Final impact

Kolhammer had to agree. Herculean efforts had gone into determining the status of the Axis powers’ atomic weapons program. Nearly as much energy had gone into disrupting that program as had been devoted to the invasion, and to the search for any more “missing” task force ships like the Dessaix.

Of course, the great unknown was still the Soviets. Stalin undoubtedly had his own atomic plans, and while it was extremely unlikely that he’d really cooperate with the Nazis beyond the elaborate charade of the Demidenko facility, just about everything they’d been dealing with had been unlikely, ever since the moment Manning Pope’s wormhole had dropped them eight decades into the past.

“I think you’re right, Mike,” Kolhammer said. “But I still get that sick feeling in my gut every morning when I get out of the rack. You have to figure Groves is going to deliver any day now, and then what? When we first got here, I used to dream about Marie every night. Now all I see in my dreams are mushroom clouds springing up over Europe.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Jones agreed, with a somber cast to his features.

None of the three was privy to the progress of the Manhattan Project, the Allies’ own race for the bomb. Despite the resources Kolhammer had transferred over to General Leslie Groves, the man in charge of the project, a wall of impenetrable secrecy still surrounded it. Nobody outside the inner circle had any idea when the first bomb would be dropped, or where.

But thanks to the records they had brought with them, the whole world knew it was coming. This had induced a state of generalized panic that reminded Kolhammer of the days following the destruction of Marseilles, back in his own universe. The genie was out of the bottle, and everybody was well aware that he wasn’t a friendly spirit.

“Okay, gentlemen,” he said, putting an end to the maudlin exchange, “we deal with what we must, and what we can. Mike, I’ll be handing things over to Nancy Viviani tomorrow and heading down your way, so you’ll need to get out of my room and change the sheets. I know you Texans love sleeping rough, but we admirals, we prefer our little comforts.”

Judge grinned. “It’ll be good to have you back, sir.”

“Lonesome,” Kolhammer continued. “You got everything squared away there? I’ve been talking to Spruance, and he’s looking forward to seeing your people at work. But some days it feels like he’s a minority of one.”

“Admiral, I’ve had the First and Second battalions locked down for three days now. Everyone is back from R and R, and we didn’t have a single straggler. I think that’s a record. My boys and girls, they’ve got some shit to prove. Not to me. But like you say, there’s a lot of folks don’t think they’re up for it. We’ll prove ’em wrong, if we get the chance.” The marine growled out the last line with real anger.

“You’ll get the chance,” Kolhammer promised.

“That’s not what I hear. What I hear is that you’ve been taking heat to send us to fucking Persia. For garrison duty with the Brits.”

Kolhammer shook his head emphatically. “Look, you’ve heard right. There’s been some pressure, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. You’ve got to stop chasing your tail, Lonesome. It’s been two years, and it never stops.”

Frustration flashed in the marine’s eyes. “That’s why I can’t stop chasing my goddamn tail, Admiral. Every time I look back, there’s someone trying to fuck me in the ass!”

“Nobody here is going to allow that to happen. True, I got leaned on. And when it happened, I did what I always do. I told ’em to take a leap. You’re coming to the Marianas with the rest of us, so get used to it.

“Now, Mike,” he continued, shutting down the subject, “how’s my old girl? She ready to rumble?”

Judge nodded. He looked uncomfortable, though, at having been caught up in the crossfire. “Even my wife was impressed when she stopped by, sir. And those Royal Navy types, they don’t impress easy.”

Jones’s deep bass rumbled out. “So what, you gonna have to keep your pants on forever now?”

Judge’s expression didn’t change a bit. “I think the phrase yo mama covers it, jarhead,” he replied calmly.

It was a rare day when Kolhammer could think of anything positive that had come of the Transition, but Mike Judge’s wooing and winning of Captain Karen Halabi qualified as A Good Thing. Their giddy, teenlike infatuation reminded him of his own marriage, back in its first hot flush, and he felt sure that, like his, theirs would endure. He had kept to his vows, forsaking all others even though he was lost to Marie, and for all she knew he had died off East Timor.