Interlude: The Prodigal Son
“The man is a traitor.”
“It was a ruse to infiltrate the enemy.”
“Bullshit.”
The two men were arguing quietly, so as to avoid being overheard, but no less heatedly for all of that.
“He ignored an order from his Commander and Chief, defected to the Snakes, served them for years, and helped them rebuild their navy.”
“Perdue was a Geoist piece of shit who did more to empower the Snakes than anything Klein ever did and he plotted to have the admiral killed.
And accusing the admiral of responsibility for the Drakian Naval Reforms is pure slander.”
“Bullshit.” The first man said again. He was a graying career officer in the State Department, old enough to have escaped military service during the Great Wars, young enough to have escaped military service during the World War. He had been in his prime when the Fleet Admiral was still one of the most powerful figures in American politics, and he remembered that time well.
“Klein was never loyal to anyone other Klein. If it served his purpose to turn coat, then he turned coat. There was never any plan to infiltrate the enemy.”
“What the hell does he have to do to convince you that he’s on level?” The second man asked with exasperation. He was an aide sent by the President, young enough that his memories of the Fleet Admiral’s tenure were those of a dimly recalled golden childhood, in the days when America still ruled the world. His hands were dry and cracked- the legacy of a minor case of germaphobia that he had picked up while serving in the Pacific- and he had strong opinions about civilian leaders second-guessing the military.
“He beat the Snakes so badly he almost liberated the whole Near East, he infiltrated their leadership, escaped with secret documents and an enslaved Rex leader, predicted the invasion of Italy before it happened,
beat that invasion, and liberated Rome, so you tell me exactly what he ever did that went against American interests.”
The Diplomat made a dismissive sound, but declined to answer. He knew when a debate wasn’t worth having.
“We’ll be New York Harbor soon.” He shaded his eyes against the sunrise and studied the passing shore of Long Island. “You’d best wake up your hero if you want to give him a chance to dress and eat before we arrive.”
The Aide turned- presumably to do just that- when a door behind them opened, and the subject of their debate joined the pair on deck.
Arthur Klein, former Chief of Staff for the United States Navy and newly pardoned for treason, violating American neutrality, and a series of other offenses, had more in the way of crow’s feet and grey hair than when he’d last seen these waters, but he was fit for an older man. There was something of his famous charisma about him, something in the way he carried himself. He gave off an impression that he believed he could do anything, and he made you want to believe he could too.
“This day, of all days, demanded an early start!” The ex-Admiral rubbed his hands against the chill and gave a smile that nearly split his face.
“Speak of the devil sir.” The Diplomat- ever a professional- offered his hand. “We were just talking about waking you up.”
The Aide came to attention, and that he refrained from shaking hands was by no means a slight. “Welcome home, Admiral.”
“It has been a long time coming!” Klein shook the offered hand and returned the salute. He squinted momentarily at the shore.
“What on Earth is that?”
The Aide- who was a New Yorker and knew Long Island far better than the Diplomat- looked in the same direction.
“That, sir? A local businessman built it in ’48.”
“It looks like a copy of the Peace Gate[1] in Berlin.”
“It is, sir, but twice the size. The businessman was an immigrant, a Fascist who had to leave Germany when the Rex came to power and he wanted to honor the new German Prime Minister, I forget his name-”
“Wilhelm Tannhäuser
,“ the Diplomat cut in, “of the New Reds.”
“That’s right. The Tannhäuser Gate. It’s supposed to symbolize a new age of friendship between America and Germany, or something like that. The President built a housing community of the same name[2] for veterans and their families there in ’53.”
“Well it’s certainly nice to see that America is taking better care of its heroes.”
“Yes, sir!” The Aide said enthusiastically.
The Diplomat left his thoughts unsaid.
[1] The original name of the Brandenburg Gate. It’s still a major Berlin landmark ITTL, but it holds a rather different position within the German
zeitgeist.
[2] Roughly in the same location as OTL Shirley, New York