Re: Blood and Iron - Chapter 694: Total War
Chapter 694: Total War
The President’s study was filled with cigar smoke and the stench of whiskey.
Outside, Washington clung to a wet, gray afternoon; inside, the room thrummed with the kind of panic that could not be disguised by protocol.
Projected across the mahogany-paneled wall, European footage played in a silent loop:
smoke-choked skylines, armored columns pouring through ruined streets, men marching with methodical precision past charred cafés and bullet-riddled statues.
The English Channel was now a graveyard, its waters bloated with the hulks of escorts and transports, shattered cruisers, and what remained of Britain’s attempt to resupply her former ally.
Even with soundproofing, the hum of machinery and faint radio static bled through.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt sat forward in his leather-backed chair, the glow of the projector casting long shadows across his sunken face.
This was not the smiling figure of public address, but a man who had stopped pretending the world was reasonable.
Around him: the Joint Chiefs. Secretary of State Cordell Hull.
Secretary of War Henry Stimson.
Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox.
A young aide with the latest cables in shaking hands.
And to the President’s right, by special arrangement: the Prime Minister of Canada and his chief of staff, both grim and pale.
A single telegram had passed between hands more than once, like a talisman of disbelief.
The French Republic, once considered the anchor of Western European resistance, had ceased to exist.
Paris surrendered in six days.
De Gaulle shot himself, he had left no letter, only speaking a few words to the remaining men still loyal to him and his cause before pulling the trigger.
The Channel Fleet, sent by Britain to stage a desperate reinforcement, was annihilated off the coast of Normandy.
The German High Seas Fleet had revealed its new face: aircraft carriers deploying precision-strike squadrons, guided missiles, invisible submarines that could stalk convoys undetected.
General MacArthur, standing at the war map, tapped the waters off Calais.
“They have command of the approaches. Any transatlantic convoy will be a target. We have no fleet cover strong enough to land troops unless we commit the entire Navy.”
Knox nodded stiffly.
“Mr. President, our attachés in London confirm it: most of the British task force is gone. The Royal Navy is no longer supreme. The Germans are fighting a war twenty years in the future. And winning.”
The Canadian Prime Minister folded his hands.
“We’ve accelerated mobilization. Halifax and Vancouver are open to joint staging. But we can’t reinforce Britain if we can’t reach her. The Channel is…”
He stopped himself. Then, simply:
“Closed.”
FDR’s jaw clenched.
He had once tried to resist German influence in American politics.
He had attempted to curb their quiet acquisition of U.S. industry, shipping, and infrastructure.
But he had failed. Worse, he had purged the very people who had stood in Bruno’s way.
And now? The price had come due.
Shipyards at Norfolk reported disasters during routine maintenance: explosions, hull fractures, systems sabotage.
Entire destroyers were out of commission.
Labor strikes broke out, fueled by frustration and suspicion. The people no longer believed the war was clean.
Then came the final blow, German intelligence leaked audio recordings of Roosevelt himself, conspiring years earlier to encircle Germany through covert deals with Britain, France, and the Dominions.
Recordings he only knew existed too late to stop their release. He could only deny their legitimacy and try to move forward.
“We are six days late,” Roosevelt said finally.
His voice was not defeated, merely level.
Like a man reciting the terms of surrender to his own illusions.
“We did not anticipate this speed. We knew the Germans had advanced beyond the rest of us, but none could have predicted by how much….”
Cordell Hull’s expression was unreadable.
“Publicly, we must condemn the invasion. But the damage is already done. The people no longer trust us. We can call the tapes forgeries, but the seed has been sown.”
FDR stared at the flickering image of Paris.
“Limits are fetters when the world is burning. The American public will understand one thing, and one thing only: if we do not act, we will be strangled. Economically. Politically. Spiritually. Europe has already been consolidated. Britain stands alone.”
Admiral King shook his head. “We don’t have the carriers. The escorts. The fighters or the flak. Not enough to contest that water. The Channel is a German lake.”
An aide set fresh documents on the desk. War production numbers. Emergency reroutes.
Shell corporations for covert arms shipments. Even proposals to use neutral Panamanian flags for aircraft ferries.
Roosevelt turned the pages with the calm of a man signing off on a funeral.
“We accelerate production,” he said.
“We use every loophole. We funnel aircraft through civilian registries. Arm Canada. Fuel Britain. Use corporate assets as cover. Neutral flags. Humanitarian missions. We make the Central Powers bleed logistics, until their momentum slows.”
The Canadian PM’s face tightened.
“We’ll accept more material. Halifax and Vancouver are yours. But we cannot replace the Royal Navy.”
“Nor can we,” FDR admitted.
“Which is why we bleed them somewhere else. Africa. The Pacific. The Arctic. Wherever they stretch, we stretch further. They will not dominate the oceans without paying dearly.”
The Secretary of the Treasury objected, murmuring about budget ceilings and market instability.
“The economy will survive,”
Roosevelt snapped, “if the Republic survives. If the seas close, we suffocate. The ledger means nothing if our ports burn.”
There was a long silence….
Nobody wanted to imagine that the Germans would be capable of striking from across the Atlantic.
But their previous actions showed this was not an impossibility.
If the United States, who was effectively already at war with the Central Powers as far as its member states were already concerned, relied upon their geographical position, and tried to fight the Germans overseas, then there was no telling if D.C. or New York would become the next Monrovia.
And that was a thought that sent chills down the spines of all who were gathered.
There was only one solution…. and they all knew it. Total war.
