“Ma’am, that will never happen!” Attlee insisted. “The Tories may be fools, but even they would not allow something like that.”

  “They won’t? We are walking a tightrope here, Clement. Winston is still popular with the people, and his involvement in the Wallace assassination is not public knowledge. There are several ways we do not want this to go. If Churchill’s actions become public knowledge, then it will become public knowledge in the United States. At that point, we are risking our relationship with the Americans and the stability of our government. There is no telling how the American people will react. Don’t you understand why we can’t push forward?”

  “Ma’am, you are jumping at shadows,” Attlee said hotly. “Winston Churchill is a political non-entity. I agree; he may have found a way to regain a seat in the Commons. But the Tories as a group are skittish around him, never mind Labour.”

  Margaret rose to her feet and pointed at him. “Are you willing to bet your service to the nation on that, Prime Minister, because that is what you are doing. I am trying to safeguard the nation.”

  “And do you recognize the risks of continually postponing the election?” Attlee was now on his feet. “Parliament has risen against rulers who forgot where supremacy lies. They have become a byword in our history. You must call an election, Ma’am, and it must be soon.”

  “Very well, Prime Minister,” she said hotly, “you have made your point. Now was there anything else today?”

  Attlee shook his head. “I think not. Good day, Your Majesty.”

  With that, he turned and walked quickly from the office. Margaret sat down heavily with a sigh.

  “I suppose you are going to tell me I did not comport myself well, Colin.”

  “I think you handled yourself about as well as was possible, Ma’am, given the way he was prodding you.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Clement is correct. The longer I wait to call an election, the more dangerous the situation becomes. But I very much fear the consequences if we allow Winston a voice in the government again. We narrowly dodged a disaster before, and I somehow don’t think the Almighty will be as gracious next time. But Clement is playing the fool, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Would Halifax talk to him?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t know. But, if I go around Clement to talk to Halifax, the prime minister would be fully justified in resigning.”

  “This could get very bad, Ma’am,” Colin said somberly. “I would like to help, but I am not sure what to do.”

  “That is just the problem. Things are going from bad to worse, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to approach it. I don’t know what is driving Clement, and he is usually level-headed. With Churchill’s actions, this is backing me into a corner.”

  She leaned back in her chair and used her pencil to scratch her head.

  “I don’t know, Colin. We are going to have to take things as they come.”

  Marty stood. “Very well, Ma’am. Let me get the notes typed up.”

  As he walked out of the office, she called out to him.

  “Colin?”

  He turned. “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Join me for dinner tonight?”

  “Of course, Ma’am.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  July 8, 1944; 4 PM

  Near Dittersdorf

  Silesia

  Irwin Rommel stepped away from the map and looked at his field commanders.

  “One straight push, meine Herren, and I think we will sunder the Russian army into two. Push hard, and you may capture their command center provided Chuikov doesn’t move quickly. You have done well so far. Any further questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “Very well, then, dismissed.”

  The group filed out of the command tent, and Rommel studied the map again. After the Russians had pushed the German army over the Oder River, they resettled hundreds of thousands of Poles into what was once German territory. The immigrant Poles had industriously changed the names of the towns, cities, and geographic features. All of the signage was now in Polish, and they were now calling this town Dziećmiarowice. Rommel wondered what had become of the Germans who lived in the German territory to the east of the Oder River.

  It was no wonder the Russian logistics were so confused. They had busily moved people around the map and seemed to have not considered the needs of the Red Army. Assuming the Germans retook the area, Rommel thought about what Schloss would do about the Poles who would be squatters on German property. Stalin had been clever about this. It was possible the mad Russian had planned on getting pushed back and decided to leave a little gift for the Germans.

  Rommel walked out of the command tent to observe the army going into action. He heard the snort of the Maybach engines in the Tiger A and Tiger B tanks as the drivers fired them up. The general once again wished that the diesel engines were available. Diesels would likely power the following variant of the Tiger, but they would have to make do with the gasoline-powered Maybachs for the present. And adding diesel fuel into the logistics mix would complicate things. Perhaps it was better to leave well enough alone in this case.

  Several dozen of the tanks were within Rommel’s sight, and he watched them move forward. The rocketing sound of shells flying overhead indicated the Time on Target strategy of the Germans. The 88-millimeter guns on the tanks belched flame as they sent their payload of death to the Russians.

  The infantry moved forward, too. Their job was to protect the flanks of the armored weapons, and it was a dangerous environment for human flesh. Bullets and shrapnel simply did not slow down much when it encountered a soldier.

  As the Russian counter-battery began to fall, Rommel ducked into his armored car. The six-wheeled Panzerspähwagen was fast and heavily armored. The general had used them extensively in the desert and kept one for his personal use. The driver pulled back to avoid the chance impact of the Russian shell that would end everything for Rommel and the crew.

  The Russian soldiers lacked time to dig in properly and were faced with the choice of pulling back or getting run over. They were well-disciplined and did not break, but they could not hold the line. Chuikov followed the battle from his mobile command post. This was a small cabin mounted on the bed of a one-ton truck. As he studied the map, he struggled to think of a countermove that would salvage the situation. The Germans had moved too quickly and were in greater force than expected. Hearing a disturbance, he turned to face the door when it opened, and the Commissar stepped up into the small cabin.

  “Comrade General, I am instructed to place you under arrest and put you on a plane to Moscow. I am very sorry.”

  Chuikov’s shoulders dropped. Not only had he lost against the Germans, but he was now getting ready to lose against Stalin.

  “Very well, Comrade,” he said heavily. “Let’s get this done.”

  Chuikov’s entire staff was lined up outside the command cabin and silently watched as he walked down the steps. A half-track waited, the engine idling. They bumped along the countryside until they came to a stretch of straight road where a Polikarpov Po-2 had landed. The pilots of the biplanes were considered insane because of their unique flying skills. In this case, setting the plane down on the stretch of road presented no particular challenge. Flying in and out of the combat zone during daylight was a different story.

  “Comrade General, I am instructed to fly you to Poznań.”

  “Very well, Corporal. How will we do this?”

  “If you will climb into the front cockpit, I will fly from the back.”

  The commissar helped Chuikov into the small plane and was probably there to foil any escape attempt. Once buckled in, the general looked around and noted that the control stick had been removed, and he guessed that didn’t matter since he didn’t know how to fly anyway.

  A couple of soldiers from Chuikov’s staff spun the propeller to start the engine. When the pilot turned the craft around, he saw that the soldiers were holding a salute. He snapped off the crispest salute he could manage from his position as the pilot gunned the engine.

  The small aircraft leaped into the air and swooped up over the trees. The pilot flew very low, apparently judging the risk from other aircraft was greater than people on the ground shooting at them.

  After they had been in the air for fifteen minutes, the shock of the arrest had worn off, and Chuikov began to relax and enjoy the flight. The open cockpit was a new experience for him, and it was interesting. He reflected on what was left of his future. He was under no illusions about what he would experience in Moscow. People who disappointed Stalin rarely survived the experience. But the general was enough of a fatalist that he never considered escaping.

  He was surprised, then, when the pilot suddenly whipped the plane into a tight turn. Looking around wildly, he saw that a German Fiesler Storch had engaged them. The Storch was a light observation plane that was highly maneuverable. The Germans had begun arming the aircraft with a pair of 30-caliber machine guns, and the pilot of the Polikarpov struggled to evade the German.

  Chuikov saw a line of bullet holes rip across the wing and into the fuselage, and the biplane began tumbling. As he saw the ground rushing towards him, the general decided that Stalin would be disappointed.

  § § §

  June 10,1944; 10 AM

  Grandview, Washington, USA

  “Dr. Bush and the president wanted me to communicate to you their satisfaction at your efforts, Gentlemen. Things are going far better than we anticipated.”

  “Thank you, General,” Mark Clark said. “Giving credit where it is due, the civilian employees of the Manhattan District have largely managed the on-site cleanup, and they have done a lot of work on projecting the scope of the cleanup across the Northwest.”

  General Groves nodded. “As an experienced administrator, you have certainly provided the right type of guidance to the operation. And I have heard good things about Colonel Clarke.”

  Colonel Kent Clarke blushed and looked down at the floor. “Thank you, Sir. But we have a job to do here, and I want to make sure nothing interferes with getting it done. And we are beginning to think we may be able to complete the work.”

  “That was one of the things Dr. Bush wanted me to discuss,” Groves replied. “Some of the reports from the civilian team indicate that the quarantined areas farthest from Hanford may already be inhabitable. If we can take some of the pressure off the resettlement camps, it would be to everyone’s benefit.”

  General Clark picked up a binder. “I have a proposal here to begin resettlement of areas east of the Missouri River along a line north and south of Three Forks, Montana. That would allow us to get people back into Bozeman among other places.”

  “But not Butte or Helena, correct?” Groves asked.

  “Correct. It has been a wet summer, and the dust has gone through the watersheds and into the water systems. East of the Missouri, the radiation is now at normal background levels.”

  “What have we done to the water systems, then?”

  Clark looked at Clarke, who spoke. “As I understand it, even the Plutonium has diluted to the point where it poses no danger. It will eventually wash down the Missouri and Mississippi rivers in the gulf. End of story.”

  “And we don’t worry about it getting into the aquatic life?” Groves asked.

  “I wouldn’t eat fish taken from the Missouri for a few years,” Colonel Clarke responded. “However, it seems no worse than anything else we are pouring into the rivers.”

  “That’s kind of sad,” Groves said. “Perhaps this will spur the country to pay more attention to things like that. There are a lot of rivers out east where I would not want to go swimming.”

  “As per Dr. Bush’s directives, we are getting ready to restart work on two new atomic piles. Can you address that, General, with more specificity?”

  Grove took a breath. “Because of the unsettled situation in Europe and particularly Japan, the president desires that we increase the tempo of work towards building an atomic weapon. The theoretical work is complete. What remains is gathering the necessary fissionable materials and doing the engineering on the weapon itself.”

  “God, I hope we never have to use something like that,” Clark commented. “Hanford is a lesson on the mess this stuff can cause.”

  “I would second that, Mark,” Groves said. “The only reason we are doing this is because other countries are doing it, and the security of the United States demands it.”

  “And that’s kind of sad,” Colonel Clarke said.

  “It is what it is,” Groves said. “Which brings us to the next topic. The German observer.”

  “What happened there, anyway?” General Clark asked.

  “Out of school, the master sergeant who managed the documents got careless. The German saw some things he wasn’t supposed to see. Both are now under arrest.”

  Colonel Clarke whistled. “What were the Germans thinking?”

  “This guy was working for one of the radical Nazi factions that Schloss has been fighting for years. I don’t know what the observer thought he would do with the information, but we caught him photographing the pages. About all he accomplished was giving himself an appointment with the electric chair and embarrassing Schloss and the German ambassador.”

  “So we’re going to follow through on prosecution?” General Clark asked.

  “Yes. We probably would have quietly shipped him back to let Schloss deal with him if he had been cooperative. But he refused to talk. So we were pretty much forced to drop it into the American legal system.”

  “That causes security problems as well,” Colonel Clarke stated.

  “True, although, the Manhattan Project is pretty much public knowledge, now, anyway. There is not much that would come out in the trial that would compromise us. But the president has agreed to allow the Germans to send someone else.”

  “That’s crazy,” Colonel Clarke protested.

  “No, it’s politics,” Groves responded. “As a practical matter, if we can help other people avoid the kind of accidents like we had here, it’s a good investment.”

  “However,” Groves continued, holding up a finger, “whoever they send will eventually come out here to look at things. And you have got to keep a lid on things. I want you two to put together a set of rules to guide what the observer can see and what he cannot be allowed to see. It must be leak-proof. I had enough splattered on me from the mess in DC, and I don’t need it to happen again out here. I don’t like the president questioning my competence.”

  “Message received, General,” General Clark said. “We’ll get this done.”

  “Thank you, Mark. I know you will. Now let’s review the cleanup operations. I’d like to see estimates on the progress for the two new piles.”

  “We have a briefing prepared, Sir,” Colonel Clarke said. “It shouldn’t take more than six or eight hours.”

  Groves looked at General Clark. “I suppose you could find some privies for the colonel to shovel out.”

  “I’ll look into it immediately, Sir.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  July 11,1944; 10 PM

  Stalin’s Dacha

  Kuntsevo District

  Moscow, USSR

  Kruglov took a small sip of his wine as Stalin lectured about the inevitability of socialist rule worldwide. It was late, and he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He looked across the table at Malenkov. The other man had eaten a hearty dinner earlier in the evening and was now paying for it by struggling to remain awake. Kruglov had suspected this was going to be a long evening and had eaten lightly in anticipation. The dining room in Stalin’s dacha now resembled a prison.

  “And so, Comrades, what shall we do about our armies trapped in Germany and Silesia?” Stalin asked.

  Kruglov quickly analyzed the question to determine whether it was rhetorical or if Stalin was indeed looking for an answer. There was a long pause, so the master of the NKVD decided he needed to speak.

  “Communications have failed, and what we heard before that was chaotic. We can only assume the army group has lost coherence.”

  “That is not what I wanted to hear,” Stalin growled.

  “None of us wanted to hear that,” Malenkov added. “But, I don’t think we can deny what has happened.”

  Kruglov thought Malenkov showed courage by speaking. On the other hand, Stalin seemed to lack confidence in the Politburo; else, he would have selected several members to fill the depleted inner circle. It probably resulted in some security for Kruglov and Malenkov, but it also gave them more visibility to Stalin than they desired. Kruglov mentally snorted at the irony.

  “Is something amusing, Sergei?”

  Kruglov skidded to a mental halt. I cannot afford to forget how well Stalin reads people. He is a dangerous, dangerous man.

  “It’s ironic, Comrade Party Secretary, that we have gone from a commanding position in the war to where we are now in a matter of weeks.”

  “It is disastrous,” Malenkov commented. “I cannot understand how the Red Army has failed the revolution.”

  “And Chuikov escaped our grasp,” Stalin said. “However, we must plan for how to move forward. We cannot allow the Nazis to take the initiative.”

  That was the absolute truth as far as Kruglov was concerned. The Soviet Union had lost two armies in western Poland and Germany in as many months. There was no problem finding more manpower, but replenishing the equipment and ammunition would take time, as would the training.

  “When can we retake the offensive?” Stalin asked.

  He wasn’t playing with his pipe, which Kruglov took as an ominous sign.

  “At our current rates of production,” Malenkov said, “it will take a year to rebuild our equipment inventory.”

  “And it will take all of that time to train the recruits to a sufficient level,” Kruglov added.

  Perhaps if we double-team him, Kruglov thought, we can avoid eating a bullet.