Hyde Park, New York
April 26th, 1941
The library at Springwood had been arranged for the occasion with the same understated care that characterized everything about Roosevelt's private retreat. The long table that had served for the first round of talks had been moved to the center of the room, its surface cleared of the usual stacks of books and papers. Additional chairs had been brought with eight in total, while being arranged in a circle around the long table. A fire burned in the fireplace, though the April morning was mild, because Roosevelt liked the way firelight softened the edges of difficult conversations. Pug had arrived early, as was his habit. He stood near the window that looked out over the lawn toward the Hudson, watching the gray water move under a gray sky.
He heard the cars of government sedans drive down, while turned from the window as the doors opened and closed with voices being exchanged at low tones. Childe entered first, his grey jacket unbuttoned, his red scarf bright against the neutral tones of the room. He looked, Pug thought, like a man who had slept well and was ready for whatever came next. Lyney followed a step behind, polished as always, his top hat tucked under one arm. Lynette brought up the rear, silent, her cat-tail still, her eyes already sweeping the room and its occupants with the same unhurried assessment she had shown at every previous meeting.
Roosevelt was already seated at the head of the table, Hopkins beside him. The President had chosen his chair with care and caught the firelight on his face.
"Mr. Tartaglia," Roosevelt said, extending his hand across the table. "Thank you for coming back."
Childe took the hand briefly, firmly. "Thank you for receiving us, Mr. President."
The others took their seats. Lyney to Childe's right, Lynette to his left. Cordell Hull and the two State Department officials across from them. Pug remained standing near the window, his position carefully neutral.
"I understand we have new proposals to discuss," Roosevelt said, settling back in his chair as he grabbed his cigarette holder and placed it on his mouth at his usual jaunty angle.
Childe with a smile reached into his jacket and withdrew a slim folder, its cover unmarked, its contents held by a single brass fastener. He set it on the table but did not open it.
"The Tsaritsa has reviewed our previous conversation carefully," he said, "She has instructed me to present a revised framework that addresses some of the concerns raised at our first meeting."
"Some of them," Hull repeated, his voice dry as winter ash.
"Some of them," Childe said with the same pleasant frankness he had shown throughout, "Not all. But enough, I hope, to continue the dialogue."
He opened the folder as the revisions came in layers as The script was fluid, dense, and vertically oriented with characters that resembled no alphabet Pug could identify. Beside it, on separate sheets, was an English translation in Lyney's precise handwriting.
"The translation is Lyney's," Childe said, noticing the direction of Pug's eyes. "The original is in the Tsaritsa's own hand."
That fact settled onto the table with a weight that had nothing to do with the paper it was written on. Heads of state did not write diplomatic revisions by hand. They dictated them, or they approved drafts prepared by ministries.
Hopkins reached for the translation, while Hull adjusted his spectacles.
"Walk us through it," Hopkins said.
Childe nodded and began. The first revision addressed the question of recognition, which had been the seventh and most explosive point at Hyde Park. The demand for formal American recognition of Snezhnaya as a sovereign nation had been removed entirely.
Hull's eyebrows rose a fraction, which for Cordell Hull was the equivalent of another man falling out of his chair.
"In its place," Childe continued, "the Tsaritsa proposes what she calls a liaison framework. Each nation designates a permanent representative to the other for the purpose of ongoing communication on matters of mutual concern. Not ambassadors. Not embassies. Permanent representatives operating through existing channels, with diplomatic courtesy extended but formal recognition deferred."
"Deferred," Hopkins repeated. "Not abandoned."
"Deferred," Childe confirmed. "The Tsaritsa is a patient woman."
"We've noticed," Hopkins said.
The second revision addressed the territorial settlement. The original demand that Britain accept the continental status quo had been softened. In its place, the Tsaritsa proposed a six-month ceasefire during which all parties maintained their current military positions while negotiations continued under Snezhnayan mediation. The language was careful and the tone was humane. It spoke of reducing suffering, of creating space for diplomacy, of allowing exhausted nations to recover their capacity for reason.
Hopkins read the translation twice.
"Six months," he said.
"Yes," Childe said.
"Six months during which Germany consolidates everything it's taken. Six months during which the Wehrmacht absorbs the lessons of the Balkans campaign and integrates whatever your people taught them there. Six months during which the Fatui continued to improve German industrial output and develop whatever you're building in your world. And at the end of those six months, the ceasefire either extends, which means Germany keeps everything permanently, or it expires, and the war resumes with Germany in a stronger position than it is today."
Childe did not deny any of this.
"The alternative," he said, "is that the war continues without pause and the losses mount on both sides until one of them breaks. The Tsaritsa is offering time. What each party does with that time is their own decision."
"Time is not neutral, Mr. Tartaglia," Hopkins said. "Time favors the side that uses it better. And right now, that side has your people helping it."
Lyney intervened with the kind of precision that a surgeon uses when the patient is still conscious. "The ceasefire proposal includes a provision for international observers. Neutral parties, including the United States, would have the right to monitor compliance. Any military buildup beyond maintenance levels during the ceasefire period would constitute a violation subject to Snezhnayan arbitration."
"Monitored by whom?" Hull asked.
"By representatives of the guarantor nations," Lyney said. "Which, under the framework, would include the United States."
"So we would be monitoring German compliance," Hull said slowly, "under a treaty guaranteed by Snezhnaya, using access provided by Snezhnaya, reporting violations to an arbitration body controlled by Snezhnaya."
"That is one way to describe it," Lyney said.
"It is the accurate way," Hull replied.
Childe moved to the third revision. The Pacific guarantee had been strengthened. The original offer of Snezhnayan "influence" over Japanese decision-making had been upgraded to an active commitment. The Tsaritsa now proposed to use formal diplomatic channels within the Tripartite Pact to discourage Japanese military expansion into areas that would bring Japan into direct conflict with the United States. The Philippines, Guam, Wake Island, and American Pacific shipping routes were specifically named. The language was binding in its tone if not technically in its structure.
Pug studied the translation of this section longer than the others. He remembered what Childe had said at Hyde Park about the Tripartite intelligence-sharing circuit, how Ambassador Nomura's proposal to Hull reached Snezhnograd within forty-eight hours. The Tsaritsa knew the state of the Pacific negotiations. She knew that Tokyo's patience was thinning, that the Hull-Nomura talks were going in circles, and now she was now offering to restrain Japan as a personal diplomatic investment. Framing it as a gesture of goodwill that the Americans could not easily verify and could not afford to ignore.
It was, Pug thought, the most elegant lie he had ever seen committed to paper. Not because the Tsaritsa couldn't pressure Japan. She probably could as he had no doubts on that. But because the offer assumed that Japan's decisions were still open to influence, and everything Pug had learned about Tokyo's trajectory suggested they were not. The Tsaritsa was offering to hold back a tide she almost certainly knew was already past the point of restraint. If Japan attacked anyway, she could say she had tried. Where the Americans relied on her guarantee and reduced their Pacific readiness in response, so much the worse for the Americans and so much the better for whatever the Tsaritsa actually intended.
The fourth and fifth revisions covered Atlantic commerce protections and trade relations. These were largely unchanged from the Hyde Park presentation, refined in language but identical in substance. Pug noted that the Atlantic and trade revisions were mostly refinements of what they had already heard. His attention shifted only when Childe's posture changed at the final page.
"The sixth revision," Childe said, "is new. It was not part of the original framework."
Hopkins looked up from his pad.
"The Tsaritsa proposes a gesture of trust, decoupled from the rest of the framework," Childe continued with a proud smile, "A small American delegation will be granted supervised access to Snezhnaya through an existing portal. They will be permitted to observe, to ask questions, to see for themselves what kind of nation they would be dealing with. The tour would last no more than seven days. The delegation would return with whatever information they could gather."
There was total silence as a shower of sparks move up the chimney until Hull spoke first.
"A delegation," he said carefully, "traveling to another world. Through a portal controlled by the Fatui. Dependent on Fatui goodwill for their return."
"Yes," Childe said.
Hull's face had gone almost entirely still, while Hopkins set his pencil down. He did not do it hard, but the small sound it made on the table carried.
"Mr. Tartaglia," Hull said, "you are asking the United States to send military, scientific, or diplomatic personnel through a portal we do not control, into a nation we do not formally recognize, under the supervision of an armed apparatus that serves the same power presently improving Germany's war effort."
Childe inclined his head a fraction.
"That is one description."
"It is the one that matters," Hopkins replied.
Lyney folded his hands atop the table with composed elegance. "The delegation would not be military in character unless your government wished it so. The Tsaritsa's intention is transparency."
Hull turned one page of the translation back and then forward again as if to confirm that the words had not rearranged themselves into something saner while he was not looking.
"And the portal," Hopkins said, "remains under your control at all times."
"Naturally," Lyney replied.
"Naturally," Hull repeated.
Pug watched Roosevelt rather than the speakers. The President had not moved much since the offer was laid on the table as he smoked the cigarette in the holder with a big puff.
"A trust-building gesture," Roosevelt said at last, his tone mild enough that it might have belonged to a conversation about county roads rather than passage between worlds, "Mr. Tartaglia, in my experience, when one man offers another a look inside his house, the generosity of the offer depends very much on who owns the front door and whether the guest may leave it by his own choosing."
For the first time since the offer was read, something flickered in Childe's expression that was not confidence. It was brief, gone almost before it arrived, but Pug saw it.
"The delegation would be free to leave at the end of the agreed period," Childe said.
"Free," Hopkins said, "Provided you opened the door for them."
"Yes."
"And if some misunderstanding arose while they were there?" Hull asked. "If the delegation saw something the Fatui preferred they had not seen. If relations cooled unexpectedly. If Germany took offense at American observers being shown parts of your world it believed relevant to the Pact. What then?"
Childe did not answer at once as he seemed to be thinking on his answer immediately the best way to respond.
"The Tsaritsa would consider the safety of the delegation her personal guarantee," he said, "But let's be reassured that Snezhnaya is not in a situation of constant danger unlike Natlan, which the Tsaritsa has expressed her deep concerns about it at this moment especially."
"And what is going on in Natlan, exactly?" Roosevelt asked.
Childe did not answer at once. He seemed, Pug thought, to be choosing not merely the truth, but the portion of it the room could use.
"Natlan," he said at last, "is a nation built closer to war than most. That is not a metaphor, Mr. President. It is the shape of their history."
Roosevelt's cigarette holder remained at its familiar angle, though the amusement had gone out of his face.
"Young man, you'll have to do better than that."
Childe inclined his head slightly as if thinking of his next response.
"In Natlan, the war is not principally political," he said. "Not territorial in the way your world would understand it. Their oldest enemy is the Abyss. It presses not only at their borders, but at something beneath them and behind them, a place bound up with their dead, their memory, and the machinery by which their nation survives itself. The Night Kingdom, if you want the local term."
Hull's brows drew together at once.
"The Night Kingdom," he repeated, sounding as though he were not willing to concede the phrase citizenship in the English language.
"Yes," Childe said. "A realm tied to Natlan's dead and to the continuity of the nation. The Abyss has been gnawing at it for some time. When that pressure worsens, Natlan feels it everywhere. In its rites, in its governance, in the way it sends its young to become heroes before they are old enough to know what the word will cost them."
Hopkins stopped writing for a moment.
"And your Tsaritsa is deeply concerned."
"Yes," Childe nodded.
"Out of charity?" Hopkins asked.
"No, out of concern for the safety of Teyvat if it gets out of control to where it could threaten the rest of Teyvat."
"And yet, your country is joined to the hip with Hitler at this moment in our world," Roosevelt stated.
Hyde Park Station
Later in the Night
Pug had been issued a room in one of the cars that was not large, but larger than most railway accommodations that he had seen in his time. There was a narrow berth folded down from the wall, a small washstand bolted beneath the mirror, a shelf with a water carafe and glass, and a single shaded lamp. The window showed almost nothing now except his own dim reflection and, at intervals, the brief smear of a signal light or station lamp passing in the dark. He had taken off his coat and loosened his tie, but not much more. He found that he was not yet in a condition to sleep.
The train gave a long, almost luxurious sway as it gathered speed out of the station and settled into the night run south. Pug sat on the edge of the berth with one lit cigarette in his hand and looked at the folder he had set on the little table beside the lamp. He placed his cap on a chair near, while he looked at a letter that he had gotten from his youngest son Bryon, which mentioned about the S-Boat that he was assigned to currently on training and out to sea after leaving from Lisbon. Before he continued, there was a knock on the door.
"Come."
The door opened partway and a Secret Service man stood there with the same discreet stiffness all of Roosevelt's men seemed to acquire after enough months near him.
"The President would like to see you now, Commander."
Pug glanced once at Byron's letter on the table, then rose and reached for his coat.
"Yes," he said. "I thought he might."
He took one long draw from the cigarette, then crushed it out too hard in the ashtray. He then followed the Secret Service man out into the corridor. The farther aft they went, the quieter the train seemed to become. After a few minutes, they reached the Presidential car and immediately Pug noticed that it was warmer than the rest. The lamps were lower and the wood paneling was rich. However, the air carried the smell of tobacco and food was immediately noticeable for Pug. At the last door, the Secret Service man stepped aside as he opened it.
Roosevelt was in the rear sitting compartment with a rug over knees and a tray over his elbow that held an assortment of things. It had a plate of half-finished sandwiches, a glass of one of his famous dirty martini's, an ashtray, and a bottle of cough medicine. He had taken off his jacket and looked a bit under the weather than usual. The tiredness in him seemed folded and managed, filed away behind pince-nez as he coughed his lungs out for a second.
"Pug," Roosevelt said, looking up, "Come in and sit down before I'm forced to make this sound official."
Pug stepped into the compartment as the door clicked shut behind him.
"Yes, sir."
He sat in the chair opposite. Outside the dark window, the night slid past in broken fragments of fence, signal lamp, and tree line. Under everything, steady as a pulse, ran the iron conversation of wheel and rail.
Roosevelt gestured to the chair across from him with the hand that wasn't holding his martini glass. The gesture was loose, almost careless, but Pug followed through by taking a seat.
"The doctors tell me I need rest," he said, recapping the bottle. "The Germans tell me I need to mind my own business. The British tell me I need to send them everything but the Navy's shoelaces. And now your friend Tartaglia tells me his Tsaritsa wants to show me her world like a real estate agent with a particularly peculiar property."
He looked at Pug over the rim of his pince-nez.
"Which of those problems would you like to discuss first?"
Pug looked plainly at FDR as he replied, "The main issue is, sir, the moment America shoes land at Snezhnaya through the portal, we have just given the Fatui the recognition that they have been looking for in these talks. The Tsaritsa has to know that and maybe that is why she dropped the call for recognition in the first round of talks that Childe presented."
Roosevelt set down his martini glass and regarded Pug with the particular stillness.
"That's your read, is it?" he asked, "That she dropped recognition because she didn't need it anymore?"
Pug met his gaze, "She dropped the word, sir. Not the thing. The liaison framework, the permanent representatives, the tour where all of it adds up to the same result. The fact would be on the ground the moment we talk with her people on their soil, meet her political institutions, and even meet her in person. The recognition does not need to be de jure, it just needs to be de facto. That is why I believed that Childe's arrival to New York was leaked, she or Pantalone [who would have her approval or tolerance of it] had to know that it would forever dispel any American questions about the reality of the Alliance. Plus on the voyage, Childe gave me the impression that the Tsaritsa is inherently gentle but is willing to do what it takes to ensure the order by the Heavenly Principles is destroyed; which is why she made the alliance with Berlin and is trying to achieve something with these talks. I think she needs to ensure that she can get the industry of Germany and the industrial production of ours combined."
Roosevelt did not answer at once. He lifted the martini again, but only far enough to look at it, not to drink.
"Now there," he said softly, "is a thought worth the ride to Washington."
He set the glass back down and leaned into the rug over his knees with the tired, inward look of a man fitting new timber into an old frame.
"You think she's playing for industrial depth," he said. "German steel, German machine tools, German chemistry, and if she can arrange it without a war, American output added later. Not because she loves Berlin. Because she needs an arsenal large enough to fight whatever sits above her sky."
"Yes, sir."
Roosevelt nodded once, almost absently.
"I think you're right about one part of it beyond much doubt," he said. "She dropped the ceremonial demand because the ceremony had become a luxury item. If she can function without form, she's no worse off and perhaps better. Then Tartaglia or Childe dropped that bomb on the floor about Natlan."
Roosevelt then coughs a dry raspy for a moment.
After a minute, he continued, "He in a sense he told us 'yes, my country is armed, secretive, and attached to Hitler, but elsewhere there is something older, darker, and less governable, so perhaps you ought to regard us as the orderly neighbor in a difficult district.' How did you think about it, Pug, when he said that?"
Pug thought for a moment as he replied, "It may even be true, sir, or true enough which makes it effective. He wasn't talking like a propagandist trying to paint Snezhnaya white. He was talking like a man willing to admit the wolf has teeth so long as the bear in the next forest looks larger."
Roosevelt allowed himself the smallest smile.
"And in politics," he said, "many men have been made to look respectable by the timely appearance of something worse. You know he could run for Congress and be a good cutthroat Congressman."
Pug tried to not imagine Childe in a suit running for Congress and speaking as if he was as calmer as logical Goebbels on the podium.
"But, Pug," Roosevelt continued, "hearing about Natlan got me thinking though….How does those other nations of Teyvat view Snezhnaya and this alliance?"
Roosevelt looked straight as if he was staring out to space for a moment in through, "Do they know of it? Do they see Snezhnaya like how we view Germany under Hitler? Are they concerned like we are and trying to control the flood as well? Have they made the same mistake of appeasement like the world made with Hitler? I can't help but wonder, if nations like Natlan are terrified and desperate for support where they are fighting for their right to exist like Britain right now."
Pug thought about it for a moment and he did not have an honest answer as he did not have the information fully. The only ones that might have the easy information would be governments of Germany, Italy, Japan, and Snezhnaya. The United States and, most importantly, Britain did not have the access to make contact with any of the other nations in Teyvat. For all they knew, the other nations of Teyvat probably don't know about the Alliance and Snezhnaya might be keeping it as a surprise from the people of their world.
Then Roosevelt continued in his thoughtful words, "I would like to meet someone from that world….someone that isn't with Snezhnaya or hates their guts and can get to our world to talk…represent the other nations of that world maybe and tell us what Teyvat is really like without having the Fatui tell us to trust them on what they say. If we could get at least one person from Teyvat here, then maybe there is hope for Britain to have a chance. That person doesn't have to be important, they could be a travelling salesman or a baker for all I care. Just somebody to give the other side of the story."
Pug did not answer immediately. The train ran on through the dark, steady as a destroyer holding course in heavy weather, and for a few seconds the only sound in the compartment was the low iron murmur of wheel and rail and the faint clink of glass on the tray when the car swayed.
"That would change things, sir," he said at last.
Roosevelt kept looking not at him but at some middle distance beyond the compartment wall, as if Washington, London, Berlin, and this unseen Teyvat had all arranged themselves there on the same invisible chart.
"Yes," he said softly. "It would."
He turned his head then and looked directly at Pug.
"Now, Pug, the British are being driven out of Greece right now and it does not look good, if anything Dunkirk was a wild party compared to what the Fatui are bringing to the field. Churchill has finally started to accept that the Fatui are not Wagerian fantasy but are real and dangerous, which is why he is trying to get as much material across the Atlantic as soon as possible. Tell me Pug what did you make of the Reports and Figures that Lord Halifax sent me the other day?"
Pug thought for a moment as he recalled the report describe the atrocities committed by the Fatui on surrendered soldiers, the loss of troops and equipment, and the prediction of how long the front would hold. Needless to say, the report did not paint a good picture of the situation and showed that when on the Battlefield how the Fatui were a multiplier of the brute force of the German Blitzkrieg. It included Vevi, Yugoslavia, and the start of the Fatui attacks on the Greek Army in Epirus where these Sky-Chariots that the Greeks named them could even easily shot the Hurricanes and Spitfires that the RAF had stationed in Greece, where a hail of bullets from the spinning gun that reminder Pug of a Gatling Gun mixed with the Maxim gun could pepper the sky with enough bullets to make it into a no-flying zone for the allies when close to it.
"I believe them, sir."
"So, do I," Roosevelt answered as he nodded, "I finally had to admit to Lord Halifax that we were in talks with the Fatui allied to Hitler. Needless to say, Churchill is not very happy with me at the moment and might pour his drink on me if he ever sees me in person."
Pug allowed himself the smallest trace of sympathy.
"I doubt he'd waste the whisky, sir."
That got the corner of Roosevelt's mouth to move.
"No," he said. "Winston has his standards. It would probably be brandy, and a very old one at that."
The amusement passed almost at once. Roosevelt leaned back slightly, the rug still over his knees, the cigarette holder resting between two fingers at its familiar angle.
"But the thing is Pug, I told Lord Halifax about the threat of the Tsaritsa's patience and if the talks went nowhere then she would come out with her own Lend-lease to Hitler. And I explained that she has yet to unleash her counterpart of U-boats into the Atlantic; That got him to listen to me and I guess calm Winston down as I guess Greece sobered them up on the capabilities of the Fatui, which is where you come in through two different parts."
Roosevelt reached for the sandwich tray and selected a triangle of bread with what appeared to be ham and mustard. He took a small bite, chewed it with deliberate patience and set the remainder back on the plate.
"The British are forming a convoy to get as much material across as possible before these Fatui contraptions begin showing up in the North Atlantic in earnest," Roosevelt said. "Because God help them when the Tsaritsa's people learned to marry their own methods to submarine warfare properly. One hundred-and-twenty ships are already forming in Halifax and St. John's for this Convoy that they are calling HX-129, it was supposed to only have about 57 ships. However, in a rush, the British are combining some convoys to get all of these materials to sea and to England."
Pug sat still as he processed it. Normally, the usual convoy from Canada to Britain was about 30 to 70 ships. If the British were combining convoys into a single formation of over a hundred and twenty ships, it meant that the Admiralty had made a calculation that concentrated everything Britain needed into one enormous bet. One convoy, one crossing, one chance to get it right. If it arrived, Britain could fight through the summer. If it didn't, the arithmetic of the war changed in ways that no amount of American industrial output could quickly reverse.
"That's a lot of eggs in one basket, sir," Pug said.
"It is," Roosevelt agreed, "And it tells you how frightened the Admiralty actually is, because the Royal Navy does not concentrate like that unless it believes the alternative is worse. They would rather risk everything on one well-escorted crossing than lose three smaller convoys to wolf packs picking them off one at a time in the mid-Atlantic gap. The losses in Greece have accelerated the timetable on everything. Tanks, aircraft, fuel, ammunition, food...the British burned through months of reserves in three weeks of fighting that they lost before it properly started."
Roosevelt took a bite of the sandwich again and set down on a cloth napkin.
"I want you to take a task force out of Norfolk and run a neutrality patrol alongside that Convoy at a designated meeting point passed Canadian Waters. Then meet them in a way that is not convoying but professional drills and find cooperative merchantmen willing to participate in these drills. Take them from here to Iceland….," Roosevelt then gave another cough, "the gamble is that if Fatui have anything out there, the sight of 16 or so Destroyers ranging from Benson, Gleaves, and those four-stackers will discourage them completely from attack while we are still in talks. The Coast Guard will also lend a cutter, the Spencer to follow along. Now tell me what you think, if the Fatui finds the Convoy, will they attack it or the sight of American destroyers might discourage them completely?"
Pug thought about it for a moment and gave a response. Against the Germans, this plan would certainly work. The German submariners are very professional, they have procedures for almost every type of situation including the Neutrality patrols that the US had been running since the war started. The German sub-commanders will send their questions and policy questions will go right up to Hitler. In addition, the weather in the North Atlantic was atrocious, even more so than anything that Pug felt that the Fatui could generate. Admiral Raeder's U-Boat's are not willing to engage the escorting American destroyers in Convoy's sailing the Atlantic. Hitler can not afford to give America and Roosevelt the provocation needed to officially enter the war.
"For the German's, it will mostly work. However, the Fatui are the huge unknown factor," P{ug explained, "The Tsaritsa's people are operating under the a framework and valuations that we know nothing about. However, if we are still in these talks, the Tsaritsa's submariners might be given orders not to provoke America."
"And? I sense something coming, Pug." Roosevelt said with a smile.
"If the Fatui do have submarines in the Atlantic and they see the convoy, but then see American Destroyers…I suspect that they will follow the German policy of sending questions to command. Now for the Germans it would be quick as they have to message Berlin in our world…..," Pug explained with a grin.
"So the message for guidance," Roosevelt smiled as if feeling hope warm his bones, "might have to do through the Snezhnaya Embassy or wherever they have a command center for Germany, then to the portal in East Prussia, and then assuming that it is no farer passed to Snezhnograd all the way to the Tsaritsa, herself…."
"And then back the same way….it will take time…Earth and Teyvat are worlds apart from each other…..the Fatui Wolfpack, if it exists and is out at sea, will have to follow us as they hold fire to wait. It will be tense and that is assuming that we don't get a trigger happy Fatui captain and who doesn't send for guidance," Pug explained, "That Convoy has a chance, sir."
Roosevelt leaned back and the smile stayed on his face longer than most of his smiles did these days. It was the smile of a man who had just watched a chess piece land on a square he had been studying for hours.
"The tyranny of distance," he said softly before holding up a finger, "but she might attack the British ships and avoid the American destroyers altogether. Here is what I want you to do, If you encounter Fatui (or even Germany) submarines and they engage the convoy, you fight. But afterwards, once the Convoy reaches Iceland, this is the second part that I want you to do Pug, I want you to transfer to an Armed Merchant Cruiser that the British will have waiting for you, you will report to London and brief Churchill on everything that we know about the Fatui thus far."
"Do I mention anything about the talks, Mr. President?" Pug asked curiously.
"Only that they exist and we have not committed to anything at all. I only gave Lord Halifax a brief and vague summary on it. We are still in talks, which is why I left Harry Hopkins and Cordell Hull back in Hyde Park. You will not tell Churchill the substance of any proposal, the identity of the envoy beyond his Harbinger title, the location of the meetings, or any detail of the revised framework. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good luck, Pug. I have a feeling you are going to need it." Roosevelt said as he finished his martini.
Inazuma, Teyvat
Earth Time: April 28th, 1941
Three days later, on the other side of the world and in another world entirely, an airplane flew over the tall mountains of Tatarsuna, where its navigator took photographs of the furnace below with interest. The furnace and its remains seemed to be the center of attention of navigator as he took photo's, while the pilot started to decline down over the furnace on the north slopes of the mountains over the Kujou Encampment. The place was a medium sized one where the Kujou soldiers under Kujou Sara noted that it had two wings that were top of each other. However, the upper wing was more forward and on the bottom of the lower wing was a bright red circle on it. The plane moved slowly above them as it circled the encampment for a moment.
General Kujou Sara noted that it had three people on it, where she could tell on the front that the first man was piloting it, the middle was watching her forces and taking photos judging by the flashes that were coming from him. The third man, seated behind them, held a weapon but was not using it; instead, he appeared to be speaking into something, his head angled toward the device in his hands.
She had been briefed about the delegation from the other world, where the Fatui had facilitated their passage through the portal in Snezhnaya, and the Kanjou Commission had been instructed to receive them with diplomatic courtesy. But no one had mentioned an overflight. No one had mentioned reconnaissance.
"Send word to the Shogun," she said to the adjutant beside her, "Tell her the visitors are surveying our defenses."
The adjutant hesitated, "General, they are guests…"
"They are guests with a camera and a weapon," Sara replied, her voice flat, "Guests who are circling our encampment like vultures. The Shogun extended courtesy to a diplomatic delegation. She did not extend it to a reconnaissance flight over a Kujou encampment. Send the message. She should know what kind of guests we are receiving before the reception party at Ritou has finished bowing."
The adjutant saluted and departed quickly. Sara turned back to watch the aircraft complete its third circuit. The red circle on the wings seemed to pulse in the afternoon light. She did not know why, but she automatically did not like it or anything related to this diplomatic mission.
Later in the Day at Ritou
It had sailed from the strait between Narukami and Kannazuka in the hours before dawn. The vessel was first spotted two days ago approaching from the west at the southern coast of Wastumi Island, where its aircraft had flown around there as well and took photos of the island as the vessel steamed east at 10 knots with a new Snezhnayan tanker following not far behind it. After passing Watsumi Island, the vessel with its tall for Teyvat profile with its oddly shaped guns sailed between Kannazuka and Seirai before changing course to the northeast passed the Encampment, where it had to turn a little around a shallow shoal and get closer to Amakane Island before arriving to Ritou. There the vessel was a sight to see for the people of Inazuma City and Ritou, where people throughout the Island walked up to the harbor to see this vessel from another world weight anchor.
Not far from the vessel, the Alcor of Bediou's Crux Fleet was also anchored and immediately people could tell that the vessel was longer than the Alcor but it was almost the same width. But where the Alcor was wood and canvas, built for speed and the peculiar grace of Liyue naval architecture, the vessel from another world appeared to be made entirely of steel. Its hull was gray, its deck cluttered with mechanisms no one in Teyvat could name, and its guns pointed at the sky. On the decks on the ship, they could see men in white and blue uniforms at the railings of the ship looking at the land of Inazuma with their own amazement.
Then on the quarter deck of the foreign ship, a bugle sounded as the note cut across the harbor sharp and metallic. Orders were barked in a clipped language that sounded unique, while the sailors on the ship moved with drilled precision. A massive crane on the after superstructure of the vessel lifted a launch and was lowered over its starboard side with the hull of launch striking the water with a clean splash. Four sailors climbed down into it, then a officer in a dark blue coat with gold braid. After him came another man in a lighter uniform, thin-faced, and carrying a leather satchel. The last to board was a figure that drew attention of a different kind, where his coat was grey and he had on a mask.
The launched moved across the water toward Ritou and landed at against the dock, where one of the sailors threw a line and one of the Ritou dockworkers caught it. The dockworker tied the line to a pole as the occupants of the launch stepped out. At the dock as a waiting reception part was Hiiragi Chisato in her light blue kimono with pink flowers stood at its center, flanked by two guards of the Kanjou Commission. Not far behind them was Kamisato Ayato of the Yashiro Commission, dressed in his layered white and blue with his hands folded neatly in his sleeves. Chisato kept her expression composed as the foreign party climbed onto the dock.
Chisato stepped forward and bowed, the formal greeting of the Kanjou Commission for visiting dignitaries. Her voice was measured, polite, and entirely unrevealing.
"On behalf of the Kanjou Commission and Her Excellency the Raiden Shogun, welcome to Inazuma. We are honored by your visit."
The dressed man with the satchel bowed as he spoke in accented English, "I bring greetings from His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Japan to the Almighty Shogun and the people of Inazuma. We come not as strangers but as distant kindred, separated by circumstance and reunited, we hope, by common purpose. It is our sincere wish that this visit marks the beginning of a lasting friendship between two nations that share, we believe, a common understanding of what it means to be an island people guided by the light of heaven. I am Ishida Takeshi, Second Secretary of the Bureau of Extraterritorial Affairs. With me is Captain Owada Noboru of the Cruiser Katori."
Ayato stepped forward with precise timing, "I am Kamisato Ayato, Head of the Yashiro Commission. I will be accompanying your delegation to my Estate as guests of the Shogun. Her Excellency the Shogun will have a formal audience with you tomorrow morning at the Tenshukaku. Please follow me this way to my Estate, my Sister and I will ensure that you feel right at home."
Ishida smiled as if he felt that he accomplished something great, "We are grateful for Her Excellency's generosity, Captain Owada and I will, of course, conduct ourselves according to Inazuman custom."
Ayato inclined his head, accepting the sentence and the performance inside it.
"How fortunate," he said, "that Inazuma places such value on proper conduct."
Owada Noboru had said very little so far, which interested Ayato more than if the man had spoken too much. The naval officer stood in his dark uniform with the self-contained stillness of a man accustomed to both decks and maps. The masked figure in gray, who had translated and softened and sharpened various phrases as required, remained just behind the Japanese pair like a shadow that had acquired diplomatic standing.
Chisato explained that their baggage would be conveyed and a suitable escort had been arranged for them. This seemed to only make the Second Secretary smile to keep its shape as behind them, the sailors unloaded their luggage from the launch in a steady line.
Ayato watched the Fatui observer for a moment longer, then turned and gestured toward the waiting palanquins.
"If you will follow me, gentlemen. The Kamisato Estate is not far, and I believe you will find the accommodations comfortable. My sister has taken particular care with the arrangements."
Ishida bowed again. "We are honored."
The delegation moved through the streets of Ritou, past the curious crowds and the shuttered shops. The palanquins swayed with the rhythm of the bearers' steps, and through the lacquered slats, Owada caught glimpses of a city that reminded him of Kyoto in the Meiji era with wooden buildings, paper lanterns, signs in a script he could almost read but not quite.
The Kamisato Estate received them with tea and silence. Ayaka performed the ceremony with a grace that made Ishida forget, for whole minutes at a time, that he was in another world. Owada drank nothing and catalogued everything. The Fatui liaison sat at the edge of the room and watched.
By evening, the delegation had changed into their formal dress. Ishida wore the dark diplomatic suit he had carried from Tokyo in a sealed trunk. Owada wore his dress whites with the chrysanthemum insignia at his collar. The Fatui liaison wore the same gray coat and mask he had worn all day, which told Ayato everything he needed to know about the man's relationship with the ceremony.
Meanwhile, in the Tenshukaku, a concerned and worried General Kujou Sara walked up to the Raiden Shogun to give her personal perspective on what happened early this morning.
"And they flew around the camp for a long time?" were the words that the Shogun asked immediately.
"Yes," Kujou Sara replied with a bow and her eyes closed, "Your Excellency, they circled about three times before breaking off and returning to the Katori afterwards. My men in the harbor reported that it landed in the water right beside the port side of the ship before it lifted up and attached it to the catapult. Kamisato Ayato's Shuumatsuban, particularly Sayu, reported the same thing to Ayato as well, who then reported it to me afterwards."
Ei or known to everyone as the Raiden Shogun was silent for a moment as she placed a finger to her chin. Then she drifted her gaze back to Kujou Sara and the hallway, the expression of the Shogun did not alter at all.
"They arrive under Fatui arrangement," she said at last,. "They speak of courtesy, and their first act is measurement."
Sara bowed her head.
"That is my judgment as well."
"It is not judgment," the Shogun said, "It is observation."
After a moment, the Shogun rose from her seat. The movement was unhurried, but it altered the room at once. The air around her seemed to electrify as her purple eyes seemed to cackle with sparks inside them.
"The Kanjou Commission will continue the forms of hospitality," she said, "The Yashiro Commission will continue the forms of welcome. Let there be no rudeness. Let there also be no illusion."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"From this moment, no aircraft from the foreign vessel are to leave its deck without my express approval. If they attempt another flight without it, they will be treated not as guests but as intruders."
Sara's eyes lifted only slightly.
"It will be done, Your Excellency."
The Shogun's gaze did not leave her.
"The vessel itself?"
"At anchor in Ritou Harbor under observation," Sara replied. "My men have already begun watching the launch crews and the aircraft handling party. The ship has not attempted any movement beyond ordinary harbor adjustment."
"Good," The Shogun said, "The ship will remain where it is, No inland movement beyond what has already been granted. No inspection of roads, foundries, shrines, or encampments. If they request access, they will do so through the proper commission. If they move without asking, they will have answered their own request."
Sara bowed lower, "Yes, Your Excellency."
For a moment, the only sound in the hall was the low whisper of silk and the distant murmur of Tenshukaku's evening attendants beyond the chamber doors.
"And the audience tomorrow," Sara asked carefully, "Shall it proceed?"
The Shogun regarded her in stillness, "It will proceed but I want you and the Lady Guuji present during these talks."
Sara bowed again, though inwardly the answer struck her with more surprise than a cancellation would have.
"Yes, Your Excellency, a very wise measure indeed."
North Atlantic Ocean
58°47'N, 34°12'W (About 220 Miles east of Greenland)
German Naval Grid: AK1661
April 29th, 1941
The sea was black and the sky was blacker, while the sea was rough as strong gale force winds splashed the water into waves. The first boat broke the surface slowly with its conning tower breaking the surface, where it was so sharp that it could be shaped like a oval like blade. The hull was longer than a Type VII U-Boat, but its bow and downward stern retained its recognizable shape. The periscope remained up on the Submarine, but the unique feature for the periscope was that it had an additional pipe attached to it that bent back at angle. The top of this additional pipe looked almost more like a smoke stack if anything at all. On the conning tower, stencilled in white paint, was a designation of БР-3 or Buran-3.
The hatch on the conning tower opened up as a figure climbed out into the harsh wind and braced the bridge. He was a Oprichnik, one of the Tsaritsa's military regulars, trained at the submarine school that Sandrone had established at Nod-Krai and the Royal Military Academy at Snezhnograd. His name was Captain Volkov, and he had been a surface officer in the Snezhnayan coastal defense fleet before the Tsaritsa's directive had transformed the navy from a brown-water afterthought into something that was beginning, slowly and with considerable institutional pain, to reach for blue water. He had his blue and grey uniform with his blonde hair and his face scar from a dueling match gone wrong.
He had volunteered for the Submarine Service, because the Tsaritsa was looking for Volunteers and there were very generous bonuses for any one wishing to join the Submarine Service; even people wanting to attain training to become an officer for the service. Volkov raised his binoculars and swept the horizon. These waters were different from the waters off Snezhnaya and Nod-Krai. The only waters that he knew that could compete was the waters to Inazuma when sailing from Liyue with the rough storms in between.
A second figure climbed through the hatch where a dark red light radiated from. His Executive Officer, Lieutenant Kliment, a former operative that served in Liyue and not with proud distinction if the rumors were true that involved something about archeology, had short-mocha blonde hair and wore the typical Fatui outfit with the dark black standard issue coat. He had transferred from the diplomatic service after the fiasco involving Liyue due to the actions of Childe. He carried with him some messages that were decoded by the Enigma that the Fatui used.
"Signal from Buran-1," Kliment said, raising his voice against the wind, "Morozova reports all systems nominal. She is holding position four miles to our northwest."
"And Chesnokov?"
"Buran-5 surfaced twelve minutes ago and is stretching his chaos engines to the max for testing. Position six miles south-southwest."
"And Anastasia?"
"Buran-4 is running submerged at thirty meters," Kliment said, consulting the decoded message, "She reports a minor vibration in her starboard shaft that her engineer and systems operator is examining. Nothing critical. Anastasia says she will surface at 0400 to ventilate and report."
Four boats made up this wolfpack, originally it was going to be five of these boats built in quick succession at Paha Isle in a matter of weeks. However, Buran-2 had serious technical issues that involved the use of faulty and overengineered German equipment that made the Marionette or Sandrone not pleased at all, where she immediately changed the plans for the rest of the Buran's constructed to where they were all Snezhnayan built. The crew of the submarines were filled with a number of automated systems that the Marionette included to reduce the number of crew with Oprichniki regulars from the coastal defense fleet, former Fatui operatives reassigned from dissolved field stations across Teyvat, and a handful of recruits from the merchant marine who had joined the submarine service for the bonuses.
"What about the decoded traffic?" Volkov asked, nodding at the papers in Kliment's hand.
Kliment held the sheets against the wind.
"BdU has issued a general advisory to all U-boat commands in the Atlantic," Kliment read, holding the sheet at an angle to catch the red light from below, "Wilhelmshaven naval command confirms departure of four allied submarines operating under Snezhnayan flag, designated Wolfpack Siganora, proceeding to operational area of sectors in AK grids in the northern Atlantic. All Kriegsmarine vessels are instructed to recognize Snezhnayan submarine silhouettes and avoid friendly fire incidents. Recognition signals and challenge-response protocols are attached."
"The German's send too many messages to their U-Boat's," Volkov commented.
The departure from Wilhelmshaven had been a spectacle that he would have preferred to avoid. The four Burans had transited the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal from the Baltic, where they had crossed from Teyvat through the additional East Prussian portal in Pillau and conducted final fitting-out at the Kriegsmarinewerft in Kiel. From there they had proceeded through the canal to Wilhelmshaven on the North Sea coast, where they had loaded provisions and departed for the Atlantic under the curious eyes of every German sailor, dockworker, and intelligence officer in the harbor.
"What else?" he asked.
"Dönitz's staff has requested through the liaison office that Wolfpack Signora share any convoy sighting reports through the BdU communications network," Kliment said, "Standard coordination procedure for allied forces operating in the same theater."
"And Snezhnograd's response?"
"Our communications go through the Norwegian relay to the portal. Pantalone's office will determine what, if anything, reaches BdU. We do not transmit on German frequencies."
Volkov nodded as this had been made very clear to all four captains before departure. The Kriegsmarine's communications discipline was, by Snezhnayan standards, atrocious. Dönitz's headquarters at Lorient transmitted orders to individual U-boats multiple times per day, requiring acknowledgment signals that any competent direction-finding network could plot on a chart. Volkov was not going to give the British an easy time trying to pin his location on any map, whether they could read it or not.
"One more item," Kliment said, "From Snezhnograd through the Norwegian relay. Address to Wolfpack Signora commander."
He handed the sheet to Volkov.
By order of the Tsaritsa,
Proceed to engage allied vessels of nations at war against Germany and Italy in your sectors. However, if encountering an Allied Convoy protected by American Neutrality Patrol, message HQ at once for directions.
Pirreo, Director of the Fatui
Volkov read the message twice. The wind tried to take the paper from his hands both times. The first sentence was a hunting license, but the second was a leash and already it concerned him.
"When did this come through?" Volkov asked.
"Forty minutes ago. Norwegian relay, priority cipher," Kliment replied.
"This supersedes the earlier advisory about maintaining observation posture?"
"It does not reference the earlier advisory," Kliment said carefully, "It does not cancel it. It issues new instructions alongside it."
Volkov folded the message and held it against the wind for a moment before placing it inside his coat. He processed how it had the name of Pierro himself, the First Harbinger and arguably closest to the Tsaritsa, because if he signed the order then it had been discussed at the level where Snezhnaya's war aims and the Tsaritsa's deeper purposes intersected. He knew that the talks between Snezhnaya and America were still on-going, so he assumed that this second sentence was sent to prevent any clashes between the two countries that might explode into war and ruin the talks.
"Send to all boats," Volkov said. "New operational directive from the Director. Wolfpack Signora is authorized to engage Allied vessels at war with Germany and Italy within our sectors. Standard engagement procedures. Standing order regarding American vessels remains in full effect. If American naval forces are present near any target, all boats hold fire and report through the Norwegian relay for guidance."
He paused, then added something that was not in any order from Snezhnograd. However, he felt that it was necessary due to the current situation right now.
"In conditions of poor visibility or uncertain identification, the standing assumption is that unidentified warships are American until positively confirmed otherwise. I repeat: American until confirmed otherwise. Acknowledge."
Kliment wrote it down with an arrogant look and looked up, "Surely, that would not be necessary, Captain."
"At periscope depth in a gale at night," Volkov continued, "A destroyer is a shadow and a bow wave. It is impossible to see the ensign and hull number. You see a shape moving at speed and you hear propeller noise on the hydrophones and you have seconds, not minutes, to decide whether the shape is hunting you or passing you or has not seen you at all. In those seconds, the difference between an American Clemson-class and a Town-Class Destroyer is the difference between a ship you must not touch and a ship you are authorized to sink. Unlike you, I have read the recognition manual that the Germans provided us and noticed the exact same similarity between them, because they are the same class of ship."
Kliment's arrogance did not disappear, but it rearranged itself into something that was listening as Volkov moved on.
"Both classes are American built, and fifty of them were in American Service but were given to the British last year, where they became the Town Class. The hull, the silhouette with four stacks, the flush deck, and the narrow beam are the same. At night, through a periscope in heavy seas, an American Clemson flying the Stars and Stripes and a British Town flying the White Ensign are identical until you are close enough to read the paint on the bow. And if you are close enough to read paint, you are close enough to be depth-charged."
Kliment held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded once.
"I understand, Captain."
"Good," Volkov said, "Because if one of our boats puts a torpedo into an American destroyer by mistake, the Tsaritsa's negotiations in Hyde Park will not matter very much afterward."
Kliment's face changed by a degree as the words landed him on the face with the equivalent of a wince.
"I will signal it exactly as written."
"You will signal it now," Volkov ordered.
Kliment descended through the hatch with the messages secured inside his coat. Volkov remained alone on the bridge for another minute, boots braced against the wet steel, the binoculars hanging against his chest while the gale came at him from the northwest in cold animal bursts. A wave broke over the bow and ran white across the deck before tearing away into the dark. He watched it go, then ducked through the hatch and sealed it above him. Below, the red-lit control room received him with the close warmth of machinery and men. No sound could be heard as he climbed down to the command room, where only other five people including Kliment. However, at least 3 drones were moving about running the controls of the dive planes.
"Take her down to thirty meters," Volkov said, "Ahead slow on the Chaos Engines. Course One-four-five. Rig for silent running."
The diving officer repeated the order. The drones adjusted the planes with a precision that no human hand could match where their smooth and identical movements were faster than any human motion. The Submarine quickly divided within a matter of twelve seconds below the surface and was already halfway to its desired depth.