Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

13. V-E Day

May 8, 1945

Brandenburg Gate

Berlin, Germany

The noise of rambunxious Soviet soldiers faded behind us as we walked down the ruined street. The day that Germany surrendered, leaving Europe finally free of Nazi oppression, was bittersweet to me. At that very moment, American troops continued to fight in the Pacific.

British and American soldiers also patrolled the streets of Berlin. Though the devastation probably seemed normal to them, it was alien to me. Berlin felt like a graveyard of stone and ash, its horrors reflected in the faces of German civilians as they silently milled about the ruins of their homes. In such a hellish place, England's presence beside me was a comfort.

"There is still much work to be done," he said, proving that our thoughts were in sync.

"Yes," I muttered numbly.

My eyes wandered over the gray landscape. Bombed-out buildings stood like hollow skeletons, and piles of rubble filled the streets. Somehow, the sky was still blue.

"I spoke to Russia on the telephone. He will join us for the peace conference."

I nodded absently. After glancing around, I said, "I've heard terrible rumors...about the Soviet soldiers."

He seemed unphased. "I bet they're true."

"What?" I stared at him. "Abuse of civilians doesn't concern you?"

When his steps slowed to a stop, I wheeled around to confront him properly. He wore a hardened expression, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trench coat. His eyes reluctantly found mine.

"Russia's casualties are in the millions."

"I know," I said emphatically.

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Tens of millions."

"Wh—What?" I breathed in astonishment.

"If it wasn't for Russia, you and I would be meeting the Führer today."

"I..."

I could barely manage to swallow let alone speak. Images of tens of millions of dead Americans reeled through my brain. Our casualties were in the hundreds of thousands. If they ever reached a million...

"Understand now?"

I blinked back to the present. I managed a slight nod.

"Of course, revenge isn't an excuse," he said, straightening his shoulders. His eyes scanned the ruined street ahead. "But it is an explanation."

He started walking again, leaving me standing alone. Repercussions of the war bounced around in my mind. Do the Soviets blame the US for sitting idly by as so many were slaughtered? Could we have saved millions of lives in Europe by joining the war sooner? Are we to blame for this insanity?

I stumbled forward when England suddenly draped his arm over my shoulders. He began to pull me along. "Take heart," he told me. "This hell is nearly over."

I stared at the cracked pavement beneath my boots. 

"Every war-ready ship in the Commonwealth is en route to the Pacific."

A smile just barely touched my lips. "It's going to take a lot more than another navy to subdue the Japanese."

His arm slipped away. "How do you reckon?"

"They're relentless, England. Suicidal," I told him. "It's General McArthur's view that they won't surrender until we capture or kill every last soldier on the mainland."

For once, England was speechless.

My thoughts turned to a plan so classified that even the prying British government wasn't aware of it. It was so classified that just thinking of its name on foreign soil felt dangerous.

The Manhattan Project.

I pressed my lips together.

~

A/N: *cue Oppenheimer music*