Chapter 60
Winston Churchill was many things. A veteran politician, who had been serving his country since before the Great War. One of the few, in his opinion, to have seen Hitler for the madman he was. The man who had kept Britain in the war during the hard period after France threw in the towel, and before the Americans had entered. A man who had seen the war on the Western Front, up close and personal, in the last War. The leader of the opposition, the leader of Britain, the man who fought against German tyranny. All together, a man who was not easy to surprise.
Or so he had thought. He was quickly learning that, no matter what experience a man had, it would not be enough to prepare him for listening to
anything related to Admiral James Thompson.
What I wouldn't give for a brandy, right about now. Churchill rubbed at his brow, staring at the American officer who was giving him such a pounding headache. Thompson at least had the grace to look sheepish, for all the good that did.
If it had not been for the letter from Franklin, I would call this man a bloody madman. I'm still tempted to do so.
"If I didn't know better, I would say you are deliberately trying to give me a heart attack." Churchill's voice was gruff, and perhaps the slightest bit sour. He shook his head and sighed, continuing to rub at his brow. "Franklin believes what you have to say, so I suppose I will give you the courtesy of listening."
"I still don't believe it myself, sometimes, for what that's worth." Thompson shrugged his shoulders, his eyes drifting over to Utah, by his side as ever. "But I'm here for a reason, I know that. If that's only ending this war before so many people have to die...I'll take what I can get. Sir."
Churchill waved his hand, "If that's so, I want you to tell me what we should expect moving forward. I can safely assume we
do win, or you'd be speaking German."
"...you aren't wrong. And we
do win, in 1945."
That brought a new frown to Churchill's face. Oh, sure, it was hardly as if he expected the war to be over by Christmas. The Great War had made that lesson abundantly clear, and they didn't even have a foothold in Europe yet. Discounting Stalin's red hordes, at any rate. But
1945? With Hitler at war against the British Empire, the Soviet Union
and the United States? How could the Germans possibly endure all of that for three more years?
Thompson seemed to read Churchill's mind, reaching a hand up to scratch at his neck, a bit of sweat running down his cheek. "The Nazis
really don't like surrendering. Hitler keeps them going until the Soviets are battering down Berlin, and they only surrender after he shoots himself in his bunker. By that point...let me think..." The hand that had been scratching his neck moved to tapping the table, as Thompson muttered under his breath. "...we were on the Elbe, right. And Austria and near the Czechs. Where else..."
Familiar, even from a couple meetings, with Thompson's muttering habit, Churchill cleared his throat. That got the Admiral to wince and shake his head to clear his thoughts.
"Right, sorry. Germany only had a little bit of their own country and some of Czechoslovakia left. If they're anything like that again, it won't be easy to win the War." Thompson shrugged again, his eyes suddenly looking
very tired. "A lot of people are going to die."
"That's war, son." Churchill leaned back in his chair, and reached in a pocket to fish out a cigar. Soon enough, the smell of cigar smoke filled the meeting room once more.
The two men were alone this time, their respective ship spirits having their own meeting. Churchill had wanted to talk to Thompson alone, when the man had dropped the supposed 'I'm from the future' bombshell on him. It had taken hours for Thompson to convince the Prime Minister that he wasn't lying. So many arguments and the letter from Franklin
finally getting the old bulldog to at least listen. And now, after all that time, the sun was setting and the wide windows cast only enough light to shadow the Admiral's face, and make him seem more mysterious.
Or it would, if the man were anything more than eager to please.
"As I understand this, the Germans are lead by a madman and are quite happy following him into the depths of hell itself. They'll make us wish the bloody Kaiser was back, because then they'd at least listen to reason. Am I incorrect?" Churchill lowered his cigar, and frowned deeply. That was something he expected of the damned Japs, not the Germans.
Thompson helplessly shrugged, "If we surround them, they'll surrender. They won't fight to the last man. It's just...the government won't stop, as long as Hitler and the Nazis are in charge. Harris can burn as many of their cities as he wants, it won't make them quit."
That shot across the bow had Churchill's frown deepen. It wasn't the first time he'd heard someone level that particular criticism at Harris and his Strategic Bombing campaign, new as it was. Only a month or so old and it was already being hung over the head of his government by some bleeding hearts. As if the Germans weren't doing the same.
"What would you suggest, then,
Admiral?
" In spite of being something of a Navy man himself, Churchill put emphasis on that last word. Even if this man was from the future, he was still an Admiral. What could he really offer for land conflicts? And make no mistake, even before this, Churchill had known that Germany could only truly be defeated on land. "Give me a method to win this war quicker. The Soft Underbelly? Hit Mussolini and knock him out of the war?"
Thompson flinched at that, and gave a slightly nervous chuckle. He started pacing and looking anywhere but directly at the Prime Minister. Churchill let him, honestly more confused than anything. What was with that reaction? It was no secret that Italy was the weak link in this little Axis alliance. He would have thought it was Japan, but then, the Japs were currently knocking on Singapore's gates. At least the Italians couldn't find their way out of a paper bag with a German holding the bag open.
Or so it seemed, gauging on how reliant they were on Guderian to do their dirty work.
"I'm going to apologize when I say this, sir." Thompson stopped pacing and ran a hand through his dark hair. He put on a serious expression, his lips thinning to a straight line. "There is no 'Soft Underbelly'. You can knock Italy out of the war, easily enough, but you won't be able to use that to defeat the Germans." Holding up his hand, the first time the Admiral had actually
stopped Churchill from making an angry retort, Thompson sighed heavily. "Listen to me here, please. The Germans throw everything they can spare at keeping Italy in the War and even by 1945, we hadn't kicked them completely out. Focusing there is just...I can't say it's wasting time, since the Germans had to spend resources on it, but it won't win the war quicker."
Giving a mighty shrug of his shoulders, the Admiral wore a slightly crooked smile now.
"I'm no General, but I remember reading that in my Academy days. There isn't the room to maneuver in Italy, and all the mountains make advancing hell on the troops. Obsessing over it does no good."
I see why he looked at me like that, then. Churchill was definitely showing a sour expression now, realizing what Thompson had been doing. He
was prone to pushing through his ideas against all resistance, and he did feel that Italy was the weak link.
And, perhaps, they still were. But not in the way he thought. Maybe it would be better to try and sway the Italians to swapping sides again...it had worked in the Great War, hadn't it? For a certain value of 'worked' considering how the Italians were never useful for anything but tying down the Austrians.
Thoughts for later. Not important right now.
"If not Italy, then where? When?" The Prime Minister pushed aside his, in his mind justifiable, annoyance. If he had a time traveler before him- as insane as that still felt -then he needed to take advantage.
Thompson could only slump into a chair, tiredly sighing, whatever energy he had gained now spent. "I don't know. I
am an Admiral, not a General. I know some things about what happened in
my past, but not enough. I know that we tricked Hitler into thinking that we were going to invade Calais and hit France in Normandy. And I know that we took back North Africa before then, and then Italy. I couldn't begin to tell you how to plan any of these operations."
Churchill nodded, taking a long drag on his cigar. He couldn't say that answer was unexpected. Letting the smoke and flavor settle in his lungs before blowing it out, the Prime Minister reflected. Here he had a golden opportunity, and it wasn't even helpful for what he
truly needed. Then again...as the smoke filled the room instead of his lungs, perhaps there were other ways to take advantage of a time traveler. He was nothing if not adaptable.
"Hm. In that case, I want to know everything you know about the future. Even if it is bare on details. Anything that can give those bloody Germans a fit trying to get one over on us. Technology, tactics, everything." Churchill smiled thinly, placing his cigar into an ashtray. "I want
everything you can give me, before you run back off to the Pacific and that carrier of yours."
To his great credit, the Admiral only coughed slightly at that jab. He leaned down to his side and pulled out a stack of papers from his suitcase, setting it upon the desk. A very, very large stack of papers. Clearly, the man had come prepared. Churchill could respect that.
"Utah and I put our heads together and came up with everything we could offer." Thompson explained, as he tapped the massive stack of papers. "I'm not an engineer, or a general, but I've given you everything I can remember. And more besides, since Utah remembered things I've told her that
I forgot. Though..." here, the young Admiral could only throw his hands up and give a crooked smile. "I'm not sure how much use the specifics on battles and the like will be. The longer I'm here, the more things will change. After a certain point, everything will be different. Things in the Pacific already are, and then there's...well. There's Schreiber to keep in mind."
Churchill absently nodded, looking at the stack of papers. Of course, things couldn't be the exact same, that would be silly. Not with so many people...changing...
Wait a tick.
"Schreiber," Churchill turned his gaze on Thompson again, his eyes narrowing to sharp flints. "I was wondering how that man could possibly know about the ship spirits like you do. Now that I know you're from the future, supposedly, I have to ask---"
"---if he is too?" Thompson finished the question, a bitter look crossing his face. He had thought about it too, clearly. "I don't know. I knew a few other Admirals in my time, but I can't tell you if I ever met anyone from Germany. If I had to guess, though?"
Thompson leaned back in the chair, and brought a hand to his face. He sighed and let the hand fall, staring Churchill directly in the eye. Not showing any signs of looking away, this time.
"He probably is. I couldn't come up with any other explanation for how he
knows about these things. About the girls. I only know because of when I'm from. I can't see how a random German Admiral, who I don't know from what I remember of my history lessons, could possibly know. Things would be far more different than they are if something like that were the case."
That was...about what Churchill expected to hear. He sighed all on his own, pulling his cigar back to his lips. If his hand shook, just a little, neither man would comment on it. A German from the future. That could have been a very, very bad situation. If that man had used his
own knowledge to help the Nazis, it could have lead to so many issues. So many losses. Worse than what they already had faced, with
Revenge and what happened in Norway.
Yet, it hadn't gone that way. Not at first glance, anyway.
Why would a German from the future be wanting to overthrow his own government and help us? I don't have the foggiest idea. It doesn't make sense. He should be wanting his nation to win...right?
"Why would a man from the future want his own country to lose a war? He must be aware we won't treat Germany with kid gloves, this time around." Churchill
stared at Thompson. At the closest thing to an expert he was rapidly realizing he had.
Thompson only shrugged, "If he was an Admiral in the future, he almost certainly hates the Nazis. I won't say there
weren't still Nazis in my time, but they weren't near the seat of power anymore. Germany did a pretty good job at rooting them out. Germany couldn't win even if they had future knowledge, anyway. I'd guess he wants to keep as many people from dying, just like I do."
Tapping his papers again, the Admiral got to his feet and stared at Churchill. "I can't stay here, but I put some stuff in that for Schreiber too. If he
is from my time, he'll recognize it. If not, we don't lose anything, because it won't mean anything to him. I'd suggest working with him, though. We won't get a better chance to subvert the Nazis than this, I think."
"A spy now, are we?" Churchill chuckled, climbing to his own feet. His meaty hand held out to give Thompson a firm handshake. "I'm not going to trust the man. Not yet. However, I will keep your advice in mind. Make sure you tell Franklin about this." His grip tightened on Thompson's hand, a serious frown on his lips. "I have the feeling we will need to work ever closer together, especially if this Schreiber is correct about Stalin."
"He is. Believe me, he is." Thompson pulled his hand back and frowned. "Stalin is in this for his own gain, I know that. We need him, but..."
Nothing more needed to be said. Churchill would move to look at the stack of papers, and Thompson would move to collect Utah. The Americans would return to their own homes, to their own war, while the Prime Minister would begin crafting new plans and new orders. The war would continue marching on. In different directions, perhaps, but Churchill had been correct to say that 'it was war'. No one man could truly change that.
Not even with a man on the inside of the enemy, willing to work with them.
Taranto, Italy
"I have to admit, you have proven quite adept at forming connections." Gustav Schreiber rarely smiled, these days. The stress of the war, of being away from Bismarck and Blücher for so long. "I wouldn't have guessed it, based on where you were serving before all this began."
Beside him, Carlo Lombardi snorted softly. "You don't see many
new people, buried in the engines of an old destroyer, no. I surprise myself with how easy this has been."
The two men stood on a lonely pier in Taranto, looking out upon what had been the
Regia Marina's greatest naval base. Several capital ships were still present, though no where near what it had been.
Andrea Doria was one of the most notable in her absence, having been moved further north for extensive repair work. Turbine, sitting between the Admiral and the engineer, had been distraught over that. The destroyer had grown quite close to the battleship, in the time they had been together while
Doria was prepped for the journey. And now, she was gone, for who even knew how long.
Well. Schreiber had a fairly good idea, based on how long the Italians took to repair similar damage in his time. Albeit to different ships.
At any rate, Taranto's harbor was missing quite a few ships that had been present even a few months before. It was a sign of just how much the Italian navy had suffered and bled for Mussolini's ambitions. The Italians weren't his people, and the ships weren't
his ships, but Schreiber couldn't help the frown on his face nonetheless. What a waste. They fought as bravely and valiantly as anyone, even though it was a war they had never intended to fight.
I must do what I can to end this war. Before they all must die. Before my own countrymen destroy what little remains.
Sighing softly, the old Admiral sat down next to Turbine. "I'm afraid that it will be some time before you see Andrea Doria again, my dear. Are you alright with that?"
"I'm fine!" Turbine was quick to answer, her tanned skin darkening just a little. She averted her eyes from Schreiber, and looked down at her own reflection in the calm waters. "She'll be fine, I know that! Doria is a battleship, after all, and she's a lot tougher than I'll ever be."
"Even battleships can hurt." Schreiber's voice was soft, though he refrained from putting a hand on Turbine's shoulder. He would have, were she one of his, but she was Lombardi's, not his. And on that note...
"Even if she can convince her Captain to listen, you are aware that won't change much, yes?" Lombardi had also sat down, grimacing slightly as it pulled at old wounds. His scarred face twisted into a deep frown. "I will admit, we have made good progress on getting in contact with various officers. But you have to realize that we won't subvert the Fascists that easily. They've had too much time to root themselves into the government."
Schreiber nodded, absently, and looked out at the distant
Vittorio Veneto, making slow progress towards her mooring. "I am very aware of that. In Germany, the situation is much the same. And I have spent the last two years doing everything in my power to attempt to subvert the Nazis. It is...a lonely mission that I have set myself. I must always look over my shoulder and wonder 'is this the man who will send me to my death?'" Turning to give Lombardi a crooked smile, the old man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of death. I've lived a long life. Yet, if I die, I know that Germany will suffer more. I am one of the few who truly understands that."
"Hm." Lombardi tapped his finger against the wooden planks of the pier. His face bearing a thoughtful look, even as his other hand came to rest on Turbine's, prompting the destroyer to blush even more. "I can hardly claim to understand Germany. I'm just a lowly engineer, after all."
The sardonic smile that came over his face there, along with Schreiber's soft chuckle, took the bite out of those words. Not that it stopped Turbine from staring at him and reaching a hand up to...knock her engineer over the head.
"You're more important than that!" She huffed, before turning back to look out at the harbor, absently kicking her legs over the water.
Lombardi just chuckled, rubbing his head and continuing as if nothing happened. "Of course, Turbine, you're right like usual." While the destroyer giggled, the engineer focused back on Schreiber. "You haven't lied to me yet, so I will believe you when you say that Germany will suffer. And I'm certain that, if you're doing even half as much for Italy as you are for Germany, that you're working yourself to the bone. Am I wrong?"
"Not at all. Some days I consider what my life would have been like if I just served as a loyal naval officer and put aside all of my qualms of serving the Nazis."
And completely ignore the knowledge of what my family will face if I did so.
Leaning back, just enough to direct his gaze at an overhead flight of Italian fighters, Schreiber let his mind drift. There were many things that he had done, and many more he could have done. It truly would have been easier to just give up, albeit not in the way Lombardi might have thought. He would never have willingly helped the Nazis without the goal of subverting them at every turn. He
could have retired and lived life ashore, allowing events to continue as they would. He knew that Germany would lose in the end, of course.
He could also have defected to the allies and used his knowledge to their advantage. Swallowed the knowledge that he would be hurting the girls he knew as daughter figures in the future. It was all for the greater good, yes?
I'm a tired old man, though. I want the best for my girls, for my family, and not for myself. If that means I must suffer to bear this burden, so be it. If it means I must fight against men who would be my allies, I will do it. That was never in question.
Letting his gaze fall back down as the fighters rolled away, Schreiber gave a small smile at Lombardi. "How to save Germany is my burden to bear. You have your own country to worry about, my friend. If I am not wrong, your navy is much the same as my own."
"Conservative and not at all fans of the pompous idiots in the halls of power?" Lombardi smirked back, his scars turning what may have been amusement into a predatory expression. He didn't notice. "No, you aren't wrong at all. The Navy has fools as any place does, though I doubt you will find many fans of Mussolini in the higher echelons of command. Not many at all."
"It is fortunate, I suppose, that the Navies are what they are. Our greatest chance lay with the spirits, after all." Schreiber
did place a hand on Turbine's shoulder, this time, giving the girl a gentle squeeze.
That prompted Turbine to look over at him, and smile widely. "You can count on us! I don't know everyone else in the Navy, but we want to help however we can, I'm sure of it!" Her smile did fade a little, though, when she continued. "...but I don't know how much we really can help. I don't know how to really use my weapons anymore, and I don't know if anyone else can even leave their hull...."
Schreiber squeezed her shoulder again, "Don't worry about that, my dear. We have time to figure all of that out. Just knowing that you are here is a great aid to me and my mission, I assure you. And to your country."
"Thank you, sir!" Turbine brightened, and turned to look at her engineer with a wide grin. "I'm important now, Carlo! I'm not just an old destroyer anymore!"
"You always were important, to me." Lombardi smiled back, his own hand gripping Turbine's. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, though, when he looked over her blushing face and back at Schreiber's aged visage. "I don't know, and don't want to know, what you're working on in Germany. But I will honor your request, Schreiber."
The request to continue making contact with as many anti-Fascists as possible. Even if it were just men who were realizing that Mussolini was dragging Italy into Hitler's doomed crusade, tearing the country and its navy apart. There were more of those men every day, as ships came back damaged or didn't come back at all. As stories of Italian soldiers suffering in Africa- even if Guderian didn't waste their lives like some Germans would have -filtered in. The home front was never happy about tying themselves to Germany and entering a war that was destroying the Italian Empire for no apparent gains, save some pitiful border lands in France.
Lands that Germany may not even let the Italians keep.
No, it wouldn't be hard to find people dissatisfied with the War. People who could form the core of a Co-Belligerent force, if Italy should ever switch sides. The core of a new Italian state, free of Mussolini.
"That is all I can ask for." Schreiber didn't move from his position. Content, for now, with letting the salty breeze of Taranto warm his old bones before he returned to the frozen fjords of Norway. "In return, I will do whatever I can to keep the SS from interfering with your navy. You know how to bring the spirits forth, and I would suggest holding that knowledge close to your chest. Only bring them forth when you absolutely must to support our mission."
Lombardi nodded back, his own gaze focusing on another
Turbine-class destroyer sailing out of the harbor. Probably
Euro, and Lombardi didn't need to look to know that Turbine was following her surviving sister with her own eyes. Aching to be out there, with her sister. Knowing that she was unable to be, just as she had been unable to be by the sides of her lost sisters.
Rubbing soft circles into Turbine's tense hand, Lombardi sighed softly. "I will keep that in mind. Is there anything else you want to warn me of?"
Schreiber shook his head, "Not at all. I feel we have had enough of the difficult talk for now. Let us enjoy this moment of peace, while it lasts. I know we will all miss it, soon enough."
And so, they did just that. Lombardi and Turbine watched the various ships come and go, lost in their own thoughts. Lombardi about what he was going to do to try and help his country, Turbine in worry about her surviving sister. Schreiber let them be. He simply let the breeze wash over him, as he turned his own thoughts to Bismarck and Blücher. He was dreading returning to the cold of Norway...yet he was looking forward to seeing those two again, as well as Tirpitz, Scharnhorst and the others.
Most especially, he was looking forward to seeing the pink-haired cruiser again. Blücher had been by his side since he first started this insane mission of his. He missed her presence, even if only from her position alongside Bismarck.
The war is entering its darkest phase, my dears. I hope we are all ready for that. I truly, dearly, hope for that.
AN: I AM BACK. AGAIN.
One of these days, my muse will stop fighting me. I don't know when that will be, though 
That being said, hopefully the chapter works out well enough. We're done with the big meetings (more or less) for now. Thompson will be returning to the Pacific, and Schreiber to Norway. Both will have detours, of course, but that's the general plan. Next chapter will have Thompson on the East Coast and reintroduce a certain British character to the story, but other than that...well. Current plan is that chapter (probably also involve Schreiber a bit) and then a little omake covering the various other characters, with a particular focus on Schreiber's network and what it is up to.
Then a time skip to get our main characters back where they belong. Thompson in the Pacific with Sara, and Schreiber with Bismarck and Blücher.
Hopefully, at that point, my muse will start cooperating more again. Familiar ground and all that.
