Inevitable Triumph: The United States at War, 1939-1947

[Prufrock451]

Good call, GD! Let's take a trip in the Wayback Machine to January 24, 1940...

January 24, 1940

Laurence Steinhardt sat down calmly and lit his pipe. He knew he would be waiting for some time, and that did not bother him. He dug a dog-eared copy of War and Peace out of his briefcase and sighed contentedly.

Eighty minutes later, Vyacheslav Molotov entered, flanked by an impressive number of translators and subordinates. Steinhardt rose and offered his hand. Molotov grasped it, gave it two crushing pumps, and gestured for Steinhardt to take his seat.

The two men regarded each other for a short while.

Finally, Molotov leaned forward and spoke through his translator. "Ambassador Steinhardt, thank you for coming. I must tell you frankly that the People of the Soviet Union have misgivings over your government's latest actions."

Steinhardt tilted his head slightly and puffed on his pipe. "We've made our intentions very clear."

Molotov nodded curtly. "To come to the rescue of Poland, that is what your President has said. But now you establish an empire on our border."

"Considering where your borders are, Mr. Molotov, and where they were this time last year, I'd be careful bandying about the word 'empire'."

The silence fell again. Molotov leaned forward.

"I speak frankly now. Your occupation of Poland is intolerable, as is your undiplomatic rebuttal."

Steinhardt smiled politely. "With all due respect, Mr. Molotov, I think you'll learn to tolerate it. You're having a hard enough time with a dozen Finnish divisions. Want to see how you'll do against a hundred and fifty?"

Molotov turned red and slammed his fist on his desk. "That is an insult to the government of the Soviet Union and a threat of war-"

Steinhardt returned the favor, pointing at Molotov with his pipe. "That is the flat damn truth! You'll know when the United States is threatening war, and you'd better hope to whatever you Bolsheviks have replaced God with that you never see the day!"

Molotov slumped back in his chair, paralyzed with fury.

Steinhardt composed himself, blew an idle smoke ring at the ceiling, and rose. "Thank you for this chat, Mr. Molotov. I look forward to speaking with you again. I think that when you give the Premier your report, you'll be given instructions to be extremely civil in your dealings with me in the future. Perhaps we can play a match or two of chess? I've been practicing, you know." Steinhardt picked up his fedora and grinned.

Molotov's eyes crawled icily over Steinhardt's face. "Your superiority is temporary. This arrogance won't be forgotten." He gestured at the book Steinhardt was packing into his briefcase. "To threaten the Soviet Union and then relax while reading Tolstoy... insulting and barbarian."

Steinhardt held up his book, letting Molotov take in the cover art of French cavalry charging into Russia. "Think of it as homework. Good day, Mr. Molotov."

 

[HJ Tulp]

Steinhardt makes Bush look diplomatic :rofl:

 

[elbasto]

Steinhardt returned the favor, pointing at Molotov with his pipe. "That is the flat damn truth! You'll know when the United States is threatening war, and you'd better hope to whatever you Bolsheviks have replaced God with that you never see the day!"

:rofl:

 

[unmerged(28944)]

What we have here is a scene of Old World Diplomacy being replaced with New World Diplomacy.

See, in the Old World, diplomacy is: The art of being able to tell someone to go to Hell in such a way that the individual actually looks forward to the journey.

In the New World, diplomacy is: The art of telling someone the way things are and not giving a damn how that person takes that news.

Personally, there is a time for both forms of diplomacy, however, I do believe that Steinhardt was more that diplomatic enough to allow the Soviets to understand in no uncertain terms the way things are in the here and now. I can only wait to see how Uncle Joe reacts to this reality. ( I'm laying odds that the answer to that will be badly. )

 

[unmerged(1497)]

Interesting. Very Interesting.

Quesstion: Is the US strong enough at the moment for a 2 front war. Soviets + Japan or China? In short, is the US bluffing as they ready themselves to settle accounts in Asia, or are they willing to fight the Soviets over Poland, while doing whatever they're planning in Asia?

The tension mounts! Oh what a feeling!

 

[unmerged(10416)]

Yay! Steinhard for UN ambassador! :rofl:

BTW: Steinhard is german and translates as "hard as rock". A fitting name. I also like the part where he, US ambassador to Moscow, holds up the picture of Napoleonic cavalry charging into Russia, and tells Vyatcheslav Molotov that this is his idea of homework. Let's see the Americans at Borodino...

 

[Mike von Bek]

Aiyah... now the Man of Steel himself is gonna get involved...

 

[Stuyvesant]

Hoo boy, talk about diplomacy...

Steinhardt smiled politely. "With all due respect, Mr. Molotov, I think you'll learn to tolerate it. You're having a hard enough time with a dozen Finnish divisions. Want to see how you'll do against a hundred and fifty?"

That's not diplomacy, that's bullying! That's one hell of an image: A Roosevelt who is not just fully aware of Big Bad Uncle Joe, who is not just standing up to him forcefully, but who is indeed trying to BULLY Stalin into submission... Roosevelt's got some big brass ones, they must clang when he walks.

If I were Roosevelt, I'd stay away from ice picks (or was it a pick axe?) for a while. Not sure that Uncle Joe will respond in an entirely constructive way.

 

[Prufrock451]

ItM: Bluffing, hell! There's still 36 American divisions in Europe, backed by a hundred French and UK divisions. And my puppet states are starting to produce units, too.

September 26, 1940

The black car sidled up the roads of Victoria Hill, away from the chaos of Hong Kong's business district. The headlights cut through the evening mist, showing glances of fine verandas and marble columns. Skorzeny glanced out the window at the New Territories across the bay. Six months before, the New Territories had been nothing but gardens and rice paddies. Now, the town was aglow with neon and searchlights, illuminating rickety temporary barracks and the even shakier tenements the Chinese population had poured into. He curled his lip.

Heydrich held up a blurry photograph. "This is the man. E. Howard Hunt. Ford snapped him up while he was still trying to get a job at OSS. He's young. An ideologue. Under extreme pressure from Ford to turn something up before the election." Heydrich grinned. "He's also the complete incompetent you'd expect from that description. Ford has been churning through documents like a madman trying to find some kind of pattern in the Hong Kong markets. Our man in Ford's office dug a list of ten people Ford found suspicious out of a wastebasket. This Hunt hired a taxi and went to all of the addresses on the list, examining the houses." Heydrich rolled his eyes. "In order."

Skorzeny snorted. He gestured at the fine houses lining the street they were driving up. "So we are repeating that mistake?"

Heydrich shook his head. "We are not. Hunt's having a fine time on Ford's expense account. He has some idea that he would be less conspicuous if he avoided the downtown area. He has therefore rented a two-bedroom home on the east slope overlooking the bay, from which he sneaks at night. He has excited a great deal of rumor among the household staffs of neighboring homes." Heydrich pulled the car over, rolling into the service driveway of a five-story mansion. A Chinese man appeared out of a back doorway, wearing black. Heydrich and Skorzeny stepped quietly out of the car, and Heydrich slipped the man a wad of folded bills.

The two men disappeared into the shadows, creeping through a series of well-manicured gardens. Heydrich walked to the rear of a small house, and pointed at a window. Skorzeny drew a length of wire from his boot and worked open the latch. They silently lifted themselves and eased over the sill into the darkened house.

 

[The Yogi]

Pruf, I haven't been commenting since the very start, but that is because I'm bobbing about far, far, faaar in your wake, watching the magnificent ship that is this AAR disapear over the horizon. So without having read any of your later posts, I must say I am deeply impressed not only with the quality of your writing, but with the speed of it! To perform splendidly AND quickly is the hallmark of true talent. Hat's off!

 

[Chengar Qordath]

The story has been quite good so far, but there are so many plots and counter-plots that I have to wonder if anyone really knows everything that's going on. Still makes for fascinating reading, and I'm sure all will eventually be revealed.

 

[unmerged(17138)]

A Wobbly is the derisive nickname given to the IWW (International Workers of the World). They were a left wing industrial/political organisation that attempted to transcend national borders and create an international workers body - a type of superunion. It failed, and did quite a bit of political damage in some countries with their skewed views on how socialism/marxism should work. They burned out just after the turn of the century in most places but lingered on until WWI in other areas. After the war, the events in the Soviet Union changed the left wing landscape completely and they disappeared.

As for it's use here, Ford is of that earlier generation - he made his name before WW1. It's his equivalent to saying Commie! Such a minor difference in the language of the time compared to the modern day...... and another reason why Pruffy is so good at writing this sort of stuff.

Cheers,
Duritz.

Very classy touch .. this is what separates the wheat from the chaff

 

[Mettermrck]

THE E. Howard Hunt...of Watergate fame? Certainly an early appearance for him, and in cahoots with the Germans! Another great one, Prufock.

 

[Duritz]

Very classy touch .. this is what separates the wheat from the chaff

Or as my Year 8 maths teacher said to my mother, "This is when the cream starts to float to the top........."

Yep, I was milk!

Duritz.

 

[unmerged(44174)]

This is a great read.

 

[Prufrock451]

September 26, 1940

Ed Hunt yawned, stretching as he got off the toilet. This spicy Chinese food, he thought to himself, is just not agreeing with me.

He glanced at his darkened reflection in the bathroom mirror. He made a couple of menacing faces, framed in moonlight, and grinned. Man, he thought to himself, here I am in Hong Kong! A spy! Hunt sneered at his reflection, holding up an imaginary gun. He'd always dreamt of being a spy. The OSS hadn't gotten back to him, but he was working for Henry Ford, and that name would go a long way. Maybe he could still work for the FBI. They didn't love the President and his Democratic minions any more than Ed Hunt did.

Ed Hunt. He scratched his jaw. That wouldn't look good on the cover of the spy novel he was writing. Edward H. Hunt? E. Howard Hunt? That was the name he'd given Ford. I'll stick with that, he thought. Authorly. Dignified.

There was a muffled creak downstairs. Hunt froze. He knelt down to listen by the door. A desk drawer sliding open. Hunt's blood ran cold, and his hair bristled. He crept silently across the hall, thanking God that the tiled hallway floor was silent. He got into the bedroom and dug his revolver out from under his pillow. Was he being quiet enough? He couldn't tell. The blood was pounding in his ears.

Hunt slipped out of the bedroom, gripping the revolver. He leveled it, grimacing as he noticed it shaking in his hands. He took a few deep breaths.

Got to concentrate, Ed. Concentrate.

Hunt crept back into the hallway. He knelt by the staircase. He could see a shadow moving in the living room. The pounding in his ears was getting worse. His gut was twisting. The gun was cold and it kept slipping in his sweaty palms. Hunt put his foot on the staircase. It creaked.

The shadow froze. Hunt stared at it. Finally, he broke. Screaming, he burst down the stairs. There was a man silhouetted in the office door, in a fedora and trenchcoat. He was raising his hands slowly.

"Who are you?" whispered Hunt. "Who are you? Who are you working for?"

The man walked slowly forward. "Alright," he said calmly. Jesus- that accent. He's a German. "Stay calm. I surrender, hands up."

Hunt moved forward. He cleared his throat. "Damn right you surrender. Who are you working for?"

The German shrugged and his eyes went vacant. Hunt blinked. What is that- is he looking at something? Trying not to look at something?

Before Hunt could finish the thought, a hand whipped over his shoulder and slipped a finger under the hammer of his gun. Hunt jerked the trigger, but the hammer hit flesh and the gun did not fire. He felt something hit him in the back, something icy. A searing pain started spreading over the left side of his body.

Jesus, thought Hunt, I've been stabbed. Can't breathe. My heart? I'm dying. Oh my God. Oh my God.

The American crumpled forward, a last breath sighing out. Skorzeny stepped forward, rubbing his hand.

"Can you make it more obvious next time, Reinhard?"

Heydrich frowned. "I'm out of practice." He held up a notepad. "Notes. For a spy novel." He flipped through it. "There are some useful things jotted here and there. Mostly, though, it is American pulp trash."

Skorzeny grunted. "A shame he was home. He might have dug up more clues for us. Then again, the worthless fool probably wouldn't have." He sniffed at the air. "Smells like he didn't like the pepper in the food here any more than I do."

Heydrich grimaced. He stepped around the body. "Come on. Perhaps there's more upstairs."

Skorzeny stopped him. "No point." He pointed at the fireplace mantel. There was a smattering of dust beneath it which stood starkly out in the moonlight. Skorzeny stepped forward and squinted at the brick. He tapped a few times and chuckled as he pulled one loose. He dug in his hand and came out with a thick envelope.

Heydrich applauded lightly. "For your next trick, Maestro?"

Skorzeny grinned and jerked a thumb at the fireplace. "I will make a corpse disappear."

 

[Prufrock451]

Thanks to everyone for your kind words so far. I'll do my level best to keep you entertained through the end.

Mettermrck: Yes, the E. Howard Hunt. Although, as we have just seen, 'cahoots' isn't exactly the right word.

Yogi: I usually update once a day or so, so if you read two, you'll be up to date in no time.

If your head's starting to hurt, don't worry- from here on out, things get simpler.

 

[unmerged(41995)]

Who needs simpler - poetry sheer poetry!

The machinations of the powerful and devious - a great read!

 

[unmerged(28944)]

Simpler but a helluva lot bumpier, eh? Me thinks the ballon shall be going up here soon, and then things are going to get even more interesting!

 

[Stuyvesant]

At least Mr. Hunt got a death worthy of a spy novel... True, dying might not have been his wish, but being stabbed to death by a Nazi SS commando must surely be the silver lining on his (particularly lethal) dark cloud.

I hope our American Doughboys come out of their future meeting with the Nazi scumdogs in better shaper than the late, not-so-great, Mr. Hunt.