rimmed spectacles—was discernible even at that distance. Many times during the training period at Tularosa, Ferracini had lain on his bunk alone in one of the billets and listened to recordings like this, trying to picture what the mission would be like. Now, in that moment, it seemed that the past had finally come alive. Or had the "present" that was now gone finally died?

  "Hey, Harry, come on—I see a table." Cassidy's voice jerked him back from his momentary reverie.

  Janet grabbed Ferracini's hand and tugged him along after the others. "What's up, Harry? Anyone would think you'd never heard a band before."

  They arranged the chairs as best they could in the cramped space left between the people at adjacent tables, and sat down. Amy sat on Cassidy's knee. Cassidy grinned and cupped her balloons suggestively. She had a pretty face and blonde hair that curled forward to form points in front of her ears, and she was wearing a straight, pale blue dress, reminiscent of the flapper style of the twenties. She and Cassidy had been getting along well, on and off, in a casual kind of way ever since the first night that she and Janet had met him and Ferracini and brought them to Max's. Ed Payne managed to catch a waitress and ordered drinks.

  Pearl reached into her purse, lit a cigarette, and tossed the pack and lighter down on the table. "So where did Gordon go?" she asked. "I haven't seen him for weeks."

  "He had to go away," Amy replied. "Where did you say he went?" she asked Cassidy.

  "Europe."

  "Don't tell me—to look at pictures," Pearl guessed. "Is Gordon a collector or something? Always going somewhere to look at pictures."

  "Just business this time," Ferracini said.

  Pearl shook her head and sighed. "Do you know, I still don't know what kind of business you guys are in. Is it some kinda secret, am I just slow, or what? Everything I hear gets confusing."

  "Why worry about it now?" Janet said. "I thought this was a night out. What happened to the party?"

  "Yeah, what about the party?" Cassidy agreed. "Nobody's dancing yet, and we've been here at least five minutes. Well, I reckon there's—"

  "Hey, cut that out!" Amy shrieked.

  "The balloon burst."

  "I heard a joke about balloons", Pearl said. "A balloon dancer, see . . . all she's wearing is these balloons, and a guy says . . ." She stopped and frowned. "No, wait a minute. . . . Oh, heck, I've forgotten how it goes. I'm always doing this."

  "A girl shows up at a costume party, and all she's wearing is a black bra and a pair of black shoes," Payne said. He looked around the table expectantly.

  Pearl shrugged; Amy frowned.

  "Okay, I'll buy it," Janet said. "What is she?"

  "The Five of Spades! Ha-ha!" Payne thumped the table gleefully, Cassidy roared, and the othe
rs joined in.

  Ferracini grinned. "What's black and crispy, and hangs on the ceiling?" he asked. Nobody knew. Being an Italian American, he usually told it as a Polish joke. But suddenly he remembered that the day before, with Hitler's armies storming onward into Poland from the west, the Russians had attacked without warning from the east to complete the destruction of that hapless country. It wasn't a time for jokes like that. "A lousy electrician," he said instead. It was good enough, and the others laughed. Then the drinks arrived and jokes were forgotten for the time being.

  Pearl took a long sip from her glass, then sat back and closed her eyes. She shook her head disbelievingly. "Oh, jeez . . . shouldn't have started so early. I need to work some of this stuff off." She looked at Payne. "How come you haven't asked me to dance yet, Ed?"

  "How about a dance?" Payne obliged cheerfully.

  "That's what I like in a guy—decisiveness. I thought you'd never ask. Let's go." They stood up, and Payne took her elbow and steered her away in the direction of the throng on the dance floor, now jumping and gyrating to "I've Got a Gal in Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo".

  Amy was now wearing Cassidy's derby. "Why did you tell that girl at the club you were a gunrunner in South America?" she asked, turning to accuse him.

  Cassidy made a face of protesting innocence. "Me? When?"

  "Yes, you—last Friday."

  "What girl?"

  "The dumb-looking one in the slinky dress. You know who I'm talking about."

  Cassidy turned his palms upward. "Okay, you've got me. In my blameless innocence of youth, I'm unable to tell a lie. I did it to make you jealous. I figured it might improve my chances of getting laid—you might be easier if you feel you have to compete."

  "Cassidy, you're impossible! I don't believe this."

  Ferracini had gone quiet. In his mind's eye, he was picturing waves of Stukas peeling and diving over defenseless towns, and refugees with their children trudging along endless, weary miles of road, pushing the remains of their belongings in handcarts while behind them their homes burned. It was happening now, at this moment, while people drank and laughed and danced. Somehow, there was an air of unreality about it all.

  He felt Janet's hand close around his arm. "Come on, Harry," she said in his ear. "This is no time to get melancholy."

  She was right. There was nothing he could do. He nodded and summoned a grin. "Then do a better job of making sure I don't."

  "Like to dance? I don't have to wait for you to ask."

  "I don't feel athletic right now. How about waiting for something slower?"

  "Sure."

  Later, when the mood had mellowed, they danced for a long time. Janet didn't speak much but clung very close, as if she were trying to say something with her body that she didn't want to put into words. Ferracini was content to enjoy her closeness and softness while inwardly savoring the strange feeling of a woman giving herself, symbolically at least, to be his for the moment. This, too, was new to him. In his world, people had rarely given themselves to anybody. The prospective future had been far too short and demanding for things like that.

  Afterward, they went out onto the terrace, where people were taking a few minutes of fresh air and looking at the necklace of lights along the Long Island shoreline and the colored lamps of the boats on the Sound. Janet pressed close and snuggled in his arms for a while. At last, she loosened herself to study his face curiously for a few seconds. "I don't want to make you mad or anything, Harry, but . . . well, you haven't had a lot to do with girls, have you?"

  There was nothing that he knew of to feel offended about. He grinned faintly and shrugged. "Not really." That was the easiest thing to say. His had been a world of constant threat and danger, where everyone lived each day with the feeling that time was limited. Under such conditions, sex was a stress reliever and available fairly freely; but deep commitment, involving as it did too much risk of pain and loss, was more often avoided. In this world, it was the other way around. People dug emotional hooks into each other and got possessive even before there was anything to get possessive about. There seemed to be a whole minefield of unwritten rules and conventions, and he had decided that he had better things to do than get mixed up in them. Or was that a rationalization? Was he unwilling to risk being rejected for doing the wrong thing?

  Janet misread his frankness as a signal for help. She moved closer again, kissed his mouth, and whispered against his shoulder, "Don't get any wrong ideas and think I do this all the time, Harry, but we could make it so it's just us... alone. I mean. Jeff's working late and will be staying with a couple of the guys at the university tonight. The flat'll be empty."

  Ferracini looked out at the water. "I don't know if I want you to get that involved."

  Janet giggled softly. "Harry, you really do say the strangest things at times. Sometimes I think you're from some other planet."

  "What I mean is, before long I'll be going away," he told her. "I don't know exactly when, and there's no telling how long. I just don't want . . ."

  Janet didn't show any great surprise. "Overseas?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "But you will be coming back again, won't you?"

  "Sure."

  Janet didn't seem reassured. "Is it . . . well, dangerous?"

  "Look, I really can't go into it. . . . We've talked about this before."

  Janet moved back to see his face. "I guess I've been half-expecting it for a while," she said. "Jeff worked out his own theory. Want to hear it?"

  "Tell me," Ferracini said.

  "He figures the government is worried about Hitler and the Nazis getting the bomb that he's always talking about, and that you're with a secret part of the Army that's been trained to go into Europe and sabotage their program."

  "Even though we're not at war?"

  "Jeff thinks it's important enough for that not to matter. Anyhow, there's a good chance we will be, the way things are going. And even if we don't, it could still be done undercover, through a deal with the British, maybe. Jeff figures that perhaps that was why the King of England came over to see the President a couple of months back."

  "Ingenious," Ferracini granted. He hoped he was managing to remain poker-faced enough to conceal just how ingenious. "Am I supposed to comment?"

  Janet sighed. "No, I guess not. It's just that, well, when you do go away, wherever, I want you to know that I'll be thinking about you. You know what I mean. Don't think nobody cares what happens."

  Ferracini drew her closer and looked at her face for a long time. She met his eyes unblinkingly. "Really?" he asked at last.

  "Really." She nodded.

  He hesitated for a second. "What you were saying about Jeff a few minutes back . . ."

  "If you go away, I'd like to think you'll remember me, too."

  "We could slip away and get a cab, I guess . . ."

  "I did just happen to bring my coat out with me."

  "Well, yes, I had kinda noticed."

  "You never miss anything, do you?"

  "Only lots of opportunities, maybe."

  Janet laughed and took his hand. "Then don't make this another one. Come on, let's go."

  CHAPTER 24

  ON SEPTEMBER 11, FRANKLIN Delano Roosevelt, President of the United States, sent a curious letter to Churchill, congratulating him on becoming First Lord of the British Admiralty again and welcoming further communication on a personal basis.

  For a head of state to initiate such contact with a subordinate minister—and one not responsible for foreign dealings, at that—of another state was unorthodox, to say the least; and what made the incident more remarkable was that they were not even casually acquainted. They had met once, briefly, at a luncheon in London in 1918 that Roosevelt had attended as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, in the course of which neither had made much impression upon the other. In the years since then, apart from a common appraisal of the dangers of Nazism, their positions on most issues had been diametrically opposed. Churchill's rigidly
conservative, traditionalist ideology had nothing in common with the pragmatic experimentalism of Roosevelt, who was idolized by the American unions and the acknowledged leader of American liberalism. With views on the New Deal indistinguishable from those of ex-President Hoover, who had remained aloof after the capsizing of laissez-faire capitalism and insisted that the wreck would right itself in time, Churchill had called for an end to Roosevelt's "ruthless war on wealth and business", while Roosevelt in turn had dismissed Churchill as a backward-looking, has-been politician. How, then, to explain this sudden gesture of sympathy and solidarity?

  The answer lay in the grasp that both men shared of twentieth-century strategic realities, which transcended domestic issues: they both understood the role of sea power as the vital instrument of world power, and the dependence of both nations—indeed, of the entire Western democratic world—on joint Anglo-American naval supremacy.

  Roosevelt, following the doctrines of the American strategist and naval historian Admiral Mahan, whose writings he had devoured in his youth, recognized naval power as the key to America's future defense, and more importantly, recognized the need to develop a policy of cooperation, not competition, with the Royal Navy in order to counterbalance the rise of Germany and Japan. Steam and electricity had shrunk America's oceanic moat and made her a part of a single cultural and ideological heritage that stretched from the Hawaiian Islands to the Rhine. American interests and security counted as much on the British Fleet as Britain's maneuverings for a power-balance in Europe did on American reinsurance in the western hemisphere. They faced common adversaries back-to-back, and shared naval strength was essential to protect both their rears.

  The British had recognized this convergence of interests, too, which was the main reason for their benevolent neutrality during the Spanish-American War, and their quiet encouragement of the U.S. annexations of Hawaii and the Philippines before Germany could annex them. It also explained Britain's concessions in the Alaskan boundary dispute and to the American insistence on control of Panama. America, for her part, had reciprocated massively with her entry into the Great War in 1917.