Free In at the Death by Harry Turtledove

to spare for adventures on this side of the Atlantic as they’d had when things were going better closer to home.
    “What the damnyankees aren’t using up there, they’re shooting at us,” Featherston said. “If we go under, they aim everything at you. How long do you think you’ll last if they do?” They had a generation earlier, and the United Kingdom didn’t last long. Chances were it wouldn’t now, either.
    And Lord Halifax couldn’t shoot that one back at him. The USA could go after Britain in a big way if the CSA went under—could and would. But if Britain went down, Germany wouldn’t care about the Confederacy. The Confederate States were no threat to the Kaiser, not till they got a uranium bomb. When they did, the whole goddamn world needed to watch out.
    “I said we were doing everything we could, Mr President, and I assure you I meant it most sincerely,” the British ambassador said. “We appreciate the CSA’s importance to the overall strategic picture, believe you me we do. Our task would become much more difficult if the United States was prosecuting the Atlantic war with all their energy and resources.”
    You
are
tying the damnyankees down for us
. Again, Halifax’s words were pretty straightforward. He had to figure Jake could see that much for himself. And Jake could.
    He leaned forward across his desk toward the limey. “Fair enough,” he said, his rasping voice and harsh, half-educated accent contrasting sharply with Halifax’s soft, elegant tones. “Now we come down to it. If you need us in the war, if you need us to lick the USA for you, why the hell won’t you tell us what all you know about uranium bombs? We’ve got our own project going—you can bet your bottom dollar on that. But if you give us a hand, it helps you and us both. Sooner we start blowing the damnyankees sky-high, the happier everybody’ll be. Except them, I mean.”
    Halifax’s bony face never showed much; he would have made a dangerous poker player. But his eyebrows rose a fraction now. Maybe he hadn’t expected Jake to be so direct. If he hadn’t, he didn’t know the President of the Confederate States as well as he thought he did.
    “Uranium is an extremely delicate subject,” he said at last.
    “Tell me about it!” Featherston exclaimed. “Even so, you think the United States aren’t working on a bomb of their own? Suppose they get it before we do. They’ll blast Richmond off the map, and New Orleans, and Atlanta—”
    “Assuming Atlanta hasn’t fallen by then,” Halifax said.
    Fuck you, Charlie
. Featherston almost said it, and diplomacy be damned. At the last instant, he bit his tongue. What he did say was, “Yeah, well, suppose they knock us out of the war. Then what? How long before London goes up in smoke? About as long as it takes to get a bomb across the ocean.”
    Lord Halifax looked physically ill. “The United States aren’t our only worry on that score,” he choked out.
    “I know. Damn Germans started this whole mess. Somebody should’ve strangled that Einstein bastard when he was a baby.” Jake scowled. “Too late to get all hot and bothered about it now. Look, I don’t even know how far along you guys are. Maybe we’re ahead of you.”
    The British ambassador winced, ever so slightly.
Ah, that got him
, Jake thought with an internal grin. The mere idea that backward half-colonials across the sea could get ahead of the high and mighty lords of creation on their own foggy island had to rankle.
    To make sure it did, Jake added, “After all, we’re a long ways ahead of you when it comes to rockets. Ask the Yankees if you don’t believe me.”
    Halifax winced again, more obviously this time. Jake Featherston’s internal grin got wider. “Quite,” Halifax muttered: a one-word admission of pain.
    “Reckon we can work a swap?” Jake asked. “We’ll tell you what we know. We’re not afraid of our allies. If you want to shoot rockets at the Germans, more power to you.