Chapter 58
Sitting in his bed, James Thompson stared up at the ceiling. He had not moved once since returning to this hotel room. Utah had left to get food and he'd barely even looked. He was entirely too preoccupied by thoughts that refused to leave him. All about one man and what he meant for this war.
Gustav Schreiber. The name means nothing to me. But his actions...goddamnit. I can't make any sense of what he's doing unless he's like me. That can't be possible though, we still don't even know how I'm here. I can't believe that someone else came back like this. Yet...
Sucking in a breath, Thompson held up a hand and stared at it, as if it could answer his questions. No answers would come.
"Yeah, that's about what I expected." With a soft chuckle, the Admiral let his hand fall back down. His eyes shifted, just enough, to look over at papers Churchill had sent to his room. "This is a
mess. I thought dealing with the President was bad enough. Sometimes I wish I'd just kept my mouth shut and stuck with Sara until the War ended..."
Well, that was a lie. He couldn't regret the work he was doing to save lives. Things
had been so much simpler, though, when all he was doing was talking with Sara and the others.
"I'm not going to get anything done just sitting here. Need to think about what I'm going to do." Rolling over in bed, the young Admiral climbed back to his feet and walked over to the desk and the papers. "Schreiber...what's going through your head right now? If you aren't like me, why are you doing this? I don't remember anyone doing anything like this in my time."
Granted, this entire timeline has been just a bit
off since I woke up on Sara. So can I really predict anything at all? For all I know this is just an entirely different timeline from start to finish. The Japanese attacked early, after all. Sighing once more, the Admiral picked up a picture of
Bismarck moored beside
Tirpitz and
Scharnhorst in a fjord.
Well, nothing for it. I've been asked to figure this man out, so I should probably do that.
Setting the picture down, Thompson sat at the desk and crossed his legs. His eyes roamed over the papers, looking for any clues that he could work with. Anything that would give him a clearer picture of the man on the other side of the War. What did he know, really? Gustav Schreiber had begun in command of
Blücher and no one in Britain- not even Lütjens -knew his previous career. The man hadn't done anything truly
notable until the action against the Norwegians.
It had been a pain to wrack his
own memory on the matter, but Thompson was fairly certain that
Blücher was supposed to sink there. He vaguely remembered the Germans losing a brand new cruiser in that campaign, though it was so vague he couldn't be certain.
"So we have someone save a ship that should have sunk, and no idea of what he was doing before that." Thompson scratched his chin, and winced slightly. That was hardly helping the issue of 'is Schreiber also from the future or not?' since it was exactly what Thompson had been trying to do. "Okay...not proving anything. What has he done since then?"
Picking up other papers, the Admiral continued to read. Schreiber had been promoted up to Admiral and given command of
Bismarck and
Blücher as a battlegroup upon the former's commissioning. That had leapfrogged Lütjens, yet wasn't really indicative of anything else. The original Admiral of
Bismarck was in Britain now, after all. So. Schreiber did well in Norway and got to be in charge of the newest battleship in Germany. He took the ship out on one major raid and disabled a British battleship while capturing- not sinking -a convoy. He hadn't even sunk the battleship, though
Revenge had been a functional loss anyway.
What was stranger than that, was how he sent the message to
Revenge. Schreiber, somehow, knew about the ship spirits. He knew, and he was using it to try and get the British to support him against Hitler and the Soviets. How? And why? He was so specific about the Soviets...
I wonder.
Looking down at his hands, Thompson thought back to his last meeting with the President. He had discussed similar things, hadn't he?
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In the dimness of the Oval Office, Admiral Thompson stared at the President. Roosevelt stared back, a cigarette casting flickers of light in his eyes as he took a drag of it. The President let his hand fall from his lips, blowing out a cloud of thick tobacco smoke. His sharp eyes staring directly into the much younger man, as if he was looking for something. It was always like this. Roosevelt, more than anyone else, knew how to read Thompson.
He always had.
"You are far from the first to raise concerns about Stalin." Roosevelt's voice was as strong as ever. Even with the stress of war and the knowledge of what was to come, the man maintained his composure and strength of will. His body may be failing him, yet his mind remained sharp. "It is a foolish man who trusts the word of a dictator with no concerns, nor complaints. However, I have seen little enough indication he plans on doing what you suggest. If nothing else, the Soviets are hardly in a position to dictate terms with the Germans at the gates of Moscow."
Thompson nodded, his own hands far from the cigarette that Roosevelt had offered him. "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it? If I didn't know how things were going, I'd think the Germans were about to win. But they won't. And the country is going to spend decades staring the Soviets down in Europe."
"Hm. Perhaps." Roosevelt replied, an amicable tone to his voice. "Perhaps what you knew is different from what will happen. Certainly I still find it hard to believe, even after everything you've been proven correct about. I may not trust Stalin completely, however, I trust enough to know that making a friend is better than viewing everyone who disagrees with us as an enemy." Tapping the table, as much to clear his cigarette as to make a point, the President continued. "Like it or not, the Soviets are our ally in this battle. We must acknowledge that and that, God willing, they survive this war in a shape to help us rebuild the World when all is said and done."
It was no secret that FDR trusted the Soviets more than anyone else did. He thought that he could work with them and tame the worst impulses of Stalin and his clique. It wasn't an incorrect belief, from what Thompson knew. Certainly Stalin had gotten along better with Roosevelt than anyone else, and vice-versa. Yet, he couldn't help but feel it was somewhat naive. The Cold War wouldn't have happened if the Soviets could be trusted...right? They were, even now, riddling the American government and the Manhattan Project with spies. His knowledge of that particular project had largely been what convinced the President he was telling the truth.
And the explosion of anger at the Soviet spies, captured after Thompson remembered the names of a couple- only a couple, he was no historian -of the more prominent ones? It was legendary to behold.
"I...well." Thompson sucked in a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. "I'm not going to say we should be ready to stab Stalin in the back when the War's over, or anything like that. I didn't grow up in the Cold War. Everything about that is...second-hand to me. Though, if my father or grandfather were in this room right now, they'd be screaming in your face that we should stop supplying anything to the Soviets and let them and the Nazis kill each other off and wipe our hands of the whole mess, other than stopping the Holocaust."
Roosevelt raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing. He simply took another puff of his cigarette and let the Admiral continue speaking.
"I can't claim to understand it, but my parents and grandparents lived through it, sir. They lived in a world where everyone was constantly afraid of the entire human race blowing themselves up with nuclear weapons. The Soviets spent millions, billions, of dollars and spent thousands of lives propping up Communist states across the world. From the day the war with Hitler ended, until the day the Wall fell, we were at ideological war with the Soviets." Thompson shook his head and sighed. "Again, I didn't live through that. I'm more worried about how many people are dying right now, and if we have to work with the Soviets to stop that, we should. I just..."
"You desire to stop the bloodshed and avoid the suffering of what you know as the post-war world." The President spoke, his face wreathed in smoke. His face was unreadable, yet his eyes held a certain sympathetic glint to them. He sighed as well, and looked down at the table. "I do understand what you are telling me, Admiral. I do not even doubt that you are correct. It hasn't escaped me that the Soviets would happily take all of Eastern Europe for their own. Nor do I doubt that they would cause such an orgy of destruction upon the Germans that it would make the Great War appear as children playing with toys."
Here, the President looked as if he wanted to stand and pace around his desk. He could not. Sighing once more, Roosevelt simply stared at Thompson with tired eyes.
"Yet, the other choice is to allow the Germans to do much the same, if not worse. What you have told me of the Holocaust...I would not have believed it, coming from anyone else. Even as much as I loathe Hitler and his followers, the idea that the German people would willingly slaughter millions upon millions out of a misguided belief in racial superiority...it boggles the mind. I never doubted that we were on a righteous path in our quest to destroy that loathsome government. Your words merely proved my point correct."
Thompson nodded, his own shoulders slumping tiredly. "Japan isn't much better. If there was ever a war where one side was completely evil, this is it. I'm not going to say we shouldn't do everything we can to win this as quickly as possible, and most of my focus is on the Pacific and my girls anyway. I just...you asked me about the future. I can't rightfully tell you about it without mentioning the Cold War and warning you about what Stalin is going to do, as soon as the War is over."
Shrugging helplessly, Thompson looked at the President with a crooked smile. "East Germany and Eastern Europe were not nice places, and I don't think being even nicer to the Soviets is going to do much to convince them to listen. They happily stomped down on anyone who thought about being anything other than hardcore Communist to the end. We have to help them and I will never say otherwise, though."
"Rest assured, Admiral. If nothing else, your words and the capture of the spies has convinced me that we should be more careful in our handling of that relationship. I still trust Stalin further than I would ever trust Hitler or anyone who is in his government, but I will not make the same mistakes you told me of." Roosevelt held a hand out, and Thompson reached out to take it. The President gripped it tightly, his hand showing no signs of the weakness of his body. "I assure you, I will do what I can to safeguard Democracy in Europe and Asia. So long as I live, I will fight for that. Even if it is at odds with our allies."
"As long as we win this war, I think I can deal with whatever else comes after it. As long as we don't die in a nuclear war." Thompson smiled, and Roosevelt chuckled softly. "Or the Abyssals showing up."
"And there is something you will have to tell me more about, before you head to Britain..."
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Looking back at the message from Admiral Schreiber, the American let his head fall to his desk. A deep sigh escaped his lips at the memory and the thoughts of how he was going to explain this to Roosevelt.
"A German Admiral who wants to unseat the Nazis and sign a peace that is unconditional, other than keeping Stalin from getting his gloves all over Germany." Thompson muttered, turning the words over in his head. He already knew what the President would say. "Damn it all...Roosevelt isn't going to want to play ball on that, not without some sort of promise to turn over
anyone who committed war crimes. Even then, how the hell are we going to tell Stalin to
not march into Germany after what the Germans did?"
As he had told the President, the Cold War was a distant thing for him. In a lot of ways, World War Two- even before he had ended up living it -was more real to him than the Cold War. He knew plenty of girls who had lived and died in the War, after all. He couldn't say the same for Cold Warriors, and since he hadn't had to live with the threat of nukes hanging over his head, he couldn't remotely claim to understand it. He
knew that Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany were evil. In his heart and his mind.
It was harder to think the same about the Soviets, simply because he hadn't experienced it.
Can I blame Schreiber for wanting to protect his country, though? If I were living in Germany, I wouldn't want to have the Soviets merrily rampaging across the country, looting and raping as they go. No matter how justified they are in doing that. Or feel they are...I couldn't justify raping innocent women or slaughtering men who had no crime but working a farm.
This was part of why he had been content with his little corner of the War to be. Helping the ship girls to survive and limiting the damage Japan could do at Pearl and beyond.
That was nice and simple. He hadn't had to worry about the politics of it all, or about how the Eastern Front was a mess where
no one was the good guy, just that the Soviets had more cause for their coming blood-rage than the Nazis did.
Fucking hell, it all kept coming back around to the fact he
had no practical experience with the Soviets or what they would do. Intellectually, he knew that letting them have Eastern Europe and start the Cold War would be a disaster. That countries would be stripped bare and turned into meat-shield colonies for the Soviets, and it wasn't just going to be Germany. Emotionally, he couldn't get past the fact that the Soviets were the ones having millions of their people herded up and slaughtered by the Nazis right now. It made getting into Schreiber's head almost impossible for him. He just....he just didn't have the ability to do it.
"I miss Sara." Thompson grunted, slamming his head against his desk repeatedly. "I miss Enterprise. I miss Halsey being an asshole to everyone. It was so much
simpler and I don't like what I'm having to do now."
A soft cough caused him to stop the repeated slamming, and instead turn his green-gaze towards the doorway. Utah stood there, holding a tray of food with a worried smile on her face. "I apologize, Admiral. Am I interrupting something important?"
"Nah, just me complaining about how my life sucks now." Thompson replied, waving a hand at the way Utah tilted her head in confusion. "Don't worry, I'll figure things out. So, you do what you needed to do?"
Utah smiled, and moved to set the tray down on the newly-clear desk. "Yes, I did. Talking with Victory was...interesting. I think I'll be meeting with her again before we go home, if that isn't a problem?"
Shrugging and scooting over so Utah had somewhere to sit, the Admiral smiled. "I don't see why not. Besides, we both need to talk to more people. I've been cooped up too much."
"I doubt that you would complain, or that Sister Sara would." Utah smiled back, happily grabbing an apple from the tray.
To his credit, Thompson only blushed a
little bit as he reached out and grabbed a piece of fruit for himself. As the two of them ate in silence, the young man could only think. His train of thought had been derailed by Utah's arrival...but maybe that wasn't a bad thing? She could probably give him some more material to work with, anyway. Another voice to talk to and another person to bounce ideas off of. If he just kept up as he had, he'd keep running himself in circles.
He wasn't, and never would be, a politician. All of the political questions were way above his pay grade, yet here he was. The curses of being
useful. For something that was out of his control, even.
"Hey, Utah." Thompson asked, when he had no food in his mouth. The battleship- on her third sandwich, now -turned and gave him a sheepish smile. Thompson just smiled back. "I was wondering what you thought about Schreiber? I can't really get into his head, myself, since I've never been in the same kind of position."
Utah swallowed the sandwich, a thoughtful expression flitting across her scarred face. "Honestly, the same is true for me, Admiral. However..." Tapping her chin, Utah leaned back in her chair and looked up a little. "From what we know, he seems to be a man in a difficult place, trying to do the best he can for his country? I know I would do anything to protect America and, more importantly, to protect my daughters. I...you've seen how far I can go, if I must."
The haunted look in her eyes prompted Thompson to place a comforting hand on her arm and give it a little squeeze. "No one blames you for that, y'know. You lost control because you were angry. Happens to us all, every once in a while."
"I know...it still hurts when I remember, though." Utah returned the smile he gave her, and placed her free hand on his own. "I do not really understand all of the political issues myself, but that is what I
feel. He feels the same as I do, just for his entire country instead of for a few daughters. Until we talk to him ourselves, I really can't say anything else."
Thompson nodded, "Until we talk to him ourselves..."
The two fell silent, returning to their meal as they were lost in their own thoughts. Utah in her memories of the Pearl Harbor attack. Thompson in thoughts of Schreiber and his motivations. Perhaps he really
did just need to talk to the man, face to face. Or as close as they could manage, on opposing sides of the greatest war in human history. If he could talk to the man, he could understand more of his motivations. Why he fought on for a Germany he clearly hated.
Why he was doing everything he possibly could to preserve Germany and keep Stalin out, against all the odds.
Schreiber...I can't understand you, not yet. But maybe I can at least try. If nothing else, I would love to believe we can end this war before so many people have to die...
Hasn't really been a fun few months, but I think everyone can understand that. Toss in that this chapter fought me something fierce and...well. Yeah. Hopefully it lives up to the wait, at least >.>
The hardest part is getting the right mix with Thompson here. He doesn't have anywhere near the emotional connection to things that Schreiber does. He doesn't much like Stalin or the Soviets, but for Thompson, it's more in the way of 'I know they're brutal and we are in a Cold War for decades' sort of way. He didn't live it like the German Admiral did. To him, WW2 and the Nazis/Japanese are a much more real thing than the Soviets ever were.
He's still going to tell Roosevelt that he shouldn't trust Stalin farther than he can throw him, but in a 'you asked me about the future, so I'm telling you' sort of way. Instead of a 'you killed my father, prepare to die.' sort of way. Intellectual vs Emotional.
Hopefully that worked out.
(equally difficult is the Roosevelt view on Stalin, since so much of that is subject to biased reporting, one way or the other. It's difficult to get to the meat of that in research, which took up a lot of time in making this. Not helped by Roosevelt's views on Stalin evolving during the war, once they met in person.)
