The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [63]
Churchill shuffled back and forth, slow nervous pacing. “I know Roosevelt told you about his atom bomb.”
Eisenhower nodded. “Yep. I know we’re working on something. Weapon of incredible power. That’s about all I know. There’s a lot of physics involved, not my strong subject.”
“Mine either. Supposed to be a big damned blast, though. I have to wonder if Hitler hasn’t come up with something similar, something that could destroy half of London.”
“Washington is being pretty closemouthed about the whole thing. I don’t know anything more than that.”
Churchill picked up the cigar again, eyed him. “Whatever you say. Just keep your fingers crossed that Hitler hasn’t got better physicists than we do. They were doing some work in Norway, all that business about heavy water. Have no idea how anyone makes water heavy, or what the hell it’s for.”
Eisenhower said nothing. The German heavy-water plant in Norway had been a key target for a long time. But the Germans had become nervous—Norway was too ripe for Allied invasion—and in November 1943, word had come through the Ultra intercepts that the Germans were moving their stockpile of heavy water to Germany. One part of the move would be to transport the water on board a ferry across Lake Tinn. On February 20, 1944, in a perfectly executed operation, agents of the Norwegian underground had boarded the ferry, and in hours the ferry and the entire stockpile of heavy water had disappeared into the deepest part of the lake. The Allies had to believe that whatever progress the Germans had made harnessing nuclear fission had been set back significantly.
Eisenhower knew there was something still on the prime minister’s mind.
“We can’t always be sure of secrets, you know,” Churchill said, rubbing his chin.
“Not sure what you mean.”
“As I said before, they’re crafty bastards. You think they knew about the rehearsal?”
Eisenhower was still learning details of the mess at Slapton Sands, only a few days before.
“From what I hear, it was dumb luck. Bradley was there, said it could have been much worse. Just a few torpedo boats. Probably on patrol in the channel and stumbled right into us. Hated like hell to lose those landing craft.”
Churchill cocked his head to one side. “What about the men? The casualties? See, you’re better at this than you think.”
“I don’t have the casualty counts yet.”
He took another drink of the brandy, felt like Churchill was playing with him. The disaster at Slapton Sands was one glaring hint that even the most careful plans could suddenly come apart. It had been a simple drill, a night landing by the American Fourth Division on the British coastline, an area that mimicked the conditions they would find in France, on what was designated as Utah Beach. But the calm precision of the rehearsal had been shattered by a sudden blast from German torpedoes, the surprise appearance of a squadron of German E-boats, small fast gunboats that had, by a simple quirk of chance, stumbled right into the maneuver. Hundreds of men had died, mostly Americans, but the greatest concern was keeping the entire debacle secret. Any word of the rehearsal itself would confirm German fears about the imminence of the invasion, so not even the families of the victims had been notified.
Churchill said nothing, and Eisenhower had kept it away until now, Churchill’s nightmarish image of bodies floating in the channel. Churchill paced again.
“There will be time for truth later on. I’ve learned that, you know. People always assume politicians lie, that it’s part of the job, part of our bloody makeup. But this isn’t just politics. We’re all keeping secrets now, all of us. Sooner or later, a lot of truth will come out. That should keep us on our toes. Slapton Sands or Ultra, whatever the hell kind of weapon