So Churchill is ruthlessness enough to purge the labour party and yet can't be bothered to have everyone who partook in the operation shot?
Feel the Bearn - A Timeline of France's Only Carrier in WWII and Beyond
- Thread starter Seafort
- Start date
Pangur
Donor
A paper in UK? You would 100% correct however else where like maybe the US it has every chance of being published
Pangur
Donor
Not so that I would think but more so just how the establishment works and then there is the Official Secret Act to back that up.
Chapter 6 - Best Laid Plans
June 14, 1945 (4:02 PM EST)
President Harry Truman sat behind his desk in the Oval Office and glared at the people gathered in the room.
"My friends, we have one year to clear up this situation," he said. "De Gaulle has put us into a logjam, and I intend to clear it. I need options."
"Call in their loans, Mr. President. Threaten to eliminate Lend Lease," replied Edward Stettinius. The Secretary of State looked around and folded his hands. "And if he refuses, and De Gaulle wants to go it alone, I say that we let him."
"He won't go it alone, Mr. Secretary, " said James Bryne. "He doesn't have to. No, he'll go right to Stalin. Instead of having a mutual defense pact, we'll be faced with a Soviet satellite right on the Atlantic coast!"
And I suspect that Stettinius would be perfectly fine with that, thought the President. Truman had always felt that the Secretary of State had been too soft on the Soviet Union, and here was evidence that was rearing its face once more.
"I would tend to agree with the Secretary," said Truman. "That is not an option. At least not presently."
He looked at the faces in front of him and waited.
Nothing.
"There has to be something else, people!" he exclaimed. "I will not accept the fact that we have to simply take in and feed millions and millions of German refugees! I will not stand by and allow this to happen!"
He slammed the palm of his hand on the Oval Office desk to emphasize the point, causing Stettinius to jump.
"Mr President," came a quiet voice. Henry Morgenthau stepped forward. "I agree. You do not have to."
Truman's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"JCS 1067," Morgenthau began. "It was a good start to the problem with Germany. But it does not have to end there."
"I don't see what punishing the Germans has to do with this," said Henry Stimson.
"Germany needs to be punished," replied Morgenthau. "We can all agree that the United States - indeed the world must never be placed in this situation again. That Germany must never be in a position to wage war on its neighbors again."
Morgenthau paused, looked at Stimson and Stettinius, and then at the President. "But it is not enough. We must go further. We have to go further."
"Mr. Secretary," replied Stimson, "This is not an opt-"
Truman waved him off. He'd listened to Morgenthau with growing frustration, but then it faded as a cold realization came to him.
What if conditions were so punitive that the refugees went elsewhere?
June 14, 1945 (4:30 PM EST)
Major-General Colin Gubbins looked at the papers before him with an icy stare. There had been failures, yes. The best laid plans could go awry once action began. The Prime Minister knew that. He had to.
To be called incompetent! he thought, his rage beginning to build. On what grounds did Winston make that claim? Churchill's entire career was littered with the detritus of failed plans and schemes. The Dardanelles. The Habbakuk. Countless others! And just because De Gaulle suddenly began using a double, I am an amateur? Gubbins took a long sip of the glass of Ararat brandy before him. Ironically, it was a gift from Churchill. Who in turn had been given it by Stalin, at least according to the Prime Minister.
There was a knock at the door to his office in 64 Baker Street.
"Yes?", he said wearily.
"Mr. Fleming is here to see you," said the aide at the door.
Gubbins raised an eyebrow. "Send him in."
Moments later a weary looking Ian Fleming stepped in and saluted him. Gubbins returned it and shook his hand.
"There is no need for that, Mr. Fleming," said the Major-General with a smile as he shut the door and bade him to sit down. "I hear that you are a journalist now."
Fleming did not return the smile. "And I hear that the Bearn was met with more than just disgruntled Nazis."
Gubbins froze.
"A Mr. Adams paid me a visit tonight and provided a most interesting story," continued Fleming. "One filled with intrigue and treachery. And perhaps treason."
The General sat down behind his desk. He eyed the drawer that was in front of him. His hand began to edge towards it.
"Go on," he said.
"General, sir - you need to get your operatives in order," replied Fleming.
"What are you getting at?" asked Gubbins. His hand was nearly at the drawer handle, and inches from the pistol within it.
"What I am getting at is quite simple," replied Fleming. He leaned forward and smiled.
"I want in."
President Harry Truman sat behind his desk in the Oval Office and glared at the people gathered in the room.
"My friends, we have one year to clear up this situation," he said. "De Gaulle has put us into a logjam, and I intend to clear it. I need options."
"Call in their loans, Mr. President. Threaten to eliminate Lend Lease," replied Edward Stettinius. The Secretary of State looked around and folded his hands. "And if he refuses, and De Gaulle wants to go it alone, I say that we let him."
"He won't go it alone, Mr. Secretary, " said James Bryne. "He doesn't have to. No, he'll go right to Stalin. Instead of having a mutual defense pact, we'll be faced with a Soviet satellite right on the Atlantic coast!"
And I suspect that Stettinius would be perfectly fine with that, thought the President. Truman had always felt that the Secretary of State had been too soft on the Soviet Union, and here was evidence that was rearing its face once more.
"I would tend to agree with the Secretary," said Truman. "That is not an option. At least not presently."
He looked at the faces in front of him and waited.
Nothing.
"There has to be something else, people!" he exclaimed. "I will not accept the fact that we have to simply take in and feed millions and millions of German refugees! I will not stand by and allow this to happen!"
He slammed the palm of his hand on the Oval Office desk to emphasize the point, causing Stettinius to jump.
"Mr President," came a quiet voice. Henry Morgenthau stepped forward. "I agree. You do not have to."
Truman's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"JCS 1067," Morgenthau began. "It was a good start to the problem with Germany. But it does not have to end there."
"I don't see what punishing the Germans has to do with this," said Henry Stimson.
"Germany needs to be punished," replied Morgenthau. "We can all agree that the United States - indeed the world must never be placed in this situation again. That Germany must never be in a position to wage war on its neighbors again."
Morgenthau paused, looked at Stimson and Stettinius, and then at the President. "But it is not enough. We must go further. We have to go further."
"Mr. Secretary," replied Stimson, "This is not an opt-"
Truman waved him off. He'd listened to Morgenthau with growing frustration, but then it faded as a cold realization came to him.
What if conditions were so punitive that the refugees went elsewhere?
June 14, 1945 (4:30 PM EST)
Major-General Colin Gubbins looked at the papers before him with an icy stare. There had been failures, yes. The best laid plans could go awry once action began. The Prime Minister knew that. He had to.
To be called incompetent! he thought, his rage beginning to build. On what grounds did Winston make that claim? Churchill's entire career was littered with the detritus of failed plans and schemes. The Dardanelles. The Habbakuk. Countless others! And just because De Gaulle suddenly began using a double, I am an amateur? Gubbins took a long sip of the glass of Ararat brandy before him. Ironically, it was a gift from Churchill. Who in turn had been given it by Stalin, at least according to the Prime Minister.
There was a knock at the door to his office in 64 Baker Street.
"Yes?", he said wearily.
"Mr. Fleming is here to see you," said the aide at the door.
Gubbins raised an eyebrow. "Send him in."
Moments later a weary looking Ian Fleming stepped in and saluted him. Gubbins returned it and shook his hand.
"There is no need for that, Mr. Fleming," said the Major-General with a smile as he shut the door and bade him to sit down. "I hear that you are a journalist now."
Fleming did not return the smile. "And I hear that the Bearn was met with more than just disgruntled Nazis."
Gubbins froze.
"A Mr. Adams paid me a visit tonight and provided a most interesting story," continued Fleming. "One filled with intrigue and treachery. And perhaps treason."
The General sat down behind his desk. He eyed the drawer that was in front of him. His hand began to edge towards it.
"Go on," he said.
"General, sir - you need to get your operatives in order," replied Fleming.
"What are you getting at?" asked Gubbins. His hand was nearly at the drawer handle, and inches from the pistol within it.
"What I am getting at is quite simple," replied Fleming. He leaned forward and smiled.
"I want in."
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Chapter 6 - Best Laid Plans
June 14, 1945 (4:33 PM EST)
Raymond Oullette leaned against the bulkhead and listened. There was no functioning light within the laundry room, although the faint glow of a bulb in the corridor outside cast the room into in a mix of eerie shadows. That he felt claustrophobic was bad enough. That the torn linen strewn about the abandoned room was caked with dried blood made it far worse. But darkest still was the hatch on the far end of the room. It was buckled and reinforced with timber. Small rivulets of water seeped from the edges of the hatch.
"We'll need to get a pump in here quickly," said an engineer who was standing next to him.
He nodded darkly and listened again to the hatch. Oullette winced as he heard the sound of metal groaning. "Get some men down here to reweld that hatch. And put in more braces."
The engineer nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
Oullette continued to stare at the leaking, creaking hatchway. It was all the stood between thousands of tons of seawater flooding into the Bearn and a quick trip down to the floor of the Atlantic. An ocean that the carrier still had to transverse if it were to survive.
June 14, 1945 (4:35 PM EST)
The right hand of Major-General Colin Gubbins remained two inches away from his drawer. And the pistol that it contained.
"What did you say?", he asked.
Fleming starred back at him. "It's quite simple, sir," he replied. "As simple as it would be for you to withdraw that gun and eliminate the threat that you perceive to be before you now. However I am not that threat. Your organization is."
Gubbins bristled. "You have five seconds to explain yourself, Commander."
"The SOE has leaks. Maybe it is not riddled with them. Maybe it is. But only one leak is enough. We are not talking of loose lips sinking ships, as the poster says. We are talking of the sinking of empires.
He leaned forward. "We are fortunate that Adams came to me, and not another reporter. Granted, I --"
Gubbins pulled out the pistol and slowly aimed it at the reporter. Fleming was nonplussed.
"General, I support your objectives," he said. "I have no desire to see Britain dominated by Stalinist puppets. I know for a fact what the Soviets are capable of. What they have done. And what they will do. In my view, anything to thwart that future is required. Even the unthinkable."
The Major-General held his aim firmly at Fleming and studied the man for several seconds. Then he lowered the weapon.
"It is not just my objectives," he said finally.
"I did not imagine so," replied Fleming. "History is moving rather quickly these days, and it while it may seem to some that the heroes and villains keep changing parts I know what side that I stand on. I want to assist in any way that I can."
Gubbins stared back at him, and extended a hand. Fleming shook it.
"It's good to have you back, Commander."
Fleming smiled. "It is almost as if I had never left."
"Given the time since your resignation and tonight, it practically is," replied Gubbins. His own smile faded. "What do you propose."
"Elimination of the threat of Adams," said Fleming curtly. "Not immediately, however. We need to ascertain what information that he has, and if there are any other potential leaks within Baker Street. But then we cut the ratlines and route out the rot, immediately."
"Agreed," said Gubbins. "Make contact with Adams again. See what other risks are posed. Continue to play your present role."
Fleming nodded.
"But in the meantime, I have another mission for you."
June 14, 1945 (6:23 PM EST)
Ian Fleming walked calmly from the Special Operations Executive's headquarters on 64 Baker Street. It was quite late in the evening and there were few pedestrians to be found at this time of night. He straightened his jacket and marched across the street.
After rounding a corner he stopped, waiting for a cab. He glanced to his left, and to his right. The street was deserted. He was alone.
At that realization, he bent over and vomited.
Raymond Oullette leaned against the bulkhead and listened. There was no functioning light within the laundry room, although the faint glow of a bulb in the corridor outside cast the room into in a mix of eerie shadows. That he felt claustrophobic was bad enough. That the torn linen strewn about the abandoned room was caked with dried blood made it far worse. But darkest still was the hatch on the far end of the room. It was buckled and reinforced with timber. Small rivulets of water seeped from the edges of the hatch.
"We'll need to get a pump in here quickly," said an engineer who was standing next to him.
He nodded darkly and listened again to the hatch. Oullette winced as he heard the sound of metal groaning. "Get some men down here to reweld that hatch. And put in more braces."
The engineer nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
Oullette continued to stare at the leaking, creaking hatchway. It was all the stood between thousands of tons of seawater flooding into the Bearn and a quick trip down to the floor of the Atlantic. An ocean that the carrier still had to transverse if it were to survive.
June 14, 1945 (4:35 PM EST)
The right hand of Major-General Colin Gubbins remained two inches away from his drawer. And the pistol that it contained.
"What did you say?", he asked.
Fleming starred back at him. "It's quite simple, sir," he replied. "As simple as it would be for you to withdraw that gun and eliminate the threat that you perceive to be before you now. However I am not that threat. Your organization is."
Gubbins bristled. "You have five seconds to explain yourself, Commander."
"The SOE has leaks. Maybe it is not riddled with them. Maybe it is. But only one leak is enough. We are not talking of loose lips sinking ships, as the poster says. We are talking of the sinking of empires.
He leaned forward. "We are fortunate that Adams came to me, and not another reporter. Granted, I --"
Gubbins pulled out the pistol and slowly aimed it at the reporter. Fleming was nonplussed.
"General, I support your objectives," he said. "I have no desire to see Britain dominated by Stalinist puppets. I know for a fact what the Soviets are capable of. What they have done. And what they will do. In my view, anything to thwart that future is required. Even the unthinkable."
The Major-General held his aim firmly at Fleming and studied the man for several seconds. Then he lowered the weapon.
"It is not just my objectives," he said finally.
"I did not imagine so," replied Fleming. "History is moving rather quickly these days, and it while it may seem to some that the heroes and villains keep changing parts I know what side that I stand on. I want to assist in any way that I can."
Gubbins stared back at him, and extended a hand. Fleming shook it.
"It's good to have you back, Commander."
Fleming smiled. "It is almost as if I had never left."
"Given the time since your resignation and tonight, it practically is," replied Gubbins. His own smile faded. "What do you propose."
"Elimination of the threat of Adams," said Fleming curtly. "Not immediately, however. We need to ascertain what information that he has, and if there are any other potential leaks within Baker Street. But then we cut the ratlines and route out the rot, immediately."
"Agreed," said Gubbins. "Make contact with Adams again. See what other risks are posed. Continue to play your present role."
Fleming nodded.
"But in the meantime, I have another mission for you."
June 14, 1945 (6:23 PM EST)
Ian Fleming walked calmly from the Special Operations Executive's headquarters on 64 Baker Street. It was quite late in the evening and there were few pedestrians to be found at this time of night. He straightened his jacket and marched across the street.
After rounding a corner he stopped, waiting for a cab. He glanced to his left, and to his right. The street was deserted. He was alone.
At that realization, he bent over and vomited.
Chapter 6 - Best Laid Plans
June 15, 1945 (7:25 AM EST)
Aleksandr Vasilevsky took a step back from the large war map. The Commander in Chief of Soviet Forces in the Far East had spent the last 15 minutes detailing the strategy for an invasion of Japanese-held Manchuria. Across the table, Joseph Stalin observed with an impenetrable glare. A few feet away General Georgy Zhukov quietly glowered. Vasilevsky could have made this presentation in sixty seconds, not fifteen minutes, he thought. The plan called for a massive pincer movement utilizing the blunt force of over one and a half million Soviet soldiers. They would simply overwhelm the enemy in numbers that he could scarcely imagine. And imagination was not necessary for this plan, Zhukov thought.
Stalin lit his pipe and studied the map. The room was deathly silent, save for the whir of electric fans that sent the smoke rafting in various directions. After several more moments he nodded to Vasilevsky. "This will do," he finally said.
The Mashall felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you, Comrade Stalin. We will continue our movement of personnel and equipment into the Siberian region for the August 8th date."
"The date is on hold," replied Stalin as he continued to examine at the map.
A wave of surprise rippled through the room. It had been well known that Stalin had promised to enter the war in the East once the battle against the fascists in Europe had been concluded.
It was General Zhukov who finally dared speak. "On hold?", he asked.
Stalin looked up and stared at him. Then he turned to glance to Beria, who had a slight smile on his face. Ignoring Zhukov, he then turned to Vasilevsky.
"You may continue the troop buildup in the Siberian region," he said. "But you will send no more than half of the forces planned for this operation. The rest are to remain in the European theater for now."
"Of course, Comrade Stalin," replied Vasilevsky. He paused, uncertain if he should continue. And then he did. "Comrade, your victory over the Hitlerites has allowed the Motherland to withstand its greatest historical test ever. But sir, you had said that once this test was over, once the war in the West was finished in three months we would attack the fascists in the East. Has something changed?"
Stalin looked again at Beria, and then back at his commander.
"Who said the War in the West was over?"
Aleksandr Vasilevsky took a step back from the large war map. The Commander in Chief of Soviet Forces in the Far East had spent the last 15 minutes detailing the strategy for an invasion of Japanese-held Manchuria. Across the table, Joseph Stalin observed with an impenetrable glare. A few feet away General Georgy Zhukov quietly glowered. Vasilevsky could have made this presentation in sixty seconds, not fifteen minutes, he thought. The plan called for a massive pincer movement utilizing the blunt force of over one and a half million Soviet soldiers. They would simply overwhelm the enemy in numbers that he could scarcely imagine. And imagination was not necessary for this plan, Zhukov thought.
Stalin lit his pipe and studied the map. The room was deathly silent, save for the whir of electric fans that sent the smoke rafting in various directions. After several more moments he nodded to Vasilevsky. "This will do," he finally said.
The Mashall felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you, Comrade Stalin. We will continue our movement of personnel and equipment into the Siberian region for the August 8th date."
"The date is on hold," replied Stalin as he continued to examine at the map.
A wave of surprise rippled through the room. It had been well known that Stalin had promised to enter the war in the East once the battle against the fascists in Europe had been concluded.
It was General Zhukov who finally dared speak. "On hold?", he asked.
Stalin looked up and stared at him. Then he turned to glance to Beria, who had a slight smile on his face. Ignoring Zhukov, he then turned to Vasilevsky.
"You may continue the troop buildup in the Siberian region," he said. "But you will send no more than half of the forces planned for this operation. The rest are to remain in the European theater for now."
"Of course, Comrade Stalin," replied Vasilevsky. He paused, uncertain if he should continue. And then he did. "Comrade, your victory over the Hitlerites has allowed the Motherland to withstand its greatest historical test ever. But sir, you had said that once this test was over, once the war in the West was finished in three months we would attack the fascists in the East. Has something changed?"
Stalin looked again at Beria, and then back at his commander.
"Who said the War in the West was over?"
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Chapter 7 - Haman
June 15, 1945 (11:53 AM EST)
Henry Morgenthau stepped out of the converted B-24 bomber, his stomach still queasy. The trans-Atlantic flight has been long and marked with several pockets of turbulence that had left him nauseous. As he walked down the stairway to the tarmac of the RAF Northolt Airbase he remarked at how different the base seemed from Prestwick Airport. The latter had been the base of operations for the United States during the European war, and had been given back to the British only two weeks earlier. The Secretary of the Treasury was relieved that the move had been made. He far preferred the short ride from Northolt to 10 Downing Street, as opposed to the trip from Glascow that would have been required.
As he stepped onto the tarmac he was greeted by William Averell Harriman. The Ambassador to the United Kingdom extended his hand.
"It's good to see you, Henry," he said as Morgenthau shook his hand.
"Likewise," replied the Treasury Secretary. "It has been too long."
Harriman beckoned him to a waiting staff car, and they both climbed inside. As the car began its journey into London the ambassador looked at his counterpart. Morgenthau was undoubtedly tired, but appeared anxious.
"The flight was that bad?", he finally asked.
"Worse," replied Morgenthau. "But it's not that. No, it's simply that I had an idea. An important idea."
He let his voice trail off as he leaned back and attempted to allow himself a moment to relax. Then he opened his eyes, sighed, and continued.
"It's an idea that we will need to gain acceptance on from our British cousins."
"Your plan for Germany?", asked Harriman.
"It should be everyone's plan," replied Morgenthau with an air of irritation. "The German nation engaged in a systematic, well planned, thoroughly considered genocide of an entire people. And it would not have stopped there. Entire races were to have been liquidated. I cannot think of a more evil, more corrupt, more morally bankrupt regime in history."
Harriman nodded.
"The trouble is that there are too many on both sides of the Atlantic who wish for matters to return to their pre-war states. And that cannot happen."
The car passed several burnt out buildings. Whether it was from The Blitz, the buzz bombs, or the V2 rockets did not matter. Only that it showed the devastation that had been wrought upon London. Morgenthau nodded to the wrecked. "Or all of this, it will eventually happen again."
The ambassador was silent for a moment, then responded. "The biggest trade that Germany and Britain had in the pre-war period was with each other. They were the two most industrialized nations. And it was not just tariff policies that made trade relations better for both of them."
"It's not the same anymore," said Morgenthau.
"Oh, I agree," replied Harriman. "The challenge will be getting Churchill to listen. And I can tell you from experience, he likely will not wish to."
"I anticipate that. He's told me in the past that he had no desire to see Britain chained to the corpse of a dead Germany."
He looked out the window at the passing London buildings. People were milling about, but there was a noticeable military presence on the streets.
"So I have heard," said the Ambassador. "But it is not just that. Ever since the business with De Gaulle, if not before that, the Prime Minister has been...different."
"In what way?"
"Irritable. Some would say, irrational."
The staff car abruptly hit a pothole, causing both men to bounce. The breakfast that the Treasury Secretary has consumed before landing surged in his stomach.
"And it is not just that," said Harriman. "I think that they already know why you are coming. This afternoon I received a request from the Times for an interview with you."
Morgenthau raised an eyebrow.
"A fellow named Fleming," added the Ambassador. "He wants to talk with you about....let me think of how he put it....our problem with Germany."
Henry Morgenthau stepped out of the converted B-24 bomber, his stomach still queasy. The trans-Atlantic flight has been long and marked with several pockets of turbulence that had left him nauseous. As he walked down the stairway to the tarmac of the RAF Northolt Airbase he remarked at how different the base seemed from Prestwick Airport. The latter had been the base of operations for the United States during the European war, and had been given back to the British only two weeks earlier. The Secretary of the Treasury was relieved that the move had been made. He far preferred the short ride from Northolt to 10 Downing Street, as opposed to the trip from Glascow that would have been required.
As he stepped onto the tarmac he was greeted by William Averell Harriman. The Ambassador to the United Kingdom extended his hand.
"It's good to see you, Henry," he said as Morgenthau shook his hand.
"Likewise," replied the Treasury Secretary. "It has been too long."
Harriman beckoned him to a waiting staff car, and they both climbed inside. As the car began its journey into London the ambassador looked at his counterpart. Morgenthau was undoubtedly tired, but appeared anxious.
"The flight was that bad?", he finally asked.
"Worse," replied Morgenthau. "But it's not that. No, it's simply that I had an idea. An important idea."
He let his voice trail off as he leaned back and attempted to allow himself a moment to relax. Then he opened his eyes, sighed, and continued.
"It's an idea that we will need to gain acceptance on from our British cousins."
"Your plan for Germany?", asked Harriman.
"It should be everyone's plan," replied Morgenthau with an air of irritation. "The German nation engaged in a systematic, well planned, thoroughly considered genocide of an entire people. And it would not have stopped there. Entire races were to have been liquidated. I cannot think of a more evil, more corrupt, more morally bankrupt regime in history."
Harriman nodded.
"The trouble is that there are too many on both sides of the Atlantic who wish for matters to return to their pre-war states. And that cannot happen."
The car passed several burnt out buildings. Whether it was from The Blitz, the buzz bombs, or the V2 rockets did not matter. Only that it showed the devastation that had been wrought upon London. Morgenthau nodded to the wrecked. "Or all of this, it will eventually happen again."
The ambassador was silent for a moment, then responded. "The biggest trade that Germany and Britain had in the pre-war period was with each other. They were the two most industrialized nations. And it was not just tariff policies that made trade relations better for both of them."
"It's not the same anymore," said Morgenthau.
"Oh, I agree," replied Harriman. "The challenge will be getting Churchill to listen. And I can tell you from experience, he likely will not wish to."
"I anticipate that. He's told me in the past that he had no desire to see Britain chained to the corpse of a dead Germany."
He looked out the window at the passing London buildings. People were milling about, but there was a noticeable military presence on the streets.
"So I have heard," said the Ambassador. "But it is not just that. Ever since the business with De Gaulle, if not before that, the Prime Minister has been...different."
"In what way?"
"Irritable. Some would say, irrational."
The staff car abruptly hit a pothole, causing both men to bounce. The breakfast that the Treasury Secretary has consumed before landing surged in his stomach.
"And it is not just that," said Harriman. "I think that they already know why you are coming. This afternoon I received a request from the Times for an interview with you."
Morgenthau raised an eyebrow.
"A fellow named Fleming," added the Ambassador. "He wants to talk with you about....let me think of how he put it....our problem with Germany."
Chapter 7 - Haman
June 15, 1945 (1:05 PM EST)
"Preposterous," scoffed Winston Churchill. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "I am all for the punishment of Germany. Indeed, my people have suffered far more at her hands than yours. My word, my own life was nearly taken by her fanatics just days ago. But what you propose goes far beyond punishment."
Morgenthau's eyes narrowed, but he otherwise betrayed no reaction. While he had nothing but admiration for the British Prime Minister's wartime leadership, his estimation had fallen precipitously in the last twenty minutes. And that decline was becoming close to a free fall as the meeting wore on.
"We ought not to prevent her from living decently," he continued. "Your suggestion would have Germany living from hand to mouth for generations."
Churchill took out a tumbler and pored a glass of Ararat brandy. He took out a second glass and offered it to Morgenthau.
"No, thank you," replied the Treasury Secretary, holding up a hand. Churchill shrugged and drank deeply.
"Mr. Prime Minister, what I am suggesting...no, I am not suggesting." Morgenthau paused, collecting himself. "I am asking you, hold the German nation to the same standards that you sought to hold France to when you actioned against her."
"An action that your government was thoroughly opposed," miffed Churchill. "Even now that accursed French carrier steams ever westward, every onward towards the promised succor in an American shipyard. And how your press is celebrating it! Yes, I have seen the newsreels! That impetuous captain, with his foolish, bloody cap leading the way against the evil Britons from across the Channel! Never mind that his airmen murdered our generals, sank our ships, and slaughtered our innocent troops!"
With each word Winston's face became more and more red. He punctuated the last words with an angry fist slammed against the table.
Morgenthau kept his composure as Churchill stood. "Yes, even now we Britons sit on the razors edge, with Nazi spies and assassins prowling our streets!" the Prime Minister bellowed. "Yet do I blame the German people for these travails? Hardly! Mr. Secretary, there are bonds between the working classes of all countries, and the English people will not stand for the policy that you are now advocating!"
"Mr. Prime Minister," Morgenthau replied flatly, "What did you call your operation against De Gaulle? Recompense? That is simply what we are proposing."
He noticed that Churchill was trembling all over. It was almost as if he were about to lose control.
And then he did.
Churchill whirled around the desk and stood over the Treasury Secretary. "You come into my office and mock our struggle against the French tyrant! You propose to chain the British Empire to the corpse of a dead Germany --"
"We simply want a just peace that prevents any future German aggression," interrupted Morgenthau, standing up, "They have killed millions! Upended nations! Surely you of all people should understand --"
"Never presume to tell me what I should understand," growled Churchill. "Oh, I understand very clearly. Your President is no Franklin Roosevelt. He gives aid and comfort to the enemy on one hand, and with the other he seeks to destroy the only counterweight to French expansion! No, Mr. Secretary, I understand all too well!"
"Prime Minister, I -- "
"Get out!" he screamed. "Get out before I have you expelled from my country!"
Morgenthau gathered his coat and left Winston Churchill's office without another word. His last image before the door shut was of the Prime Minister leaning against a chair, his face a frightening, rageful mask of crimson.
"Preposterous," scoffed Winston Churchill. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "I am all for the punishment of Germany. Indeed, my people have suffered far more at her hands than yours. My word, my own life was nearly taken by her fanatics just days ago. But what you propose goes far beyond punishment."
Morgenthau's eyes narrowed, but he otherwise betrayed no reaction. While he had nothing but admiration for the British Prime Minister's wartime leadership, his estimation had fallen precipitously in the last twenty minutes. And that decline was becoming close to a free fall as the meeting wore on.
"We ought not to prevent her from living decently," he continued. "Your suggestion would have Germany living from hand to mouth for generations."
Churchill took out a tumbler and pored a glass of Ararat brandy. He took out a second glass and offered it to Morgenthau.
"No, thank you," replied the Treasury Secretary, holding up a hand. Churchill shrugged and drank deeply.
"Mr. Prime Minister, what I am suggesting...no, I am not suggesting." Morgenthau paused, collecting himself. "I am asking you, hold the German nation to the same standards that you sought to hold France to when you actioned against her."
"An action that your government was thoroughly opposed," miffed Churchill. "Even now that accursed French carrier steams ever westward, every onward towards the promised succor in an American shipyard. And how your press is celebrating it! Yes, I have seen the newsreels! That impetuous captain, with his foolish, bloody cap leading the way against the evil Britons from across the Channel! Never mind that his airmen murdered our generals, sank our ships, and slaughtered our innocent troops!"
With each word Winston's face became more and more red. He punctuated the last words with an angry fist slammed against the table.
Morgenthau kept his composure as Churchill stood. "Yes, even now we Britons sit on the razors edge, with Nazi spies and assassins prowling our streets!" the Prime Minister bellowed. "Yet do I blame the German people for these travails? Hardly! Mr. Secretary, there are bonds between the working classes of all countries, and the English people will not stand for the policy that you are now advocating!"
"Mr. Prime Minister," Morgenthau replied flatly, "What did you call your operation against De Gaulle? Recompense? That is simply what we are proposing."
He noticed that Churchill was trembling all over. It was almost as if he were about to lose control.
And then he did.
Churchill whirled around the desk and stood over the Treasury Secretary. "You come into my office and mock our struggle against the French tyrant! You propose to chain the British Empire to the corpse of a dead Germany --"
"We simply want a just peace that prevents any future German aggression," interrupted Morgenthau, standing up, "They have killed millions! Upended nations! Surely you of all people should understand --"
"Never presume to tell me what I should understand," growled Churchill. "Oh, I understand very clearly. Your President is no Franklin Roosevelt. He gives aid and comfort to the enemy on one hand, and with the other he seeks to destroy the only counterweight to French expansion! No, Mr. Secretary, I understand all too well!"
"Prime Minister, I -- "
"Get out!" he screamed. "Get out before I have you expelled from my country!"
Morgenthau gathered his coat and left Winston Churchill's office without another word. His last image before the door shut was of the Prime Minister leaning against a chair, his face a frightening, rageful mask of crimson.
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nbcman
Donor
Stalin could boost the 'additive' in the next case of brandy to assist that.
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Meanwhile in the Atlantic:
What? I got noting but a sinking logbook of U-540 heading to the bottom of the Atlantic.
What? I got noting but a sinking logbook of U-540 heading to the bottom of the Atlantic.