USA 2002 in 1942 section 6

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While ISOT American 2002 (Written by Dave Knudson) is the 2002 US transported to 1942 it can serve as a rough template on how the Infopunk and Dieselpunk Earths interact. The formatting at the source archive has issues and so the piece is provided here. Due to its size it is in sections.
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 1
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 2
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 3
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 4
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 5
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 6
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 7
*USA 2002 in 1942 section 8
==USA 2002 in 1942 Part 16 - Operation Thule==
Conceptually, THULE was a German response to the nightmarish
military and political situation they found themselves in. Chief
among the problems the Germans faced was this; while the Americans
could bring only a relatively small number of actual troops against
them, the technology available to the US military was far above that
which was available to Germany - one grim member of OKW compared
it to Caesar's legions facing Napoleon's Grande Armee. To
make a bad situation worse, the Americans had a number of weapons that
negated the few technological tools Germany did have - wild
weasels against radar, satellites, AWACS, and the ability to break any
code the Germans had within minutes. Furthermore, there was no
guarantee that New Zossen had seen - or even heard about -
everything the Americans could do to them. Finally, the US had denied
the Germans the ability communicate with radio, meaning German field
commanders could exercise little control over their troops.
To counter this, THULE relied on mass, simplicity and the skill of
the junior officers and NCOs of the Wehrmacht. New Zossen realized
they had one shot at this; if they could hurt the Americans badly
enough to buy Germany some time, it was possible the technological
problems could be addressed before another US invasion came. Of
course, it was exceedingly unlikely that this could come to pass; even
if THULE worked it was understood that the Americans had a whole class
of super weapons so terrible that they hesitated to use them, but it
had to be tried as it was the only card the Germans had left to play.
Since THULE was the only play the Germans had left, it was planned
meticulously and with forethought. Or, more accurately, New Zossen
tried to plan meticulously and with forethought. THULE suffered from
the interference of Hitler and in particular Goering. Hitler was
being even more problematic than usual; US reports, in addition to the
hatred of Hitler and Nazism they emoted, were also frankly
contemptuous of his military skills. Hitler, predictably, decided
that this was Jewish propaganda, and insisted on directing the
planning for THULE himself. Luckily (as far as most of OKH and OKW
were concerned), the relative remoteness of New Zossen coupled with
the need for security and Hitler's insistence in staying in
Berlin, precluded most interference.
Most, not all.
Motorcycle couriers raced back and forth, and for the German
officers unfortunate enough to be in Berlin, daily tirades about the
incompetence of the German generals, the OKH, OKW (variously and
alternatively), and how the whole USA from 2002 was a Jewish ploy to
be countered by Aryan Mysticism ("We will show the Americans
Thor and Freya, and they will know suffering!" Himmler
promised). Some of the minimal intelligence the Germans received
about future history did make an impact, however. New Zossen had been
counting on that, and actually got around Hitler's usual
intransigence on the issue. Approval for the unpleasant parts of THULE
that OKW conceptualized was slow in coming, but it did come.
Starting at about 4:45 AM, 16 hours after the mysterious tone
broadcast all over Germany and Europe, over 200 Luftwaffe old-model
bombers (mostly JU-186s and Do-17Zs) of all descriptions took off from
bases in France and the Low Countries. It was a ragged affair;
individual squadrons were dispersed, and there was little organization
to the flight. Their path was unmistakable, however. London was the
target. The planes were detected almost immediately, and ready
squadrons both in Britain and on US carriers in the Atlantic and North
Sea were scrambled, and the RAF was put on alert.
US planners were puzzling over the nature of the strike -
too small to be really dangerous, and targeted at London, which would
accomplish nothing as far as hindering US operations in northern
Germany. As the German planes crossed over the channel, they were
engaged by F-15s and F-18s and SAM sites the Air Force had rigged in
southern England. The results were fairly predictable, with dozens of
German planes getting shredded. But some did get through.
Then the horror began.
Simon Harkendale was limping along a meadow just outside
Folkestone, enjoying the early morning breeze on his face. With him
was his 14-year old nephew John, his younger sister's boy. 
John's father was Executive Officer of a British light cruiser
in the Pacific. Simon had been severely wounded at the Somme in 1916,
and the damage to his right leg (where a German machine gun had put
three bullets in to him) precluded his military service in this war,
so Simon (a firm believer that children needed a father) took the boy
at times for hiking and camping trips.
This morning, both turned their eyes to the sky as the
now-familiar shriek of US jets filled their ears. Pencil-thin
contrails streak skywards, and bright boils of light marked the sky as
German planes died. Both Simon and John enjoyed the spectacle; after
all, not too long ago, they would have had to run from sounds in the
sky. It was pleasing to see the Luftwaffe get it back - in
spades.
Then a boil of flame appeared directly above them as an F-18 shot
down a German plane. A fiery ball of fire seemed to plunge down at
them, and John recognized a JU-186 German bomber as they scrambled for
cover. That was odd; the JU-186 was old even by 1942 standards. The
explosion was right above them, but the plane's forward momentum
carried it away, and it crashed into a sheep meadow.
The plane hit the ground about 200 meters from Simon and his
nephew, and there was a small explosion as the gas tanks went up. 
Both Simon and John scrambled over towards the spot, looking to see if
the pilot had survived. It was then that Simon saw it.
Sickly-looking yellow-white gas, different from the smoke of the
petrol fire, was billowing out from a tank on the plane. Without
thinking, Simon fingers clawed at his waist where a gas mask had hung
for years in the Somme. Of course, no mask was there now.
Simon felt the breeze on his face, so fresh and clean, and looked
at his mangled right leg. His nephew was still moving towards the
plane. Simon gripped his shoulder, and told him to run. His nephew
was young and strong, and might make it. Simon would not.
Only 42 planes of the original force reached London, and of those,
only 13 landed back in France. Their bomb loads were a combination of
Sarin, Mustard Gas, and Phosgene. In addition to Simon Harkindale
(John escaped), 212 British subjects, and one visiting American were
killed by gas inhalation. Another 34 were killed or hurt in the mad
scramble to the London Tubes, once it became apparent that a gas
attack was underway.
Churchill was at Chequers, getting regular updates about the
military campaign when the news came in. He was aghast at the news of
a gas attack on London, even one as limited in scope as this. After
requesting regular updates on the situation in London, he called Hugh
Dowding, the British Air Marshall. Contingencies existed for this
- had existed for this since September 3, 1939, as a matter of
fact. He was on the Satellite phone to Bush after hanging up with
Dowding.
It was much earlier in Washington, but Bush had already been
awakened by the time Churchill called. The report was grim, and
confusing. Why would the Germans throw away 200 planes, even old
obsolete planes, to kill a few hundred Londoners?
On the SatPhone, Churchill was livid. He wanted know why this had
happened, and why the US Air Force hadn't stopped the Germans. 
Bush was shocked, and frankly apologetic. He and Churchill were still
talking when the news came in.
At 6:45 AM, eighteen hours after the mysterious tone, another air
mission lifted off from France and the Low Countries. More German
aircraft rose into the air, and headed for London. These were late
model planes - JU-88s escorted by Bf-109s and FW190s. They were
piloted by some of the best German pilots available. And there were
more than just 200 of them.
In all, 2827 German aircraft were headed towards London.
It was seen very quickly, course. Both US and British defences were
alert, and the Satellites were already in position. But the scope of
the raid was staggering. It was the largest air armada ever seen, and
if its organization was lacking and its formation ragged, it more than
made up for these deficiencies in scale.
American planners were momentarily stunned. Attracting the Luftwaffe
was an on-going project, of course, and hundreds of planes had already
been destroyed. But since the German planes were so
"primitive", it had been thought they could do little to
interfere with the US military. And, in truth, they couldn't. 
But London was vulnerable - very vulnerable. And, as the
previous raid had shown, the Germans had upped the ante.
US and British squadrons already aloft raced to intercept the threat,
but there was no way they could get them all before they reached
London. Churchill was on several phones at once, and demanded that
all available US assets be used to counter the threat. Meanwhile,
every fighter the British had - from late model Spitfire Vs to
Defiants to Gloucester Gladiators was ordered into the air to defend
the British capital.
In Washington, the JCS was meeting with Bush. It was clear that the
first, small German raid had been an intentional signal. The Germans
wanted the Americans and British to know this was a gas attack.
Bush was confused; why would the Germans want to do that? Warning us
means the gas attack won't be as effective.
General Hayes, US Air Force answered. The reason was simple. 
Clearly, the Germans have been paying more attention to our broadcasts
than we thought. They know who sensitive we are to casualties -
ours, theirs, and especially those of Allied civilians - like
Londoners. The Germans don't want the gas attack to succeed - or more accurately, they don't care if it succeeds or
not. The real purpose here is to divert US attention and air power
from the landings in northern Germany. By using gas, the Germans know
that we have to respond to this raid. Doing so will expose our troops
to their own attacks.
Bush frowned. He was still confused. Even without air cover,
weren't the weapons available to the US Army still much better
than anything the Germans had?
Defence Secretary Rumsfeld responded. Of course. By now, the
Germans probably know that as well as we do. But this is the best
play the Germans had. By denying us air cover, they give themselves
an advantage. Hayes thought that this was it - this was the big
German shot at victory - or to stave off defeat. They're
probably going to take their shot at throwing the invasion back into
the sea.
Bush frowned again, concentrating hard. He wanted to know if the US
denied London air cover, what would be the casualties. A quick
conference, and Rumsfeld came back. Of the 2800 identified bogies, it
was estimated that 1300 would make it through to London. Assuming
standard loads for the gas, wind, humidity, dispersal patterns, and
the such, casualties were estimated at between 75,000 and 125,000
people. These numbers were generated very quickly, but should be
reasonably accurate.
Bush gasped at this, and the Colin Powell broke in. Another casualty
would be our alliance with Great Britain. He turned to Bush. We
promised them security. We promised them that we would protect them. 
They have people in most of our command centers. They'll know
if we don't try to stop this.
Rumsfeld growled out at Powell. What of our men on the ground?
Powell met Rumsfeld's glower with a steady look of his own. 
They'll survive, said Powell.
Marshall Ivan Koniev, Red Army schooled his face to impassivity in
the American command center just outside of Harwich. The Americans
had invited the Soviets to send a "military observer" to
Harwich to observe the invasion of Europe. In public, this was to
better "coordinate" the actions of the two
"allies". In reality, it was to give the Soviets a
front-ring seat for the destruction of the German Army, as a warning
to what would happen to them if they messed with the US.
Words like "unbelievable" and "incredible"
had lost their meaning for Koniev. The US military might as well have
been using magic. The satellites showing "real-time" (a
phrase Koniev knew well now) TV pictures of the fighting gave the US
an advantage that was incalculable, as commanders could react
instantly to changing battlefield conditions. The Germans had
virtually no chance of achieving tactical surprise.
Coupled with the equipment the US soldiers had, the Germans were in
real trouble. M1A2s flowed forward, blasting Germans from the field
like some ancient god of war, and the airplanes the US could bring to
bear with simply phenomenal.
Koniev was there because Marshall Zhukov was otherwise employed - against Finland. The campaign against what the USSR called
"counter-revolutionary bandits, oligarchs and other
criminals" in Finland was not proceeding as well as could be
hoped. The seeming magical ability of the Finns to thwart Soviet
attacks could be explained; clearly the magical American satellites
were relaying information to them. Koniev was confused by this; what
did the Americans care about Finland?
The center was a flurry of activity now. The German gas attack had
aroused the Americans (typical Nazi stupidity, thought Koniev) and
they were vectoring every plane they had to intercept it. It was a
classic trap - feint in one direction, strike in another. And
the Americans were falling for it. Yet, they seemed to know they were
falling for it.
Koniev understood what the Germans were doing. He didn't think
it would work; even without air cover the Americans had too much
power; but Koniev's mind was on something else. If the
Americans were busy here, they might not have the time to focus on
Finland. Koniev motioned to an aide. He and Zhukov were rivals, but
his first duty was to the state. Marshall Zhukov might have an
opportunity - if a message could be gotten to him.
Colonel Kenneth Olson of the US 24th Mechanised Division grimaced as
the report came in. Air cover was temporarily unavailable while a
threat was dealt with. Until further notice, offensive operations
were suspended. The report went on to say that a heavy German ground
attack, possibly accompanied by gas, was anticipated in the next few
hours.
Olson read the report in his Bradley command vehicle and shook his
head. He wondered if anyone in Washington or even Harwich appreciated
how badly outnumbered the US troops in Germany were. Olson had fought
in Vietnam, Iraq, Somalia and Bosnia, and the Germans were as
professional and motivated as any troops he'd ever faced. They
were completely outclassed - even worse than the Iraqis -
but they fought very hard. Worst of all from Olson's
perspective, they maintained their discipline. They didn't
rattle, they didn't run. When they had to, they retreated, but
they never routed. Olson had several weeks of very hard fighting to
look forward to. The idea of assaulting a big city like Hamburg made
him sweat - the casualties would be horrible.
Colonel Olson, like many in his profession, was a bit of an amateur
historian. He remembered the original timeline - and how the
first invasion of Germany went. How US forces flung themselves
against Aachen and the Saar, and how they bled rivers of blood doing
it. But he also remembered the Bulge, and how a German attack on
Americans without air cover achieved temporary success, exposed the
Wehrmacht after the weather cleared.
Olson started giving orders. If the Germans wanted a fight,
they'd get one.
Field Marshall Erich von Manstein grimaced as the clock struck 8:45
PM - twenty hours after the signal from New Zossen. He was in
charge of the ground component of THULE called VALHALLA (though
privately most Germans in the know were calling it RAGNORAK instead).
Manstein was in charge of German Army Group Jutland, a fifty-five
division force tasked with the defence of northern Germany. He had
been picked as the operational commander of VALHALLA some time ago;
had the Americans landed in Antwerp (as had been expected), he would
have been in charge of Army Group Flanders.
Manstein owed his appointment, ironically enough, to the Americans. 
Among other things, it had been learned from their broadcasts, that he
was regarded as "Hitler's best general". This came
as surprise to some; Manstein was well-regarded, but not worshipped as
the Americans seemed to imply. Nevertheless, Manstein's
appointment was made, and he intended to win.
The twenty-hour mark meant that the time had come. In theory the
Americans were distracted, and the time to strike was now. He nodded
to his field commander, Erwin Rommel, and the plan was put into
affect.
Over the North German plain, from Bremen to Hamburg, the German Army
erupted at the American Army. Entire divisions, cut off from
communication simply attacked forward. Panzer divisions shook
themselves out, and formed barriers of steel for infantry behind them. Even new German tanks like the Tiger had no chance against M1s, but
it was hoped that US tanks were as vulnerable to close assault by
infantry as German tanks were.
General Karl Student was coldly satisfied when the order came down. 
He was in a JU-52 transport plane, as were two entire divisions of
troops. It would be the largest airborne operation Germany had ever
attempted. And a chance for Karl Student, once the golden-eyed wonder
child of the German Army, to reclaim some martial glory.
For Student, the war had started to go badly long before the
Americans from the future came. Crete. The name hung on him like the
stench of death. On Crete, in May of 1941, Student's Star had
fallen. It didn't matter that Student had won the battle; it
didn't matter that the British had lost. All that anyone
remembered were the casualties.
As the JU-52 rumbled down the runway, Student's eyes
were bright. His orders came in two parts; official, and real. 
Officially, his job was to seize the port facilities at Cuxhaven and
Bremerhaven, and hold them until relieved by von Manstein's
troops. Since von Manstein's was exceedingly unlikely to
happen, Student's real orders were to seize the port facilities
and wreck them so the Americans couldn't use them. Student
clench his jaw. He would not fail.
This time, he would win.
==USA 2002 in 1942 ISOT Part 17 - Operation THULE, Part II==
Had a human astronaut been in space, and had that human been properly
equipped, then a vast panoply of events would have been apparent. The
human observer would have seen multiple operations - military,
commercial, political and even environmental - unfolding on the
fragile globe of the Earth.
For this human astronaut, the eye would first be drawn to
North-western Europe, where the largest air battle in history (either
history) was about to occur. The heart of the Luftwaffe was going to
meet the United States Air Force combined with the complements of two
super carriers of the United States Navy, and that meeting promised to
confrontational, to say the least.
Another battle, air, sea and land, was shaping up in Northern
Germany. There, a vast moving plain of German vehicles and infantry
was moving like a plague of locusts towards the "exposed"
units of the US Army. JU-87 Stukas and JU-88s joined the forces on
the ground, as they sought to add their weight to the battle. Also in
the air, the JU-52s of General Student lumbered towards Cuxhaven and
Bremershaven, as the men in New Zossen prayed for a miracle.
A closer look at Northern Germany would have revealed even more;
thought less obvious than the Germans, the Americans too were
preparing, as hundreds of Apache and Blackhawk helicopters of the
101st Airborne revved up and prepared for the enemy. At sea,
Aegis-class cruisers moved closer to shore, keeping a wary eye on the
remains of the German Navy in Kiel and Stettin.
A further look at Great Britain would have revealed preparations of
another type - as dozens and then hundreds of Manchester and
Lancaster bombers began to take off and head for Germany. These
bombers were escorted by British Mosquito fighters and had orders
directly from Churchill. Meanwhile, the rest of the RAF in the UK
formed up over London, to defend the heart of the British Empire from
a German air armada of unprecedented scope.
Going further east, the human observer would have seen other military
events. Another, smaller group of German planes was headed for
Warsaw. The Allies had precious little in the ways of air assets
there, but forewarned by London, they were somewhat ready for gas. 
The Israelis, Americans, and some British had masks; for the rest,
mainly the Polish Home Army, hiding would have to suffice. Meanwhile,
the few available attack helicopters took to the air to combat the
Germans.
To the North, the Finnish Army was starting to collapse under the
remorseless pressure of General Zhukov and the Red Army. Cut off from
German help, and facing an enemy far more proficient than in 1940, the
Finns, even with covert US satellite intel, would not last long. Even
so, the human observer would have noted a massing of troops to the
north, as the Swedish government got a first hand look at US
technology at work in Germany, and made a decision about who would win
in the long run.
Far to the East, in the vast area called the Pacific Ocean, while the
fighting was on a much smaller scale, it was no less intense. The
Philippines had seen a complete reversal of fortune, as the Japanese
were now isolated and cut off from aid. The Japanese 14th Army was
now forced back towards Northern Luzon, growing short on food,
ammunition, troops, and hope, but not on spirit. US troops,
reinforced both by 1942 troops from Hawaii, and growing detachments of
the 2002 US Army had regained Manila, and now fought for total victory
there.
Elsewhere, isolated Japanese naval detachments were struggling back
towards their Emperor. Individual destroyers, subs, even a few
cruisers were picked off by either US nuclear subs or small strikes
from one of the US carriers. Meanwhile, the United States Navy
imposed an almost unbreakable blockage on the Home Islands.
Politically, the situation was just as muddled. In London, the Prime
Minister of Great Britain was gripped by rage. The
"total" security of Great Britain had proven to be less
than that, and he would have his revenge. Meanwhile, he would ask his
new American friends for help. Non-conventional help.
In Washington, an almost equally enraged President Bush wanted to
know how the Germans were doing this. After all, he'd been
assured by both the Navy and the Air Force that Britain was
"inviolatable". Equally abashed military leaders assured
him it was, and that this current German attack would be slaughtered. 
The discussion grew even more heated when someone suggested
retaliating with a nuclear weapon. Then, almost simultaneously, two
events happened. Churchill called, and US Satellites picked up a large
number of British planes headed for the Ruhr.
In both New Zossen and Berlin, men waited as the plans they made came
to pass. In Washington and London, other people (men and women)
reacted to those plans. In Tokyo, still others tried to find
something to salvage from defeat. In Moscow one man thought about
bargaining with the Americans, while others around silently
contemplated his removal.
Of course, no human astronauts were in space - the shuttle
wasn't up, and NASA's next planned emergency mission
wasn't until late September. Of course, no one else had the
capacity to launch even unmanned satellites into space. US satellites
kept a cold watch on the world below, but few thought to look outward - after all, there was nothing there.
	Other "eyes" watched, though, watched from an
unimaginable (to humans) place, through unimaginable (to humans)
means, and were deeply interested what was about to transpire.
Flight Leader Ernst Gruber cringed as yet another fireball appeared
above the JU-88A1 he was piloting. It wasn't the sight of the
fireball that made him cringe; he'd seen plenty of those
recently. It wasn't even the thought that his JU-88 might be
struck by a missile and turned into a fireball as well - Gruber
was way too busy piloting his plane to worry about that. What made
Gruber cringe was that every time a plane blew up - and so many
were blowing up or crashing that someone from 2002 would have compared
the sky to a disco strobe light effect - was that his eyes were
involuntarily drawn to it for just a moment. Normally that
wouldn't matter, but Gruber was flying his plane a bit lower
than normal, and he needed to pay close attention to the ground.
Gruber and his JU-88 were at barely 200 feet above the English
countryside, and every bit of skill as a pilot was required to
maintain a reasonably level flight, and to avoid hitting the ground.
When this aspect of THULE had been briefed to Gruber, he'd had
grave misgivings. Not about the mission; Gruber was a dedicated
member of Luftwaffe, and would fly whatever mission he was ordered to. The gas caused some consternation; Gruber was uncomfortable about
using - not out of concern for British civilians, but mainly
because he worried about the American counterstroke.
Everyone had heard stories about the American wonder-weapons, and the
few Luftwaffe pilots that had actually seen an American plane and
lived had been scattered about German aerodromes briefing other pilots
and crews. Resistance was futile. The only hope was to evade them
through superior piloting - and prop planes were more
manoeuvrable than jets. Of course, if the Americans locked on to you
with one of their seeking weapons, or a "SAM" hit you, or even if a US
jet flew too close, and the jetwash ignited your plane, you were just
as dead, so manoeuvrability really wouldn't help in those cases.
Then there were the nuclear weapons. Gruber still wasn't sure
what a nuclear weapon was - beyond some kind of superbomb. 
American planes had dropped many propaganda pictures - from
Hitler ordering 12-year old boys to defend Berlin in 1945 to the Red
Army and US Army embracing on the Elbe, to pictures of the "Bikini
Atoll" test of one of those nuclear weapons. It showed an explosion
of unimaginable size with - if the US caption was to be believed - the German Heavy Cruiser Prinz Eugen lifted over three miles
into the sky. Gruber had gaped at that, but the Party men had been
there. They'd explained this was a hoax - the Aryan
science had decreed the existence of such a device an impossibility. 
Gruber hadn't contradicted them (he liked being alive), but he
hadn't believed them either.
The "raid" (as if 2700 planes could be a mere "raid") Gruber was
flying had been carefully planned. With no communication really
possible, the Germans were relying on timing and the skill of their
pilots. It looked like a mad dash for London - and, in many
senses it was - but each squadron had an assigned approach
vector and an assigned altitude.
The Luftwaffe fighters were doing their best, but Gruber could see
that the attack was being slaughtered. Silvery darts of US planes
streaked back and forth, and German planes died in droves. Still,
some were in the air, and London wasn't that far from Dover. 
Gruber planned to drop his gas bombs, and then head west, and then
circle back to Brittany, landing in Western France.
Then he could -
Gruber's thought died with his plane. Captain Evelyn Morris,
USAF reserve, put a three round burst from her F-16's cannon
into the JU88 and it died. Captain Morris wasn't supposed to be
flying, but the scope of THULE had taken the US command by surprise. 
In the mad scramble to get planes into the air, there'd been
more planes than pilots (the assigned pilot of this plane was in a
base hospital with food poisoning - something about 1942 British
cuisine not being agreeable to his stomach), and Morris had gotten
one. Her job normally was to ferry planes across the Atlantic, but
she was a pilot, and there was a plane, and President Bush's
orders had been clear.
Morris had eight kills already to her credit - Gruber's
plane made nine. Her plane was out of missiles, but had rounds left
for the guns, and plenty of fuel. There were so many Germans that
Morris was tempted just to hold down her trigger and hose away. But
that would not be an efficient use of ammunition, and there no time to
land and rearm.
Hundreds of US jets were in the fight - Northern Germany having
been denuded of air cover. Morris grit her teeth - like anyone
else with a brain, she knew this was a diversion by the Germans, Of
course, also like anyone else with a brain, she knew the US had to try
and stop this raid.
She was momentarily stunned by another sight - a plane going
down in flames. What made it unusual was that it was an F-18 -
and she didn't have time to look for a chute. She concentrated
on the fight. There were so many planes that accidents were bound to
happen, and maybe some German got lucky with a golden BB.
She continued the killing.
VALHALLA rolled at Kenneth Olson, and he smiled grimly. No one would
ever accuse the Germans of cowardice or lack of moxie - that was for
sure. Intel put a dozen divisions attacking from Bremen, with another
twenty coming in from Hamburg. At least twenty more were in reserve,
and already moving up.
Olson's regiment was dug in. Radar showed German planes
approaching; reasonably well coordinated with their land attack. They
were coming, and coming hard.
And Olson was ready. Or as ready as he could be. US land doctrine
emphasized the offensive - to attack the enemy, and maintain
initiative. That was possible strategically at the moment, but 24th
division had cooked up a little plan to meet the Germans.
Regimental artillery was firing hard, and Olson could see plumes of
dust and smoke, and knew Germans were dying. But some artillery was
incoming as well - the Germans had deployed it for the first
time, with US air assets gone. US counter-battery fire was destroying
it almost as fast as it was assembled, but the Germans were getting
shots off.
Olson hunkered down in his command vehicle as a nearby battery fired
off another salvo - and then the Germans appeared - and
not in anyway that Olson expected. A ragged line of vehicles appeared
on the low berm opposite his company - and vehicles of all
kinds. Tanks, intermingled with trucks and even civilian cars. They
seemed to hesitate - and then erupted at his position. However,
what stunned Olson was the sight of German troops leaping off the
vehicles as they began their charge.
Then the German plan became clear. The vehicles continued their mad
rush at Olson, while soldiers ran behind them. Olson understood - this was an infantry charge - and they were using their
own tanks, APCs and trucks as active armor to protect the infantry. 
In a grim way, it made sense - the German tanks were useless
against the Americans, and the Nazis were hoping that infantry close
assault could hurt the Americans.
They were right, not that Olson intended to let them succeed. The
M1s and Bradleys of Olson's regiment belched fire, and more
Germans died. Chain guns and mortars ravaged the Germans as Olson
barked commands into his radio. The north German plains were soon
littered with burning German vehicles, and German infantry began to
die as their moving shields were destroyed. Olson's own
infantry opened as the Germans approached, and Olson got another nasty
surprise.
More Germans came over the berm - this time riding motorcycles. The old style motorcycles were hardly ATVs, and not nearly as
powerful as the Harley Olson had in his parent's garage in
Omaha, but they were faster than infantry, and received little
attention compared to the infantry. Olson almost had to admire them - the motorcycles were packed with explosives, and were no doubt
suicidal. Additionally, intel reported another attack force massing
in the rear.
JU-87s showed up, their characteristic screams hitting the
battlefield. US anti-aircraft fire struck many, but some did get to
release their bombs, and Olson grimaced as US troops died. It was
time. Olson nodded, and an aide spoke into a headset.
A dozen AH-64 Apache attack helicopters streaked over the
battlefield, and two battalions of M1s and Bradleys from divisional
reserve poured out from the right flank. The Apaches hellfire
missiles devastated the German attack, and then tried - with some
success - to engage the JU-87s in air-to-air combat. Meanwhile
chain guns raked the German advance, as the US armor took them in the
flank. Then the real killers - two AC-130 gunships -
came, and converted the plains into a churning mass of dirt and blood
that seemed alive to those unfortunate enough to see it.
The Germans didn't panic. They weren't completely
suicidal either. They hunkered down - finding what cover they
could, until the Apaches passed, and then charged again. Their unit
cohesion was long gone, of course, but Olson decided they had some
damn good NCOs over there leading them. Any stirrings of admiration
he might have felt were quelled though as the first reports of the
results of the second gas attack on London came in.
Olson set his teeth as another attack came. More Germans to kill.
Erwin Rommel winced as more fragmentary reports came in. His field
headquarters were in a large church in the small town of Geiburg
outside of Bremen, and what information was available came there. The
Americans were fighting hard. There was some mention of success - some infiltrating infantry got through, and some US vehicles
were destroyed, but the attack was shattering against the wall of
chobam the Americans had, and the Germans were bleeding rivers of
blood. Worse, carefully husbanded US reserved were counter-attacking
locally - using their devastating mobility against German
infantry.
Rommel had sporadic radio contact with Manstein and New Zossen, but
was surprised to get a priority message from Berlin - from the
Fuehrer himself. Hitler wanted news - and wanted it now. 
He'd bypassed the entire chain of command to get to Rommel - and he wanted to talked. Rommel paled - both at the
prospect of speaking with Hitler, and because the Americans seemed to
be able to home in on radio signals.
Hitler was ranting - why were the Americans not pushed back
into the sea yet? Rommel was trying explain, but Hitler kept
interrupting. The Reich had provided the tools - now Rommel
must use them. Rommel felt himself growing angrier - he was
trying to explain, and get off the radio, but the Fuehrer would have
none of it.
He was still trying to make Hitler understand when a GBU-13 "Daisy
Cutter" used so successfully in Afghanistan arrived. It was rolled off
the back of a C-130 that had been vectored in by an AWACS that had
detected Rommel's radio transmissions. And it blew the 
church, Rommel's staff, and Rommel himself into very small
pieces.
General Kurt Student gaped as yet another JU-52 plunged to it's
fiery death over Cuxhaven. American ships - Aegis cruisers,
though of course Student didn't know that - were
slaughtering his planes. US attack helicopters added to the fray, and
Student knew he'd be lucky to get 30% of his force down.
He was crouched in the door of his JU-52, and was heartily glad when
the jumpmaster gave him the go - he wanted off that flying
coffin. His chute deployed perfectly, and he started to drift down.
He noted with satisfaction that he was completely on target, and that
there was only sporadic gunfire at his paratroopers as they descended. It was hoped that the local populace could be incited to rise against
the Americans - indeed each German paratrooper carried some
extra weapons to distribute to civilians should the opportunity arise. That would be nice, from Student's perspective, but he
wasn't counting on it.
He hit the ground in a small town square, and rolled, before
releasing his chute. Perfect. He was down in one piece. Other
Germans were landing, and scrambling to get into squads and platoons. 
Student's staff was also coming down, and they quickly
appropriated a small hotel to serve as an HQ.
A local policeman - the Americans had denied the local German
police any firearms, but allowed them to patrol with billyclubs to
maintain order - was located and brought to Student. He was
happy to see Germans, and reported what he knew. There were few
Americans in Cuxhaven, but there were a divisions in Bremershaven. 
Student winced - if that was true, then the other landing had
been wiped out. However, here there were only a few dozen troops
guarding the docks - and they'd just arrived a few hours
ago.
Student was elated - a few dozen only? He felt a surge -
despite his hideous losses so far, he might yet succeed. The
policeman continued - but there were US marines not too far
away. They would attack, and could be here in a few hours.
Student snorted - he wouldn't need that long, and
hopefully Rommel would break through soon anyway. What of these few
dozen troopers guarding the docks? The policeman knew little about
them. He described them, and Student was puzzled.
Why would anyone wear anything as flimsy as a green beret in combat? 
In Washington, an early morning was turning into a long day. Bush
and his advisors were gathered around the table in the Situation Room
as the results came in. Of the 2800 planes, only 140 reached London. 
Of those, only 13 were bombers - the rest fighters. The bombers
did drop gas - but initial casualty reports were light. Perhaps
two dozen killed. None of the planes involved in the raid returned to
Occupied Europe. A fair number of German pilots had bailed out, and
were being rescued. There were unconfirmed reports of British
citizens killing German pilots - but those were unconfirmed, and
most Germans had been picked up by US SAR. Seven US planes, and an
unconfirmed number of British planes had been lost.
It had worked. The German raid - and with it the Luftwaffe
- had been smashed. Now it remained to be seen how the rest of
THULE played out.
An aide rushed in, and spoke with General Hayes. A massive force of
British bombers had been located, heading for Germany. Even as he
spoke, a monitor displayed the British planes' track.
Bush was confused - and then Powell spoke up. A reprisal raid - for sure.
Conventional or gas, asked Rumsfeld.
No way to know for sure, said Hayes.
The phone rang. The special one - with the line to Britain.
Bush was on the SatPhone almost instantly.
From the roof of Churchill's London HQ, the PM made the call. 
He'd been preparing for it, after all.
Bush asked first about the situation in London. A somewhat jovial
Churchill said that casualties were minimal - thankfully, and
that Harwich informed him that the German raid had been destroyed. He
formally thanked the US President for the air support, and said that
he hoped the Allied ground forces would be able to hold out in
Germany.
Bush expressed confidence that they would, and then begged the Prime
Minister's indulgence - he must ask a question.
Ask away, said Churchill, though he knew what was coming.
There is a large group of British airplanes moving towards Germany. 
What were they doing?
Churchill sighed, and then responded. Ever since September of 1939,
a protocol had existed. Even Chamberlain had kept to it: Any attack
by gas would be met in kind. Absolutely, no exceptions.
So those planes are carrying gas to their target?
Yes, Churchill responded.
A pause from America, and then Bush asked what the target was.
Churchill chewed his cigar. Berlin was the preferred target, but
British fighters didn't have the range to escort the bombers
that far, so another target had been picked - the city of Essen
in the Ruhr.
Another pause, and then Bush came back. He understood why the
British were doing this, and understood why such a protocol had been
implemented. However, the situation had changed. The German air
force was gone, and would not return. There was no military reason to
respond with gas. The United States formally requested that Great
Britain recall the strike.
Churchill had expected this. He spoke clearly and concisely. His
Majesty's Government appreciated the position of the United
States, but would not be swayed. The raid would go forth. This was a
matter of sovereignty and the British government answered to the King,
not the US President. There was, however, one thing Bush could do,
and Churchill would recall the strike.
What was that, the US President asked eagerly.
Churchill was matter-of-fact. Deploy a nuclear device, and vaporize
Berlin. Kill Hitler now.
The Situation Room got very quiet. Bush gripped the phone and spoke
slowly. While he acknowledged the use of a weapon of mass destruction
by the Nazis, he was hesitant to use a nuclear weapon. Several
million Berliners would be killed if he did that. As horrifying as it
was, the scope and casualties of the London attacks did not warrant
the use of a nuclear weapon by the United States at this time.
Fine, said Churchill. Give us one, and we'll use it.
Bush spoke carefully. The United States would be happy to explore
the possibility of sharing nuclear technology with Great Britain, but
would not release one at this time.
Then the gas attack goes forth. Frantic technicians had been
analysing the composition of the British raid, and the possible loads
it was carrying. Given Essen's estimated population, casualties
of between 100,000 and 150,000 were predicted.
Bush changed tacts. He spoke of history, and said that Churchill - a hero to so many - would be vilified if he did this.
Churchill snorted. More vilified that for Dresden - where 300,000 Germans died according to the 2002 histories - or for loosing the Empire? No, the Prime Minister cared not what some future
historian would write. He would respond as he saw fit, and history
would judge him - but not until later. Then he bid the President good evening.
	In Washington Bush held the unresponsive SatPhone, and asked what to do next.
==USA 2002 in 1942 ISOT. Part 18 The Gloves come off==
DripDripDrip
DripDripCLANG!
The gloves came off and Brenda Collins cursed as the wrench slipped
out of her hand and fell to the basement floor. The rusty pipe joint
had refused to budge, and Brenda swore again as she noticed a torn
nail - her hand numbed by the cold water that had been dripping on it
meant she saw rather than felt it.
Brenda stared at the pipe, and cursed more quietly - her children
were asleep upstairs, and Brenda had no desire to wake them. Her
husband - Lieutenant Andrew Collins - was in Harwich, England, working
with the Air Force in the war against the Nazis; a concept Brenda
still had trouble with.
She had lots of trouble these days. The government had finally
unfrozen prices, and, if food and other basics were still affordable,
the cost of everything else had skyrocketed. Including plumbers. 
Brenda had watched the TV while smart-looking men with pipes and
cardigan sweaters and lots of letters after their names explained that
the prices would come down in time. It was just an adjustment to the
new situation - that was all. Of course, none of those smart men
could explain why the United States was stuck in 1942 - or if it would
happen again. And none of those men were here fixing her house's
plumbing, either.
Meanwhile, Brenda could not afford a plumber, even here in Omaha,
Nebraska, and her skill with the wrench was anything but profound. 
She cursed again, picked up the wrench, and attacked the pipe again -
more out of a sense of pent-up aggression and frustration than with
any real hope of success. Thus, it was with considerable surprise and
pleasure that the joint turned, and the drip stopped. Brenda stepped
back with a hopeful look on her face, and was pleased when the drip
did not return. She smiled, and placed the wrench back in her
toolbox. She pulled the small chain that led to the basement's naked
bulb, and the basement was plunged into darkness. That was fine -
Andrew had promised to install a light switch near the door some day,
and until then, Brenda could live with her flashlight.
Brenda was fumbling for her flashlight when she noticed the sound. At
first she just thought it was water in the pipes, but then she
listened more and realized it was the faint murmur of voices. Grasping
the flashlight Brenda shone it at one wall of her basement. She moved
towards the wall, and the murmur grew louder, though it was still not
understandable.
The Collins' lived in one of a series of attached row houses. The
attached houses were near Offutt AFB, and popular with officers
assigned there like Brenda's husband Andrew Collins. Being an
attached house, Brenda's house shared interior walls on two sides with
the neighbours. The wall Brenda faced was also the basement wall for
Craig and Joann Bedrick, an older couple. Craig Bedrick was retired
Air Force, and he and Joann had elected to settle in Omaha. Brenda
hadn't seen much of them; they were quiet and kept to themselves, but
they seemed nice enough, though Craig could be bit creepy.
Brenda flicked her eyes upward, towards here sleeping children, and
then back at the basement wall. Feeling slightly naughty, she picked
up an old, empty tin soup can, and quietly placed it against the
basement wall. Craig and Joann didn't seem all that kinky (and how
kinky was basement sex anyway?) - in fact Joann seemed very subdued
most of the time - but Brenda was a bit bored.
She listened, and the murmur cleared up into voices. 
"-nother beer, Fred?" Brenda recognized Craig's voice.
"Sure, thanks," said a voice Brenda didn't recognize - persuadably Fred.
Great, though Brenda, I'm listening to Craig and some buddies swilling beer. Boy, do I need a life-
"So what's next?" said yet another voice.
"What's next is we wait for orders." Craig sounded firm.
"Fuck, that, man. I say we move now."
"Use your brain, Mike. Half the ZOG army is over there. Even if the
Compound is in contact with someone - which they might be - they'd be
smashed by the time they got anything we sent them - and we might be
implicated. Don't fuck with this Mike - we're too close."
Mike sounded petulant. "So what do we do? Just wait? White men are
getting slaughtered by a bunch of Jew-lovin' ZOG troops-"
"I said can, it Mike." Craig sounded sure. "We have a god-given
opportunity to make America a white man's nation again. After this
war, Europe'll be shattered. That means refugees. White refugees. 
The Compound is working on it. We're gonna get some people over -
good people. Not those hard-core Nazi assholes, but real white men
who see a chance to change things."
"So we do nothing." Mike was pissed.
"Well, I didn't say that. Take a gander at what I got in my den" 
Brenda strained to hear what was next. It seemed the men were heading
upstairs. "Here's what the compound wants-"
Try as she might, Brenda couldn't hear anything else.
Carefully Brenda moved back upstairs to her living room, and
considered what she heard. She'd always thought Craig a bit creepy,
but this was ridiculous. Brenda's mouth tightened. She knew what to
do.
Brenda called her brother. After two rings, he picked up the phone. "Robert Drew, FBI," he said.
And then got VERY interested in what his sister had to say.
The gloves came off as Lieutenant Garret "Spud" Bryan, USAF, fell in
behind his squadron leader over the English Channel. The young man
cracked his knuckles - his hands were stiff after so much flying, and
he was nervous. Spud was from Idaho (hence the name), and while he'd
expected to see the world, he hadn't ever expected to see THIS one,
and certainly never expected to have to fight Germans. He - like most
in his squadron - was very tired; almost 20 hours of continuous combat
against seemingly endless streams of slow moving, but hard to hit
German planes.
The Luftwaffe had been defeated - crushed was a better word - and
Spud and his squadron mates had expected some relaxation. Orders had
come though, that sent Spud scrambling. Now they were in the air, and
being joined by some F-18s from a carrier according to Harwich. They
were shadowing an immense formation of British bombers headed east,
and Spud didn't like one bit.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on, and Spud,
despite the name, was a fairly smart guy. The pace of combat over the
past several hours had precluded much in the way of speculation about
how the British would react to London being gassed, but Spud knew that
Churchill was not the type of guy to just let this go. He was a bit
surprised the British had gotten a formation this big put together
this quickly, but understood they had a certain motivation.
An option. Spud knew that - what he and his squadron were - an
Option with a capital "O". They were there to give Bush clout. Spud
could not for a moment believe that Bush would order them to attack
the British air fleet, but maybe the US President was betting
Churchill didn't.
History would record this strike - if it went through - as a tragedy. Even a "crime against humanity". Spud didn't think it was - the
Germans gassed first, after all. But one could never underestimate
the power of those who would - years after the fact - decry it as a
vicious attack against defenceless civilians by a power-mad
capitalist. Spud would have ignored that - he'd never had much time
for that sort of thinking anyway. But as the English Channel gave way
to the green fields of France, Spud had to wonder what history would
say - not only of the raid, but also of the compliance of the US Air
Force if they let it happen.
In the Situation Room, President Bush gripped the unresponsive
satphone so hard that his knuckles showed white under the skin. He
looked around at the assembled senior staff, and wanted options - now.
Secretary of Defence Rumsfeld spoke first. The Germans gassed first. Technically - and legally - the British were well within their rights
to retaliate in kind. Secretary of State Powell pointed out that the
attack on London had killed relatively few people, while an attack of
this magnitude on Essen would be devastating. Doesn't matter, replied
Rumsfeld. Not legally, said Powell, no, but in the minds of people-
The entrance of an Air Force major into the room interrupted the
Secretary of State. The aide (looking somewhat abashed at having
interrupted) whispered something to Rumsfeld and then left. Rumsfeld
reported to the group - significant assets of the US Air Force and the
US Navy were now in a position to intercept the British force short of
Essen.
Powell's eyes bugged out. He half rose from his chair. Under no
circumstances can we actually shoot at the British. That would be an
act of war!
Rumsfeld shrugged. We don't have to. Churchill doesn't know we wont
shoot at them. Just let him know that the planes are there, then we
try to talk-
Powell was almost incandescent with rage. We can't even do that. 
Even the threat would poison relations. And if he knew anything about
Churchill, it was that threats were meaningless. The guy stood up to
Hitler in 1940 when Britain was alone - this was ridiculous.
General Hayes spoke up. With the destruction of the German radar
net, there would no warning at Essen until the British bombers
actually arrived. That would maximize casualties-
Bush looked around. Rumsfeld and Powell were screaming at each
other, the Air Force was saying there wasn't much time, and everyone
else was silent.
Then he noticed Condi Rice smiling. He leaned over to her. She said she had an idea...
Spud and others got orders from Harwich. Spud couldn't really
believe them until he thought about them. And then they made perfect
sense. The US jets armed their weapons, and accelerated towards the
British planes.
Group-Leader George MacKenzie was shocked when the first US plane
zipped by him. He was piloting a Manchester four-engine bomber, and
holding his course as steady as possible, as the other bombers in his
squadron were following his lead. Mackenzie had no problem with this
mission; he was from London, and the thought that someone would use
gas on it - on his family - was intolerable. As for the Americans,
well, MacKenzie's children had been evacuated from London in 1940. 
They'd returned in 1942 because the Americans had "guaranteed"
London's security. They hadn't been hurt in the recent German attack,
but MacKenzie had lost a lot of faith in the Americans.
For one awful moment, MacKenzie thought he was under attack. The
American planes were demonically fast, and MacKenzie knew that he and
his squadron were sitting ducks, relatively speaking. But the US
planes continued zipping past him, towards Germany. Several US planes
zipped through and past the British squadron and then vanished into
the rising sun.
Early morning in Essen was a sombre affair, as German and "guest"
workers from occupied Europe went to their jobs. Apart from targeted
cruise missile strikes, Essen had been spared much in the way of
bombing until then, and with the all the fighting up north, city
leaders hoped it would remain so. Information was very sketchy at
best, with the US jamming all the radios, and the local Gestapo
ruthlessly suppressing all rumors.
The morning was shattered by sonic booms. US jets screamed over
Essen at high mach, the sound of the passing blowing out windows all
over the city. Stunned Esseners looked skyward as the US jets looped
and made another pass over the city.
Most Germans had heard of the US wonder planes, but this was the
first they'd seen of them. The cruise missiles had been invisible to
most; they'd arrived too quickly and unexpectedly to be seen. The US
jets however, went out of the way to be seen - and then they struck.
Three F-18s lined up and made a bombing run - over the unoccupied
Rhine River. Simple gravity bombs detached from the planes and
exploded as they struck the river, generating huge water spouts. 
Esseners stopped staring and started running as the air raid sirens
wailed. Other US planes made strafing runs at wide streets and parks. Some AA came up from German sites scattered around the city - these
were targeted directly and destroyed.
Meanwhile, Essen's civil defence went into action as citizens
scrambled for the shelters. This meant that most got there by the
time the British showed up.
The British bombers dropped a combination of incendiaries mixed with
various chemical weapons; the incendiaries designed to strip away
cover, the gas to kill people. The British bombers were right on
target, and the absence of AA or German air opposition meant they
maintained perfect formation. Not enough incendiaries were dropped to
start a firestorm like the one that would have consumed Dresden in
1945, but several major fires were started.
The gas was not as effective as it would have been. The fires did
stir up local winds, and few residents were above ground anyway, due
to the US 'strike'. Still, casualties were severe. In the end, 5,000
people were killed, and another 15,000 left homeless. Still, not as
bad as it could have been.
In northern Germany, the gloves came off. With the destruction of
the Luftwaffe, there was nothing to hinder the US army. Two corps
worth of MRLS and regular artillery simply blasted away, while two US
Armored divisions blew through the German defences. The Germans were
still numerous, but completely cut off. No German radio worked, and
no German commander could effectively command a group larger than a
platoon. New Zossen had no idea of the situation at the front.
With THULE, the Rules of Engagement for the US Army changed. Rather
than isolating and bypassing German strong points, the plan became
isolate, plaster with artillery and air strikes, and then bypass,
leaving the places to be overrun by British and follow-up US forces. 
President Bush wanted Berlin taken, and Hitler found.
As the US Army advanced towards Hannover and Madgeburg, German
opposition began to collapse. Often times, German troops had no idea
US forces were in the area before being pounced on. German rail and
road movement was simply stopped; anyone trying to move by road or
rail was annihilated by US air.
However, Berlin was a different story. Recognizing what was coming,
Hitler put Heinrich Himmler in personal command of Berlin's defences. 
Seven regular Wehrmacht infantry divisions were supplemented by two SS
motorized divisions and three SS armored divisions. Meanwhile, more
troops were ordered to Austria - Hitler was prepared to flee Berlin
for the Alps if necessary.
Category:Timelines
Category:ISOT American 2002