Foresight America

© Paul Adkins

Introduction

    This novel was prepared in November 2006 as part of the annual National Novel Writing Month. It is a sequel to Tony Williams’ novel The Foresight War. In that book, Tony speculated on the a World War Two fought with Germany and Britain aided by time-travelers. This work simply expands on that theme.

    His is a remarkable book. I appreciate it all the more after having banged away on this one. Despite having being exposed to thousands of sharpshooters on the Internet, I don’t think a single important technical mistake has ever been found in it. 

    In addition to Tony, many other people on the internet contributed to this. They added fresh insights and technical knowledge far out of my reach. For example Luciano M. Trentadue proposed the idea of an Italian throwback and made many wise comments that have been a great help. As a result, I suspect this story may tread a fine line between collaborative effort and outright plagiarism. It was written as a harmless diversion and in no case should this story be reprinted for profit in any media.

    If there is any good in this work it is entirely due to my collaborators. All of the mistakes and faults are mine alone.

Chapter 1

    The room was far too warm in the Washington summer. But the tall windows had been closed to prevent eavesdroppers; inside it was stifling. Charles Lindbergh stood near a window, his white linen suit rumpled by the humidity, holding a digital watch, watching as the seconds rushed by.

    “No noise at all.” He reported as he held the artifact to his ear.

    “No moving parts,” General Marshall replied, “we took it apart and couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.” His soft voice carried authority. “It was made in Japan, by the way.”

    Lindberg raised an eyebrow and shook the device gently. “This,” he pointed to the timepiece, “means it is all true, every word of it.”

    Marshall stepped away “Yes, colonel, every word as far as we can tell. He is who he says he is and he as come from where he says he came.”

    “Or came from when he will come,” Senator Taft corrected with a harrumph. “He is the genuine article, a throwback from the year 2000, a time traveler.”

    The crowd in the room was generating a low buzz. Groups had formed around the watch, the “laptop computer” and a copy of the Washington Post dated sixty-four years in the future.

    Taft straightened himself and rapped on the polished table. “Let us reconvene,” the men, they were all men, began to return to their seats.

    “Can we agree, I presume, that the evidence is clear?” the senator from Ohio began. A gentle murmur of agreement went around the meeting.

    “General, will you recap what we know?” Taft asked.

    The heat did not seem to bother Marshall at all, “Gentlemen, in twenty years, the United States will be the world’s leading power. We will have influence at least as wide as the British do now. Our industry will lead the world. Our people will be the richest and arguably the happiest; our culture will dominate. In fact the world at large will be at peace, democracy and free trade will be the rule. But,” he paused to consider his next words, “between then and now is World War II.”

     “Why not just prevent the war? Or stay out of it?” a voice asked from the end of the table.

    “Consider where we are,” a State Department man replied, looking into his interlaced fingers, “It is 1935, Hitler and Stalin are already in power. The Japanese are already in Manchuria up to their necks. The reports from there are simply horrible, until now quite unbelievable. If we do nothing, if we avoid being drawn in, China will become a Japanese vassal, Russia and Germany will slug it out to see who can enslave Europe, we will be untouched and the only power left to confront the Japanese on one side, and either the Germans or Soviets on the other. We will be their only target and we will be alone.”

    “Further, gentlemen,” Marshall spoke again, “the blueprint of the future we now have is delicate. Everything we do now will change it in a thousand unpredictable ways. If we arrange our affairs so that we stay out of the fight we can say with certainty that the postwar world that we now have projected will never come to be. With no free Europe or Asia to trade with we will be much, much poorer, much less influential, much more isolated. The world predicted by Doctor Frederick is very close to our ideal, but even a small misstep will change that future in unknowable ways, ways that will be less desirable to the United States.”

    “From what we have been told, the war will lead directly to end of this damn depression, or to say it another way, with no war, the world will remain in this economic,” Taft waved his open hands vaguely, “funk. The war is, was, will be, the central event in recasting the world in our favor. With a major war, we know we are destined for a happy prosperous future, with no war we face an uncertain, and probably more dangerous fate.”

    Oddly, it was the representative from the Treasury who then interrupted, “We cannot allow the world to go down the path it is now on. Germany and Russia must not be allowed to dominate the world, to dominate us.”

    “When can we meet this time-traveler?” asked a representative from the Agriculture Department

    Taft spoke sternly to the entire group, “The President has decided to keep him under wraps. We have assigned a team of minders to this fellow. They will debrief him and pass his information to General Marshall, the President and myself. We will then pass selected gems to you at this table. You are to act at once, and strongly, but under no circumstances are you to give the slightest hint as to your source of inspiration.”

    Marshall spoke again, “Together, we form the Oversight Committee. Oversight is our highest secret."

Chapter 2

    Winston Frederick had been moved to a nice apartment on the grounds of The Old Soldiers’ Home. It was as isolated and secure a place could be found in Washington. Rough-looking FBI men lounged around the building. Outside his door, in the hallway, another guard sat in a wooden chair he had propped against a wall. Winston Frederick, PhD., was a prisoner of the United States Government.

    Still, it was a comfortable prison with high ceilings complete with electric fans that kept the rooms airy and comfortable. Perhaps it was a retirement apartment for some general, he thought. In the kitchen, the percolator bubbled happily. Somehow, the coffee here tasted better than it did in his own time.

    A week had passed between his arrival, his meeting with General Marshal. Nobody would believe him at first of course, but first the watch, then the organizer, then the laptop had convinced them. And now, he was confronted by three uniformed men in his living room. 

    “Would you please join me?” he asked. The officers, two army, one navy took seats around the coffee table with its tray of cookies. “I am at your service,” Winston had had a week to adjust to the idea of his mysterious transportation back two-thirds of a century. These men were still trying to accept the reality of the miracle who sat across from them.

    “So how is the future?” the air corps lieutenant colonel, with the unlikely name of Tom Byrd, asked. He bent a cookie in his hand, examining its contents closely.

    “You read my report to General Marshal? If all goes as it should, the future is a wonderful time, not without trouble, but safer and happier than today. But if we monkey with it too much, history could take a very different course.”

    The other army man, a full colonel named Larry Orbino with engineer castles on his lapels, nodded “Chaos theory, butterflies and all that, we discussed that already. We need to act slowly and with subtlety, but still, it has been decided that we will act."

    The navy captain, Hereford, more formal than the rest, got down to business. “Furthermore, our political masters agree with your contention, the war cannot be avoided. Doctor Frederick,” he continued, “our instructions are to pick your brain with the object of fighting this war in the most effective manner and to the best result possible. We will pass our, your, information and recommendations up to the highest level where they will decide exactly what to do. Still, your words do carry great weight, I can promise you that.”

     “So where shall we begin?” Winston asked.

    “We drew lots,” Commander Hereford replied, “The navy goes first.”

    “First off,” the time traveler said, “This interservice rivalry has got to stop. This war is going to require very close cooperation between all the services.” All three men were making notes. “On a more immediate level, we know that at the end of this war, battleships will have been surpassed in importance by aircraft carriers and submarines. We can take advantage of that.”

    Hereford looked up from his tablet. “We already knew that,” he said defensively. “But, there is a difference between knowing,” He indicated his head, “and really knowing.” He pointed to his heart. “In any case, the shipbuilding program is being recast,” he concluded.

    “How so?” Winston asked.

    “The oblivious things, new ships for the navy and the merchant marine will be in next year’s budget. We presume that is earlier than last time around. The Washington Treaty is pretty liberal on submarines and carriers, so we will push that way. Still the battleships in the pipeline now are too far along to cancel. I imagine you can help us a bit with design?”

    “I am a generalist,” Doctor Frederick replied, “still I have some ideas now and would bet you more ideas will come to mind as we get further into it.”

    “All we need are clues, the engineers can make them work. Even sketches will help.”

    Larry, the Army engineer agreed, “We have people who are advocating the sort of things you propose. But up to now they were just one set of voices competing for attention. Now they will get priority.”

    “So how can the Army benefit from my information?” Winston asked.

    “Some weaponry of course, but mainly as Commander Hereford said, people in key places now really understand here,” he indicated his chest “that the world is going to Hell in a handbasket.”

    “OK, so let’s start with the big stuff, we will go into details later.” Winston proposed. The three men nodded in unison. “Civil rights first of all.” The professor began, leaning backing his chair.

    “Is that a priority?” Byrd asked.

“This war is, will be for, American ideals. We cannot win it with one hand toed behind our back. Keeping a tenth of the population from contributing all they can will cost lives.” Winston said as if lecturing a slow student.

    “It could cost Roosevelt the White House.” Orbino said.

     “We have to have FDR, without him everything could spin in unpredictable ways.” Frederick was firm.

    “Don’t you all worry about Franklin Roosevelt. He is a smart cookie and if anyone can pull this off he can. Besides, Senator Taft will want his anti-lynching law for his cooperation with us.” Hereford exaggerated his drawl and pointed to the other two officers, “You boys underestimate us southerners, we know what we have to do, and we can certainly do better than we did in Doctor Frederick’s time.”

    “I cannot believe the country is ready for Negro officers, doctors, politicians.” Orbino maintained.

    “Hell, Negro millionaires! It’s all a matter of leadership. As long as the Negroes are gaining along with the white population, it can be managed.” The navy man insisted.

    “Not our problem, let’s just send it up the chain.” The army engineer retreated.

    “What’s next?”

    “We had a thing in my time called the Goldwater-Nichols Act. The military hated it, but it was a very good idea.” Winston changed the subject. “Every officer above a certain rank, say lieutenant colonel or colonel has to serve time with the other services. So a navy man has to go to Army War College, or a soldier has to serve on a naval staff.”

    “I can see why they hated it.” Orbino murmured as he continued to write in his notebook.

    “They got used to it, so will you. Think about it, in this fight we are going to have to land entire corps on hostile beaches. We will have thousands of aircraft supporting ground troops. We have to be ‘joint’ in our thinking and in our training.” Winston was hitting his stride, just like lecturing over at Howard. “We started this war with a Joint Army/Navy Board and finished it with a Joint Chiefs of Staff, we might as well get it right from the get-go this time around. Also we will need an academic base, we can’t just build a military for the last war. Now war will demand new technology, we need the world’s best universities and thousands of scientists, technicians and people who can work with the latest stuff. “Then we need the industry to build all the stuff we can dream up. First step is to get the economy up and running.”

    The group talked far into the night.

Chapter 3

    The Army car met him at midnight. The FBI man had brought down the single suitcase with all of Doctor Frederick’s processions and waited beside him. Apparently, an olive-drab Packard with huge white stars on its doors was considered to be the most discreet way to take him across town.

    Tom got out of the back seat with a smile. “General Arnold sends his compliments,” he waved at the car. As the luggage was tossed in the trunk, the Air Corps man solicitously opened the front passenger side door for his charge. The black driver in his wool uniform got back in and pulled away. He did not even glance at Frederick who was groping for a nonexistent seat belt.

    The darkened city was familiar to Winston. The grid pattern of streets was of course the same as the city he had mysteriously left a month ago. The tracks down the middle of the street, some with lonesome trolley cars, were new. Tom was chatting amiably, but the time-traveler’s mind was on the city that was passing by. Suddenly he asked, “Won’t a black man in such a nice car attract attention?”

    “That, sir” Tom replied with mock ceremony “is why you are in the front seat.” The driver smiled discreetly.

    He was able to recognize E Street and the Bureau of Printing and Engraving Building. The car pulled past a guard who saluted and dove down a ramp first into a basement, and then sub-basement, garage. The car crawled along a tall, but narrow corridor and reached a loading dock. Military policemen lounged in pools of light along its length.

    Tom leaned forward and grasped the professor’s shoulder, “Could you please open the door for me, doctor?” Tom led the way, and Winston followed across the loading dock and into the Presidential rail car, the Ferdinand Magellan.

    The light inside the plush dining room was even worse than outside. It was all Winston could do to follow his escort down the corridor to a small bedroom.

    “The President is asleep. He will meet you at breakfast. Everyone thought this was the most private venue. He’s on his way to New York, so we’ll have a couple of hours alone with him.” With that, Tom left Winston to explore his cabin. It was small, not much more than a tiny berth and a built-in desk and chair. Still, it was quite well thought-out, with the desk concealing a small sink and the chair a functional commode. A porter brought his suitcase and hung his clothes in the miniature closet and explained the train would be leaving in a few hours. With that, Doctor Winston Frederick put on his cotton pajamas and laid out on the firm mattress.  He did not even notice the gentle bump as the locomotive pulled the train out of its secret station.

    The phone near his head buzzed gently, and a female voice said “Doctor Frederick, it is six o’clock. Breakfast will be served in forty-five minutes. The weather will be clear and cool in New York.”

    Dressing for breakfast posed no problem as he had remarkably few items. He put on his best dark suit with a crisp shirt and was pleasantly surprised to find his shoes had been shined overnight.

    He need not to have bothered. Franklin Roosevelt sat at the head of the table in what seemed to be a conventional dining room chair dressed in pajamas and a worn blue bathrobe. He waved with a cigarette to the seat on his right. General Marshall was already seated on the President’s left, Tom to his side. Both sat with stiff formality.

    “A pleasure, Doctor Frederick,” Roosevelt said with a wide but thin grin. His handshake was powerful. “Sit down and help yourself.” He indicated an elaborate silver coffee service.  “So, let me see here,” the President said, pretending to glance at a typed page on the table, “born in Baltimore twenty years from now, graduated from Harvard summa cum laude forty years from now, appointed a full professor of history at Howard just fifty-five years from now. Is that about it?”

    “Arrived here about a month ago, Mister President,” replied Winston.

    “Well, we may not know why you are here, but we would be fools not to take advantage of such a happenstance.” The President passed a plate of pastries to his guest. “The remarkable thing is you provide little of your information that is new to us. We know about Hitler, we know about the Japanese, but until now,” he again waved to his notes, “we did not really believe they would be so mad.”

    “Well, sir,” everything looks clearer in hindsight,” Winston said.

    “Hindsight, exactly.” The grin again, “Senator Taft and his little group were impressed with your information. They said that war is at this point inevitable. That being the case we need to arrange things so it will be as short as possible and put as few American lives at risk as we can.” He stared out the window, Pennsylvania was passing by. “Obvious, really, if we handle this properly we can reach the postwar promised land with a minimum of wandering through the wilderness. Tell me about this Chaos Theory of yours.”

    Fortunately, Winston had finished his first bite of a croissant, “Not my theory sir, I don’t know who came up with it. It says a little change now can make a big difference over time. A butterfly flapping his wings in Africa today can cause a hurricane in Florida next month.”

    “As long as the hurricane is blowing in our direction, Doctor. We can use your butterflies in our favor.”

    “Certainly, Mister President,” it was Marshall’s turn to speak, “but a small change now can have large and unpredictable consequences further down the road.”

    Roosevelt was fitting another cigarette to its holder, “Yes, yes, general, but in truth we are looking for large changes aren’t we?”

    “No, sir,” Winston spoke with a suddenness and force that might have seemed rude, “the war as it is presently destined to happen worked out in our favor in many, many ways. Changing the broad outlines of the war would have unforeseen results. We could very easily make things worse for ourselves if we try to be too clever.”

    For the first time the President tilted his back with a jaunty cast to his cigarette holder. He looked just like one of those old photos in Winston’s past. “Clever? Us? Why we are but poor victims of circumstance Doctor!”

    An hour later, the President was lifted into an open car by a small crane mounted on a flatcar under Grand Central Station. While this was being done and the bags were unloaded; nobody noticed a colonel and his negro servant walking down the platform.

Chapter 4

    The Black Diamond was waiting for them around a bend in the tunnel. The same size as the Ferdinand Magellan, the Black Diamond was fitted out with a larger number of smaller rooms and its own baggage car with a kitchen and a number of offices. Inside, Winston was pleased to see his usual team of interrogators from the previous day. For a change, all were now in civilian attire.

    “Do we have to leave? I wanted to see New York.”

    “You will get a chance later, right now we need to get you acclimatized to America in 1935.” Hereford, the navy man said. “We,” he indicated the other military men, “talked it over and we think this might be the best way. We can do our discussions here, travel a bit and not attract too much attention.”

    “Frankly,” Tom continued without his usual grin, “we’re afraid you might get yourself lynched.” He nodded his head slowly.

    “Why is that?” Winston asked. The line of conversation had caught him by surprise.

    Colonel Orbino, the oldest of the group, sank heavily into a leather chair. “Basically, you attract attention to yourself. You don’t mean to, but compared to other colored folk you stand out like a sore thumb. And that.” he said, looking up, “is very, very bad if we want to keep your light under a bushel.”

    Frederick’s look of confusion encouraged Tom to continue, “Winston, you just told off the President of the United States. That sort of thing is going to draw unwanted attention.”

    Orbino interjected, ”So here, in this car, we can be ourselves, you can be yourself, you can see what life is like in the Year of Our Lord 1934. The car belongs to the Oglebay Company, they loaned it to the President, and he loaned it to us. The staff has been replaced by mess boys from the White House, everyone aboard knows at least a little about you.”

    Bob added in his best Southern drawl, “If anyone asks, I am Robert J. Asbury, a millionaire touring America, and you are my trusted confidential secretary.” That sparked ripple of laughter.

    “Where are we off to first?” Winston asked.

    “Something simple, Santa Monica, we have to visit the Douglas plant and place some orders.” Tom replied. “Mister Asbury” he indicated Hereford, “is investing in new transport airplanes. Charles Lindbergh is supposed to meet us there. It seems we are going to form a new airline.”

    All three officers pulled out notebooks.

     “So let’s talk about this DC-3 of yours.” Larry said in an official tone.

     Winston talked long into the night.

    California was very different than the place Winston remembered. Fresh air and unfiltered sunlight washed over the Douglas airfield and its motley collection of sheds and hangars. In the center of one sat the first DC-3, surrounded by a little knot of mechanics working on the tail unit.

    Lindbergh was already deep in conversation with Donald Douglas when the time traveler arrived. “Mister Asbury!” Lindberg shook Hereford’s hand with vigor. “Don and I were just catching up on old times. Are you ready to see the new machine?”

    Douglas led the way to the nearest wing describing the Twin Wasp engines as he walked. “This plane will be able to fly coast-to-coast with just one stop, it’s going to change everything.”

    “Lindbergh talked to Smith at American Airlines and told me I had to get in on this.” Bob played his tycoon as a crotchety old man. “When will it fly?”

    Douglas never missed a beat as he went up the steps to the passenger door, “December, but in truth she is ready now.”

    “How many orders you got?” the navy man shot back.

    “American is good for fifty as an initial batch, we expect more orders later.” Douglas was taken aback by the mysterious millionaire. The group sat in the passenger seats.

    “Last night the boys and I talked,” he indicated to entourage, “we’re ready to back Lindbergh’s plan.”

    “You want to order? Today?” Now Douglas was clearly back on his heels.

    “We’ll need a dozen, of a cargo variant.” Lindbergh was clearly enjoying this. “Double-sized cargo doors, strengthened floors, some other changes. I have a little list.” He handed over a sheet of foolscap.

    Already the group was taking turns peering into the cockpit. Led by Asbury they began to parade out the door. Their visit lasted had lasted only a few minutes.

    “Can he do that?” Douglas asked in a horse whisper.

    “You can have a check for the deposit tomorrow.” Lindbergh replied with a smile.

    Back in the railcar, Winston asked, “That was fun, but did it help?”

    “Hard to say, the plane was ready to fly anyway. We just made sure they are thinking towards a transport and gave them a little encouragement in their good work,” Tom replied.

 “Lindbergh’s going to have an airline?”

     “I suspect that won’t quite pan out and the aircraft with end up with the Air Corps pretty quickly,” Tom said with satisfaction.

     “With that, we encourage people to think about air transport, we start to train a cadre of officers and men. A little seed that will grow into something bigger.” Larry added. “And speaking of bigger, tell us about that C-130 again.” Notebooks came out around the table.

    It was the next day before Winston even thought to ask where the train was going. The cars rushed by featureless plains, with the Rockies in the far distance.

    “Next stop? Seattle, sir” the waiter told him at breakfast.

    "The new Boeing bomber, the 299 flew a few months ago. We are going up to take a look.” Tom said brightly.

     “The 299?” Frederick asked.

    “Your folks called it the B-17 Flying Fortress,” the airman answered.

    “With the contract will come at least some suggestions for improvements, I suppose."

    “Why yes, do you have any ideas?”

    Tom unrolled a large blueprint on the table and produced a folder of typewritten notes and photographs of the doomed prototype. Frederick shuffled through the pile and began to speak. “M’ pleasure,” the time traveler replied with mock formality. “first thing is to mind the gust-lock.

    “What’s that?”

     “This prototype, or my prototype that is, crashed on a test flight because the pilot had the stabilizers locked. It almost wrecked the program. The B-17 was mostly used in Europe because it lacked the range for the war in the Pacific. While very advanced, it was later seen as a stopgap until the B-29 Super Fortress came along. The design philosophy was simply wrong. The B-17 was meant to fight through the enemy fighters unescorted. Even in large formations, that was pretty problematic. All the extra guns and armor made the B-17 slower and less capable than the British heavies. This time we need to develop the long-range fighter side-by-side the B-17. Both need to come into service together.”

    “Engines?” Hereford asked.

    “The original models lacked superchargers, and of course were of some American design, Curtis maybe Pratts, I don’t remember, since the Rolls Royces were not under license yet in my time. Now we have the chance to go for a faster, higher-flying plane with fewer defensive geegaws.”

    “Is that safe?”

    “Really no, hundreds of these planes were, are going to be lost to enemy fighters, flack and so on, but long-range fighters plus a faster, higher bomber makes for the best possible combination. Alternately, we could adopt the British idea of night area bombing. Then we can even do without the fighters at all.”

    Tom was the expert in this area. “The Mustang is already in the early stages, very early. Our next pursuit plane will really be a proto-Mustang. I suppose we will try daylight bombing, and if that fails we can fall back on hammering cities.“

    “We talked about the NACA wing last night. I forgot to mention winglets.” Frederick reached for a scrap of paper and made a quick sketch. It is supposed to reduce turbulence at the wingtip and increase range. Oh. I saw an old movie late one night about B-17s, made during the war in fact. It mentioned the early models lacked a tail gun. A faster plane might only need a tail stinger. God bless the History Channel.”

    The men around the table did not even ask about the obscure reference.

    “Also for the European war my Air Corps had to fit the nose with a lot of extra weapons, the German fighters found the nose to be the soft spot. Still I wonder,” Frederick continued, “in my war, the Air Corps flew day missions at huge cost. The destruction on the ground was significant, but never lived up to expectations. The real prize was forcing the Luftwaffe to fight and then blasting it from the skies. If we go to night bombing, would the Germans retain enough air power to make landings in Europe impossible?”

    “Dunno.” Colonel Orbino answered.

    “Same program this time, Doctor Frederick,” Bob adjusted his black necktie in the mirror. “I play the rich eccentric, you are my secretary.”

    “The mysterious Mr. Asbury is going to buy bombers?”

    “No, this time I am a government academic. It seems I have my finger on the pulse of government research and patents, or something like that. The main thing is for you to see the plane up close. Anything about it might stir a memory in you. Metallurgy, instruments, hell even training, anything at all.”

    Tom in his lieutenant colonel uniform provided introductions to the team from Boeing outside an aluminum hanger. The famous Washington state rain had paused. The collected engineers looked skeptical as the millionaire and his colored secretary climbed over their plane unescorted. The group clucked like chickens. Tom allayed their worries “Mr. Asbury has done some very interesting design work, we have a lot of confidence in his theoretical understanding.”

    “Never heard of him,” one man scoffed.

     “No reason why you should have, we have been keeping him in the background. He asked to be allowed to look at the prototype alone for a bit.”

    “He isn’t alone,” a pudgy man in overalls pointed out.

     “He never goes anywhere without his secretary.”

    After over an hour, the two men gathered the Boeing people together around a collection of waist-high wooden crates.

    “Great job, gentlemen. General Arnold has asked me to say how pleased he is in your work. Has it all over the Douglas plane. The Air Corps wants you to fly this one for contract evaluation. Let me assure you that is just a formality. But we will want some changes in the production aircraft.”

    “Such as?” one of the Boeing men asked.

    “We will be sending you a telegram from the War Department in a few days outlining our concerns. But the main thing is this, you need to look beyond the few testing aircraft we will order. Think about large-scale production. Whatever you can do to lower production time and costs. Also we need to think about the next plane after the 299. I suspect we are going to need something high and fast as a counterpart to this,” he waved at the aircraft. “My studies are showing we will need a new bomber that has extremely long range, high speed and extreme altitude.”

    “Your studies, Mr. Asbury?” an annoyed voice asked.

    “My studies will be an Air Corps requirement document in a month or so. If you like, Boeing can build the next machine. If you don’t want the business, there are plenty of others. Thank you for your time.”

    Tom repeated his thanks to the knot of men and got into the car. He imagined they just got out with their lives.

    “That went over like a lead balloon,” Winston said as he entered the railcar.

    “Well, heck with them if they can’t take a joke. Besides, no way I am going to argue with half a dozen aeronautical engineers about things none of us understand in any detail.” Hereford took off his overcoat and handed it to a valet.

    “So now what?” Tom asked.

    “We need to make up the type up my notes and get them to Washington,” Frederick said, “then we need to have General Marshall send them back down to Boeing along with a contract, then we have to design us a B-29.”

    “Higher, faster, stronger?” Larry asked.

     “Maybe even smarter,” Winston took a mug of coffee off of the proffered tray. He sat down. “The B-29 was the first modern bomber. It featured a fully pressurized cabin, low-profile gun turrets mounting .50 cal guns remotely controlled by gunners in the fuselage. In the Pacific, even its range was marginal. We had to make landings on Tinian to get bases to hit Japan. We need to think about Pacific sorts of ranges now. While the B-17s flew in formations for protection, the B-29 was too fast and high for the Japanese fighters. I read somewhere they could have just left the gunners at home for all the good they did.”

    “What sort of bomb loads are we talking about?” Tom asked.

    “I don’t know, more than the B-17 for sure. More importantly, in my war we started with huge numbers of high-explosives, but once we started hitting the Japanese cities we discovered that fire was our most effective weapon.”

    "So incendiary bombs?”

    “Of a very advanced type. Big bomb bodies released from altitude. Then the ‘bus’ breaks open and scatters hundreds of tubes made of aluminum of magnesium, something flammable. The tubes are heavy enough to break through a typical Japanese roof, then a black-powder charge in the center of the tube fires, shooting a glob of thickened gasoline out of at least one end. Makes a hell of a mess. When you use thousands of them at once most of a city will burn.”

    “How can you hit a port of factory like that, Winston.” Bob suspected the answer.

    “You can’t. Japanese industry is scattered in little home workshops, they produce little widgets that are fitted together in the factories. Precision bombing didn’t work in Germany due to bad weather and the Luftwaffe. It did not work in Japan because of how their industry is laid out.”

    Hereford closed his portfolio. “This is not how I was taught to make war. Killing women and children? That is simple barbarism.”

    “You want me to argue?” Frederick spread his hands wide. “This is a war where the Germans will try to exterminate entire nations of women and children. The Japanese in my time handed over their Chinese prisoners at the end of the war. You know how many? Less than 500 from over a decade of war.”

    “It is horror to fight like this, but it would be much worse if we let them win. End of sermonette.”

    “We can pass it up the chain and let others decide.” Bob opened his notebook again, “but I am against it.”

    “Talk to me again after Pearl Harbor.” Frederick said. “If we want to find our targets, in Europe or worse in the Pacific, we are going to need navigation aids. These grew out of blind-landing systems. If we can master that sort of thing, we can reduce collateral damage.” Winston read Larry’s notes upside down, “Oh, the incendiaries, that reminds me about Improved Conventional Munitions, ICMs. You see with a big bomb you spend a lot of energy blasting a small piece of real estate into smithereens. If you drop bomb body, a ‘bus’ full of grenades you spread the energy more effectively over a wider area. Simple idea, I don’t know why it was never used in my war. Maybe I am missing something."

    "We will have to get someone thinking about the proper size and mix of bombs against various types of targets.” Tom replied as he scribbled.

    “Also napalm, gasoline thickened with palm oil, soap or something. It makes a flame bomb much more effective.”

    “How about bomb sights?” Tom asked.

    “The Norden sight was the most advanced in the world, it cost thousands of dollars and we had all sorts of ways to destroy it to keep it out of enemy hands. Postwar analysis showed that most bombardiers never really used it. They could not see their targets at night, or through clouds, they were part of a formation and just dropped when the leader dropped. No need to spend too much time on bomb sights.” Winston waved off another cup of coffee. “Why are we so focused on planes anyway?” He asked. Night had fallen and the train was moving with unknown velocity. 

    The navy man replied. “We can retrofit ships with modern equipment, the Army stuff is mostly small and easy to make, but the planes we have to start first, they have the longest lead time, they are the hardest to get right.”

    “Still we need to talk about the software, the people issues.” Frederick insisted.

    “That will happen when we talk to Senator Taft.”

    “When? Where?”

    “Akron, in a couple of days. Congress will be in recess and the Senator will be confined to his home with a bad cold.”

Chapter 5

    “Cincinnati?” Frederick asked, reading the name on station.

    “Akron, Cincinnati, whatever, one northern town is pretty like another, same thing.” Hereford grumbled. He sniffed at the air with disgust.

    Winston searched the other man’s face. “I never know when you are pulling my leg.”

    The three military men were in civilian clothes again, only the time traveler had a briefcase. A large sedan pulled up and a railcar porter led them across the maze of tracks and ditches to the open door of the limousine.

    The Taft family had dominated Ohio politics for two decades, their house, estate, occupied half a block in a nice downtown section, it was set back from the road by a wide strip of garden and a brickwork fence.  The garage was obviously a converted stable, open on one side. A cobbled path lead to the kitchen door.

    Inside, Robert Alphonso Taft greeted all four with a politician’s handshake and practiced smile. He wore a white shirt under a patterned vest, but oddly with no tie. To other people this was a mansion, to him it was simply home. He lead them past scurrying children up the stair and to a suite of two rooms that served as his office. An arched window overlooked the traffic on the street.

    “You gentlemen are early,” he said with an easy informality, just as well,” he paused for effect, “I never know what to wear when meeting a throwback in time anyway.” He waved them to a motley collection of chairs. "What have you gentlemen been up to?” he began.

    Larry recovered his notebook from an inside pocket, “We went to California to see the new DC-3, then up to Seattle pester Boeing. Some other things. We learned about small arms, dried blood plasma, some of the finer points of pizza.”

    “Pizza?” Taft asked distractedly. "They are taking good care of you, I hope, Doctor Frederick?”

    “Excellent care, sir. Safe as in my mother’s arms.”

    “Grand, call me Bob, everyone does, you are an important man you know. Let’s talk about business, shall we? Tell me about ending this depression.”

    “I am no expert, uh, Bob, but in my time nobody else was either. FDR tried a couple of harebrained schemes, eventually it was the war that brought us back to full capacity. Still, at least he did something. He gained, will gain, a lot of support for that.”

    “Capacity, exactly the problem, Ohio has thousands of idle factories that can’t hire people to make things people can’t buy, because they don’t have job because the factories aren’t hiring and so on. Too much capacity.”

    “FDR started with relief efforts, then make-work programs, then the gear up for the war.”

    “How will we pay for that?”

    “Massive deficit spending, at some point things got, or will get, so bad that there was no other choice. They called it ‘priming the pump.’ Not all the spending was wise, but it got money out there.”

    Taft clucked like a chicken. “Borrowing money from people who don’t have money to give the money to people who owe you money. Again, it is circular. Still, if we accept that this overcapacity, this, collapse of prices, is much more than a temporary glitch we might have to borrow against the future, just like we did in the war.” Winston noticed Taft was not taking notes. “What sort of make-work are we talking about? Public works are the old standbys.” He yelled out the open door in the other room, “Horace, tell your mother we need coffee and cake for four.”

    “Yes sir, lots of farm-to-market roads, they helped a lot, the Saint Lawrence Seaway, port improvements, schools, silly things too, for us academic types they had a program of writing local guide books and histories. Filled up miles of library shelves in my time. There was even a Federal Theater Project.”

    “Got to keep the professors and the actors going too Winston. Still, if we know we have to fight we can do a bit better. Always better to know what your goal is. Then you can take steps.”

    An elderly servant brought in a tray with the coffee service and what seemed to be half a chocolate cake from last night’s dinner. “Thank you, Charlie.” Taft hacked at the cake in silence, passing plates around the table. "But that brings us to another matter. You, Charlie, the Negroes.”

    “We prefer to be called ‘Black,’ sir, Bob.”

    “Hell, I have been trying to get half the Senate to use the word Negro.” He poured coffee with a look of concentration on his face. “What is to be done? What can be done?”

    “In truth, this is a time of opportunity.” Winston insisted. “Everyone is equal now, equally poor, now we can lift everyone at once.”

    “My, you are the optimist, aren’t you? You are not grasping that in much of the South, where most Negroes live, they simply don’t exist. Politically that is. In the northern cities, Chicago, Detroit, New York, they vote as a block for the Republicans, the Party of Lincoln. So we have a Solid South of Democrats, we Republicans need to carry all of the north and most of the west to carry anything in Congress. Further, the Democrat have all the committee chairs, Southern Democrats have all the chairs.” Now the senator was talking as if to himself. “We need a program I can push as Civil Rights, that the Democrats can sell as economic recovery and at the same time gets us ready for a fight. Ideas?”

    The three military men were clearly out of their depth. One of them stirred his coffee with a noisy spoon.

    “Does Hoover know about you?”

    “No sir, he is not in on it.” Larry finally spoke.

    “Shame, love to talk this over with Herbert, brilliant man.” He walked to the window. A large truck was passing by. “Only one thing to do, public works for two parts, the Federal government programs will aim toward preparedness, then we will have local development program in the hands of the local politicos.”

    “How does that help?” Winston asked.

    “Well you see, the unions are part of all this. You see the Wagner Act gave to much power to the unions." He paused and smiled. “Excuse me I was about to make my American Legion speech. In any case, I will insist ‘that fool Roosevelt’ enforce equal pay for equal work on Federal projects. Further I bet we can waste a lot of money in the South, too many hospitals, too many schools, libraries and all the rest of it. Lots of that waste could be in the wrong parts of town. Now, we Republicans will allow this crazy spending scheme, but we can monkey with some details that could make all the difference.”

    A woman in an old-fashioned flowered dress breezed into the room. “How many for lunch?”

    A bright smile came across the senator’s face. He kissed her, she straightened his vest. “Martha, let me introduce my friends.” They all stood to shake hands. “Most especially, Winston Frederick, my guest of honor. We were talking about civil rights.”

    “A pleasure, Doctor.”

    “Sit down, my love.” She took his seat at the head of the table. He leaned on the edge of the oversized desk. “We are thinking of ways to spend money foolishly. What can we do to help the fair sex?"

    She smiled and looked down briefly. It was obvious she had expected the question.

    “Have you noticed, in all the speeches, all the politicians say they value women and motherhood? But in truth we are last in line for education, for health care for everything. Women die younger than men. Most poor people are women. Women sit in homes across this nation, women with talent and ability and no way to express it.”

    “Half the nation dancing backwards,” Her husband added.

    “Gentlemen,” she continued, “if I understand the purpose of today’s meeting, the Republic is in danger. First from this depression that reintroduced actual starvation into our nation, and then from the rise of these, militarists, in Europe. I ask you, do you insist on fighting for your lives without the help of your wives, your sisters? I suppose by civil rights you mean the Negroes,” she smiled at Winston. "Does the term not also apply to women? While we can vote, we are too often forgotten.”

    “Yes ma’am,” Winston replied. She was the kind of woman who required an honorific.

    “In truth the women of America do not speak with one voice, while many of us are well-off, others are locked in poverty, and not women alone, but also our children. Poverty is the one problem all women agree on. Unless women are allowed to earn the same wage as women for the same work, too many children will grow up poor and ill-fed. Further, we must look to the men who abandon us and their children. Many women are forced to take public charity for the simple reason that their husband refuses to do his duty as a father, a man.”

    A loud noise downstairs ended the interview, “Bill! What did you break? Excuse me gentlemen, lunch will be ready in half an hour.” With that she left.”

    “You know gentlemen, people say she is the natural politician in the family. They don’t know the half of it.” Robert Taft smiled after she left. “What else gentlemen?”

    “I am very concerned about Henry Ford.” Winston offered.

    “Why so?”

    “He is, or is going to become, something between a pacifist and little Nazi himself. In my time he held a lot of production capacity out of the war effort. I heard Hitler had a photo of the man next to his desk. On the other hand, he won’t make it to Pearl Harbor.”

    Taft shook his head, “Please don’t tell me anything like that again. It is, it seems, unchristian to know something like that. In any case, Henry is an old friend, a cranky old friend. I think we can deal with him. What other crazed industrialists come to mind?”

    “There was a famous picture of the boss of Sears being carried out of his office by soldiers over some sort of wartime obstructionism.” Winston replied.  “I really can’t say what it was about.”

    “We can keep an eye on it. Still, that just means there will be trouble elsewhere. What else? Anything that falls outside of this damned war that is hanging over our heads?”

    “Well, Bob, since we are waiting for lunch, maybe I should say something about the environment.”

    Taft lifted his eyebrows and looked up at Frederick.

    “We have to do what we have to do to get production rolling, but a lot of the things we will do are not so smart in the long run. Lead in the air and water, even in house paint can be very dangerous, especially for children. Asbestos dust gets in the lungs and causes cancers. Not to mention cigarettes.”

    “As you say Doctor, we have to do what we have to do, let’s keep our eye on the ball, but still we would be fools to hurt our own people needlessly. Can you give me a memorandum on that? I prefer to have technical matters on paper.” He stood. “I do believe I am getting over my cold. Perhaps I can make some phone calls this afternoon. I call a recess, nothing like a nice mean to give the mind a chance to absorb new ideas. Also I smell chicken soup.”

    He led the group down the wide stairs towards the dining room, “You know what really worries me, Doctor? How many other people are there just like you? Where might they be?”

    “I wouldn’t worry about that Senator,” Larry replied.

Chapter Six: Elsewhere

    The Aide-de-Camp to the Japanese Navy Minister found a note on his desk when he arrived. He read it and ordered an assistant to call the number indicated.

    "It is done" assured the voice on the far end. The long-distance line was full of static.

    "Very well. Under no circumstances must anyone know about that freak." The commander replied. "She would have had us bow down to the foreigners."

    "She will not trouble us again." The other voice had a hard finality to it.

     The Aide-de-Camp hung up the phone and began to review the two books of interrogation notes.

     Stalin’s office was shaped like the letter ‘L.’ overlooking a small snowy courtyard. His desk was covered with green baize that almost matched the olive of the walls.  In front of the desk a brigadier general of the NKVD stood at a rigid position of attention.

     “Speak frankly, comrade general, this is an odd situation and I must know all that you know.” Stalin said.

     The soldier slightly relaxed his position and brought a small notebook up to waist level. “His name is Ivan Petrovitch Markov, he appears to be in his late fifties although he claims to have been born in Leningrad in the year 1958.”

    “A nice trick,” Stalin muttered. He opened his leather tobacco pouch.

    “Born in 1958, graduated from Moscow University with an advanced degree in history in 1982, gained a professorship there six years later. He claims he woke up in a steam bath near the river twenty-something years before he was born.”

     “Your opinion, general?”

     “Certainly a madman, Comrade Stalin,” he lied poorly.

     “The cases of madmen do not come to this office. If he is just a madman, than so is Comrade Beria for bringing him, and you to my attention. Think again,” there was no need to be threatening. The office itself did that.

    The uniformed man shook his head and brought his open palms to each side of his chest. He was a picture of confusion. “There is no explanation, Comrade Stalin. When he was arrested he had certain technical devices, documentation, we cannot explain it. Even his clothing was like nothing we have ever seen before.” He placed an Russian identity card on the desk and tried to regain his composure.

    Stalin held the card in his stained hand, it was covered with some sort of waterproof coating, it included the man’s name, date of birth and a color photograph. more alarming was the red-white-blue tricolor flag that served as some sort of watermark for the document. What did that mean? “Very well, so you questioned him closely did you?”

    “Yes, comrade. Very closely.”

    “So what does he want? What can he tell us from his future?”

    The Checkist braced to attention. “He simply wants to kill you and overthrow the Soviet state, Comrade. He has tried to explain his reasoning for this to each of his interrogators. He is an anti-Soviet agent, an instigator.”

    “I presume you are still loyal to the Soviet state?” Stalin smiled with his yellow teeth.

    “Of course, sir, as are all my men.”

     “Relax general, you have served the people well, his crime is not yours. I want you to keep this man under your care, and treat him well. In a few days we will transfer him someplace more secure. You and your unit will go with him of course. You will prepare reports to be sent to Comrade Beria for my direct attention. Get everything you can from this man. This is a most important project. Very delicate. You and your men need not fear me, you have done all that I have asked and I will protect you from any repercussions.” Stalin lied very well. “Comrade, before your leave Moscow, I will have delivered to you a more correct uniform for your new rank as a major general. You have certainly earned it.”

    “Thank you, Comrade Stalin, I serve the Soviet people.”

    “We all do, Comrade general, we all do.”

    Don Erlang was put up in a nice country estate somewhere in the Home Counties. Soldiers wearing bulky civilian overcoats patrolled the low brick wall making it an actual obstacle to anyone trying to get in. Or out for that matter. Inside his regular team of handlers, sort of official friends, had settled into a regular routine. Each afternoon they reviewed the day’s newspapers, military journals and other documents in an attempt to learn all they could about his time.

    Apparently the Royal Navy had their turn at Erlang this afternoon, and the objects at hand were a number of aerial photographs. David Helmsford handed them over one by one. “These were taken last week by an ‘accidental’ overflight of the yards at Kiel. Our fellows have already looked at them, but what do you make of it?”

    “Lots of activity, every available slip has something being built in it. One, two three, about a half-dozen destroyers, a lot of U-boats.” Don replied.

    “Ah, but tell me what you don’t see. What isn’t there? The navy man teased. Then he answered his own question, I’ll tell you what, no cruisers, no  battlecruiers. I noticed that myself yesterday,” there was an amused pride in his voice.

    “The Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau? They were just wastes of resources. They never lived up to their billing, everyone knows that.”

    “Well not everyone knows that Don, we do, but only because you told us. How does Hitler know?”

    “Butterflies?” Don suspected where this conversation was going. A knot began to form in his stomach.

    “Maybe, but we have made only very subtle changes so far. Also, look at this.” He handed over a series of photographs taken at ground level, a team of uniformed aviators posed with proud smiles in front of their plane. A red rectangle adorned with a swastika decorated the tail fin. “They call it the Heinkel He-177, this is the crew is celebrating its first test flight."

    “A four-engine bomber? That is not right. The Luftwaffe is supposed to be focused on tactical support of the army. What do you think this adds up to?” Don knew the answer.

    “The have someone just like you, Don. They have a visitor from the future too.”

    Konrad Herrman was a portly man, and sharing another evening tea party with Adolph Hitler did not help. That on the other hand was the least of his concerns. Hitler was in a well-made brown suit, his tie perfectly knotted, Herrman knew he would not adopt a uniform tunic until the war began.

    “Tell me, Professor, all we have talked about, I have never learned where you were born.”

    “Dresden, Mein Fuhrer, about twenty something years from now.” He could see the politician doing the math in his head.

    “Of course I read your report on the terror-burning of Dresden. Rest assured my friend, your city will be safe this time. Horrid, first the Anglo-Saxons, then the Bolsheviks.” He clapped his hand on Herrman’s knee. “Things will be very different this time.”

    “I certainly hope so.” Herrman replied.

    “Already, I have a plan to restore whatever damage the British may do to our cities. We must use this as an opportunity, an opportunity to rebuild our towns on an altogether higher order. I have in mind a series of public parks for example.”

    Herrman settled in for another long evening.

    The Chairman of the Fascist Council wore a pair of white linen trousers with a light-blue shirt, he had a straw hat on his head. He could be any grandfather in Italy. Benito Mussolini at home was somewhat unkempt. He sat on the veranda of his country home overlooking an olive grove. At his side sat Professor Manuel Álvarez-Rivera.

    “Am I a madman yet?” Mussolini asked in an amused tone.

    “No, not yet, still just eccentric,” his advisor assured him.

    “I do not intend to sink to the level of madman this time. Eccentric I can accept.” He poured himself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle. “We together can save Italy from this insanity, this storm on our horizon.”

    “Then why are we in Spain at all?” Manuel asked.

    “It is necessary. We must move Spain to the Fascist bloc. A Fascist Italy cannot survive alone. Nazi Germany is destined to be destroyed, all well and good, but we must have at least one friend in the world. Further, I can see friendly governments in Spanish-speaking America coming to our side. Then, even when this war is over our bloc will be secure from both the English and the Reds.”

    “Then I would see Madrid being the center of this Fascist empire.”

    “No, not really, Spain is a pauper state. They are, or soon will be, dependant upon us for their economy. Also I did not use the word ‘empire,’ you broke me of that. A community if you will, of the Fascist, Catholic world against the Protestant democracies and the Asian despots.”

    “Argue all you like Benito, Spain speaks Spanish.” Manuel opened another bottle with a pocketknife.

    “I like to argue. But in truth we cannot go far wrong as long as we stay out of Hitler’s orbit. Then Italy can survive and worry about Peron looking to Rome or to Spain for inspiration. That is a side issue altogether. Let mad dogs kill each other I say.” Mussolini wiped the sweat off his forehead.

    “He will come for us at some point. His military is too strong for us.”

    “We have, we will have, a better military this time, we have the Alps, and most important of all, this time we have a Libyan treasure to fund our industry. It is a dangerous game, but one we can win.”

    The time traveler raised his glass. “Libyan treasure.”

    “To Libyan treasure.”

     “I feel a need to walk, come join me.” Yet again Mussolini was a charming host. Despite all he knew of the man’s nature, sometimes Manuel liked the man. A discreet guard followed them down a well-worn trail. A dog was barking in the distance. “The airplanes we spent so much money on are coming into service in Spain, I know our work is good, they are the equal of the Germans and outclass the Soviet shit.”

    “Still, we must improve them constantly, we must not be left behind,” Manuel said. The birds began to settle for the night.

     “The navy is at my throat, the air force thinks I am genius. But now it is time to improve the army. If war begins in 1939 we must be ready to protect our frontiers, our shores. Before your transportation, we paid the English for the plans of an advanced tank, the six-ton type from Vickers. I need you to go see one, lay your hands on it, tell me what we can do to improve it.”

    “I will make the arrangements with your office.”

    “Also I am not happy about the training program. More and more expensive equipment will be going to the army, we cannot have half-trained boys playing games with it.”

    Manuel observed, “I did my time in the army you know, I was drafted too.”

    “Excellent, you’re just the man for the job.”

Chapter 7

    An early dusting of snow blew across the gray slate patio outside the conference room at the Greenbrier Hotel in rural West Virginia. The entire Oversight Committee had assembled for the second time ever a week before Christmas, 1936 when their absence could easily be explained. The room was already filling with smoke.

    Winston Frederick had assumed the uniform of an Army master sergeant and sat against the wall behind George Marshall and William Leahy taking notes. Senator Taft was again chairing the meeting.

    “More than a year has passed, are we on schedule?”

    The Treasury Department man replied first, “On or ahead of schedule, we’re spending our way out of the Depression, not that you can tell yet, lots of money going into public works, university scholarships, whatnot.”

    “Hundreds of students have just finished their first term in programs in electronics and avionics.” The Labor Department added.

    “Will they have jobs when they get out?” Taft asked.

    “If they don’t they had better go out and make their own jobs.” Came the reply. Several around the table snorted.

    “Tell me about the public works.” Taft ordered.

    “The intercoastal waterway is being improved along the entire coast. The hydroelectric plants are underway. Also we have managed to finance a pipeline from the Texas oilfields to the two coasts. These have been billed as employment schemes, but will help when the time comes.” The Labor Department man offered. "We have leaned on the railroads for improvements there, the states are working on farm-to-market roads. Again, make-work programs, but useful ones."

    “No highways?” a voice at the end of the table asked.

    “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.” Taft looked up from his pad of paper. “Highways would be wonderful, but not yet, not without a huge additional investment in trucks and so on. One step at a time.” Taft continued, “What about overseas?”

    “We are developing Mexican oil as fast as we can, we might get a pipeline from down there to Texas in time.” The Commerce Department representative continued. “We will have a new facility to produce 110 octane aviation gas next year. All in all, the oil situation looks good.”

    “What about overseas, Europe I mean.” Senator Taft reached in his pocket for a cigarette case.

    Now the State Department delegate took stage. “Things are proceeding as predicted. The Spanish Civil War is now in full swing with Stalin and Hitler destroying the place to see who can have whatever is left. The Italians are starting to lose their primacy as the first Fascist state to the Germans. What the Germans lack in materiel, they made up for in enthusiasm. Relations between Hitler and Mussolini are cooling a bit. That was to be expected.”

    “What about this Italian oil?” The Commerce man asked.

    “We have granted licenses to a number of companies to provide oilfield equipment. We figure someone is going to do the work, might as well be our guys. They have been very cooperative in providing information we may find useful later. When we have to bomb those fields we will have extensive blueprints ready.”

    “That’s in Libya?” Leahy asked.

    “Yes admiral, a nice field in Libya.”

    Winston made a note to ask about that later.

    “Stalin and Hitler both seem to be moving along the paths we were told to expect. The situation in Tokyo is harder to read of course, they are more secretive than the Soviets in many ways. We have our attaches collecting economic information all over Asia and Europe. Nothing that would attract attention, but we should have a better idea how the economy in those countries fit together. To sum up, we can say there has been no butterfly effect overseas as far as we can tell.” The foreign service man closed his dossier.

    “General Marshall, what is our military standing?” Taft turned the floor over to the Army general who spoke while seated to the Senator’s left.

    “At the moment, our military is not as impressive as, for example, the French. We do not have a single modern tank or new field artillery gun. Still that is to be expected, and a lot of the groundwork has been laid for a planned expansion. We have sent teams to the National Guard and now have a clear idea of where they stand and how we have to fix them. University students are being offered summer camp military training, and more than a few are taking us up on it. We have integrated our senior staffs and staff colleges with Navy men and even people from industry and have learned a lot from them. In the coming year, our budget will include a lot of new procurement and we will start to see changes at the unit level.” Marshal returned to his seat.

    “Admiral Leahy, the Navy, sir?” Taft signaled the man to his right.

    “Our fleet is simply unchanged since our first meeting. Designing and building ships takes a lot of time. General Marshal has pointed out our improved teamwork with our friends in the Army. I appreciate all he has done to make it happen. Our new class of submarines will be the best in the world, the first one will be launched in a couple of months. Two new fleet carriers will come down the slips next year. With the lessons we learn from those ships we will build an even bigger class with the hulls now budgeted as battleships. Also we have taken a real interest in the Merchant Marine Commission’s work, we hope to have the first fifty Liberty ships available by the end of the year, after we finalize the design we can open the taps on short notice. I suspect we may be able to do some amazing things with Liberty ship hulls, already we are looking at tankers, people are very creative. Next Christmastime we should see the beginnings of a change in the Navy.” 

    Taft took a sheet of paper from his briefcase, “The President has asked me to thank you all for your hard work and discretion. He wants to stress that we are not preparing to start a war, but to win one that seems preordained.” He looked up. “If there are no objections, gentlemen I have ordered a buffet dinner in the main dining room. I want you to have a good time and informally discuss the developments in your own spheres among yourselves. As the vice-president is so fond of saying, we need a bit of cross-pollinating. At tomorrow’s secession we will have time to consider any sparks of inspiration that might emerge.” He and the two senior officers stood up, ending the meeting.

    The ballroom was large, a dance floor in front of an empty bandstand stood opposite a number of serving tables; a head waiter hustled the hotel staff out of the room as the secretive guests arrived. One of the delegates quickly appointed himself bartender and began mixing drinks others gamely took positions behind the tables and began to carve two large turkeys. General Marshall and Admiral Leahy sat side by side in overstuffed leather chairs in front of the only fireplace. Tom worked a soapstone to light the coal already in place.

    “Hear anything odd, Sergeant Frederick?” Leahy asked with a forced smile.

    “Libya is not supposed to have oil until after the war, after independence.” The time traveler replied.

    “Anything else?” Marshall asked.

    “I’ll tell you something else,” the navy man said, “the Italian navy is going to hell. They seem to have scraped their modernization plan altogether. Have you seen that fool Mussolini prancing around like some sort of Roman emperor? Why would a man like that cut back naval construction just as his economy is taking a big leap?”

    Winston observed, “Italy is supposed to be a loyal partner of the Germans in Spain. Why are they falling out?”

    “Could be Mussolini just doesn’t want to play second fiddle, his army is as good as the Germans, and with oil his economy should be recovering,” the admiral offered.

    “What do you make of that?” Marshall directed his question at Winston.

    “Could be dumb luck, could be a butterfly. Still why is the Italian Army doing so well, in Spain? They were supposed to be pretty second-rate compared to the Germans. Like I said, it could be a butterfly, but it might be something worse,” he replied.

    “Like what?” the admiral asked.

    “They could have a visitor from the future too,” came the reply.

    Both officers sipped their drinks silently. In the center of the room, the line at the serving tables dwindled and small groups began to introduce themselves to one another. A small parade formed as each representative came to the two uniformed officers in turn. A thickset man from the Treasury talked about plans to move the gold reserve to Kentucky for safety. A hawk-like delegate from the Post Office asked Marshall when planes would be available to take mail across the Atlantic.

    “Years from now, I suppose. We are working on it.” The general replied.

    “The British say they will start a nonstop service from Nova Scotia to Ireland next year, in the spring in fact,” the functionary pointed out. “How can they be ahead of us?”

    “Sergeant Frederick, made a note to ask about that.” Marshall ordered.

    Winston made another note on his pad. “Yessir.”

    A Navy commander from the Office of Insular Affairs talked to Leahy quietly, when he saw the others were listening, the Navy Chief indicated he should speak up. “I was telling the admiral that we have drawn up plans to quickly fortify the Pacific processions,” the flustered man said.

    “This would be a violation of the Washington Treaty, so we have taken no actions yet.” The admiral pointed out.

    Marshall gestured with his hands, “No, not yet at least. We have a lot of thinking to do about a Pacific strategy.”

    Leahy agreed, “No need to build defenses if we decide to send the fleet elsewhere. Keep planning but take no action without word from me. Also any correspondence you send to me on this matter is to furnished simultaneously to General Marshall.”

    “Aye, sir,” the man replied crestfallen.

    Other members of the committee mentioned projects are far-ranging as new telephone cables to agricultural recovery. Winston knew the informal gathering was working, many of the speakers sparked a memory that he jotted down for follow-up.

    Later in the evening, as the dinner cum meeting broke up, Senator Taft came to the fireplace. Both Marshall and his navy counterpart stood to speak to him. “Some good ideas, some bad ideas, but at least we are thinking.” He offered.

    “Everyone thinks his own sphere is the most critical, sir” Leahy replied.

    Marshall waved “Sergeant Frederick” over. Winston carried his clipboard at the ready to maintain his cover as a confidential aide.

    “I’m worried about a couple of things” Frederick said without preamble.

    “Italian oil and what else?” The Senator from Ohio asked.

    “First, what seems to be a sterling performance by the Italian Army in Spain. I know that was not supposed to happen. The Italian are supposed to have the least-developed European army. Also, Admiral Leahy pointed out that Rome is under investing in their navy. Then there are these transatlantic British airplanes. I don’t know exactly when they were supposed to come in, but it seems much too early for regular scheduled flights like that.”

    “Perhaps we ought to arrange a small meeting with some minor British officials. It seems we have a lot in common with our friends in London. Who can we expect to be in the know over there?” Marshall asked.

    “Let’s try a backbencher named Winston Churchill.” Doctor Frederick replied.

    “I suspect we have some mutual friends,” Taft volunteered.

Chapter 8: Newfoundland

    Even in March, Halifax harbor was dark, cold and foggy. The two Americans came aboard the British cruiser unnoticed. The warmth and light of the officer’s mess was in stark contrast to the gloom outside. The table was dominated by a figure at the far end. Winston Churchill in his navy uniform stood to welcome his visitors. His face was lit with a mischievous conspiracy, “Doctor Winston Frederick, I presume?” He asked.

    “A pleasure, Mister Winston Churchill.” The American replied with a grin.

    “May I introduce our advisor, Doctor Don Erlang? I understand you two have much in common.” Churchill indicated a tallish man to his right. Don’s pleasure at meeting another throwback was obvious. “We are in a quite dangerous place, gentlemen.” Churchill said. “Without your remarkable intervention, we were destined to win this oncoming war. But now we face a much more hazardous situation.”

    “Certainly we must be careful how we take full advantage of our foreknowledge,” Captain Hereford replied, “but I do not see how we are in greater danger now than before.” He was playing his cards close to the vest.

    “I suspect you may not appreciate the situation.” Erlang said. He glanced at Churchill who nodded. “You see, we are now quite certain the Germans also have a visitor from the future.”

    The room became very quiet.

    “How do we know that?” Dr. Frederick asked.

    “They are already testing an advanced U-Boat, no battlecruisers this time, it looks like the Luftwaffe will get their big bombers, but that is just the tip of a hidden iceberg.” Churchill replied.

    “If the Germans have an advisor, as do we two do, how many others are there out there?” Hereford asked.

    “What can we do?” Churchill asked the room, “We must proceed from the assumption that all the nations involved are being provided with this miraculous information. And this of course means we are, as I said, in a very dangerous place.”

    “We are concerned about the Italians.” Hereford admitted.

    “What about them?” Churchill asked around a cigar.

    Frederick was pleased to spring a surprise on his counterpart. “They have discovered oil in Libya a couple of decades too soon. They seem to be doing too well with the Spanish Civil War.”

    “So, one British, one American, one German, one Italian. As I said, we must presume a Russian, a Japanese, perhaps a Chinese visitor as well, perhaps many more” Churchill said.

    “I cannot imagine what a German advisor would say to Hitler, or a Russian to Stalin even worse a Japanese with foreknowledge. The war was a complete disaster for all of them.” Don said.

    “Not having a war would seem to be the best option.” Hereford said, “Maybe we can still avoid a fight.”

    “Tell Hitler to try to relax a little? I hope that cat has his life insurance paid up.” Frederick sat down for the first time.

    It was Hereford how made the next observation. “The Germans and the Italians are in Spain, this was or is the training ground for their troops. We have to presume the German and Italian throwbacks are not going to stop this war. Nothing we know of has derailed us on our way to war.”

    “It would be foolish to believe otherwise.” Churchill said. “We are now set for a much different war than what we expected.”

    “Butterflies?” Erlang asked, an eyebrow arched.

    “Lots of them.” Frederick replied.

    “I suppose the President ought to meet with your Prime Minister.” Hereford proposed.

    “Our system is much different from yours, politically.” Churchill replied. “Our most senior civil servants are aware of our visitors,” he indicated Winston and Don, “but our political leadership are not. Nor, should they be. I would propose liaison offices be established in each capital, outside the normal embassy rigmarole.”

    “What of higher strategy? How can we coordinate that?” Hereford protested.

    “We cannot. In fact we should not too much. The situation facing us, which we will face, will be different from the one predicted. As long as we are agreed on the broadest possible outlines, an Anglo-American alliance, a Germany-first policy, and generous peace the rest can be decided on that foundation based upon the events as they present themselves.”

    Hereford was about to object again, but Doctor Frederick preempted him, “Pending the approval of the President, I think we can agree on your proposal.” He reached out and shook the hand of the future Prime Minister.

    “Done.” Both Winstons said together.

    “Perhaps some friendly corporation will be willing to set up some offices for our use,” the American time-traveler said.

    “If our version of this war is any indication, communications security will be critical.” Don pointed out.

    “I know of only one code that is both secure and fast enough. We, we Americans, will have to find some Navajo code-talkers.” Winston answered.

    Erlang’s face brightened, “I read a book about them once.”

    A naval officer entered the room and handed Churchill a note. “Gentlemen, Captain Raleigh informs me we have passed the sea buoy and set a course for warmer waters. We now have a few days to talk together in complete security, it would be foolish to waste this chance” He pulled out a heavy ledger book and opened it to display a handwritten page. “My Oversight Committee has asked me to review these notes with you both; I hope Captain Hereford would be good enough to act as secretary for this most unusual meeting of minds.” Churchill waved the two time travelers into chairs on either side and produced a silver bucket covered with a white linen napkin. Reaching under the covering he produced a bottle of champagne and with expert hands poured four glasses. “He is to plain speaking and clear understanding” he announced. “First order of business is aero engines.” Churchill began.

    “Our designs are more advanced, and more capable of improvement than yours.” Don said undiplomatically.

    “The Mustang would have been worthless without the Merlin engine: Frederick agreed. “We might as well begin licensed production in the US at once.”

    “Have you Americans begun work on the turbine engine?”

    “I don’t think so, how is Frank Whittle doing?”

    “They tell me he has plenty of funding this time around.”

    “How about the famous British radars?”

    “Not ready yet of course, but soon enough. We are already setting out an air-defense network based on ground observers, the radars will fit right into that in time. We also expect radio navigation devices to be fielded in fairly short order.”

    “We have used our airmail service to refine our blind-landing system, that will be expanded into a real night-flying or perhaps night bombing aid,” the American said. “All I know about radars is something called a ‘Cavity Micrometer.’”

    “Yes, something like that. ‘Cavity Magnetron’ I think. We have one ready for you take with you I am told, Production examples will be coming your way in short order. I see a problem here.”

    “What’s that?” Doctor Frederick asked as Churchill poured more wine.

    “We seem to be developing two incompatible navigation aids, surely it would be better to have one system for radio, radar, whatever as much as we can.”

    Hereford interrupted, “Best not to be too darn clever. Two radars, codes, two whatever gives the bad guys a more complicated problem.”

    “Also it give us two tries to develop an ideal system,” Churchill added. “Still, we will do what we can to coordinate our developments. Let us turn our attention to the shipyards, we are counting on miracles of production from the Americans.”

    Again Commander Hereford took the lead, “We are very proud of our merchant marine program. The Liberty ships are already coming off the slips in some numbers. We have designed them to have quite a bit of commonality with the LSTs Winston keeps harping on. The other amphips are too different come out of the civil program,” he added.

    “What else are you planning?” Don asked.

    “We will have some number of landing ship docks, LSDs.”

    “A bit of clarification,” Churchill demanded.

    “Like a cargo ship, but with a well deck in the back. It can carry the landing craft across the open water to the area of the attack. That way we can avoid needing a nearby port. Also they will bring our amphibious tractors and tanks where they are needed.” The American throwback said. “Anything new in your shipbuilding program?” He asked.

    “The Royal Navy will be much more focused on antisubmarine missions. Our Royal Marines will also be equipped for larger-scale landings, nothing like yours of course.” Don explained.

    “And your carriers?” Doctor Frederick enquired.

“We have already built our first angled-deck type, others will be retrofitted. I guess you have done the same?”

    Both Americans nodded.

    “We will need some help with steam catapults and arresting gear. We simply have too little experience with that sort of thing to catch up in time.”

    “We will be pleased to provide blueprints and examples of whatever we have.” Hereford spoke with authority. “Perhaps you could send us some officers for a long-term familiarization?”

    “I suspect you will see them in less than a month.” Churchill replied.

    “How about submarines?” Don asked his American counterpart.

    “More important to us in the Pacific than to you folks in the Atlantic. The ones coming into the fleet now have provisions for snorkels, we will fit them in plenty of time. Also everyone assures me I can stop harping on the torpedo reliability problem. You?”

    “We are about to fit out one of our smallest subs with oversized batteries and electric motors; it is supposed to mimic the worst the Germans can do. A training target. You know it would be a shame not to have your lads take some shots at it.”

    Churchill interrupted, “More, our escorts ought to train against your subs someplace away from prying eyes.”

    Don nodded in agreement, “We also seem to have quite a number of older S-Class boats on hand. Already outmoded. We are working on other uses for them. Training at least.”

    Don waved away another glass, Churchill poured anyway with an evil grin. “Have we mentioned the frigates?”

    “You have missiles already?” Don was amazed.

    “Just guns, we expect a lot of Japanese kamikazes, so we are designating some destroyers as anti-aircraft ships, calling them frigates. Each carrier will get two, then the others will be spread out where they can do the most good. Five inch guns plus a secondary battery and our best radars.”

    “We have designed, or redesigned, our Hunt class as a generalist for both anti-submarine and antiaircraft work. Differing design philosophy I suspect,” Don answered. “We are calling them frigates too, just to add to the confusion,” he grinned.

Chapter 9 Ships

    Frederick found the San Francisco shipyard to be a place of unsure footing, alarming noises and unpleasant smells. Cables, wooden crates and iron beams formed a maze between them and the hulk under construction. The foreman herded them through the confusion like a group of school children on an outing. They crossed onto the Liberty ship on a ramp so wide he did not notice the transition from ship to shore. Inside was more noise and confusion, along with the hash glare of work lights. They went up a narrow steel staircase and emerged on the deck, near the bow in an area quiet enough for conversation.

    “Here she is, Ship Forty of a run of one hundred.” The foreman sat on the steel railing, looking at the odd collection of military men, tycoons and a negro secretary. The shipyard spread out behind him like a panorama. “The sections are put together on each side, then moved on rails to the center where they meet up with the power plant and keel for final assembly.” He gestured with his arms freely. “So far we have taken a month to build each one, but that will pick up now that we have the kinks out of the system.”

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