Second Chance

Chapter Twenty-Two: Imperial Conference

Atlantic Ocean

Nr Britain

24^th August 1940

It was a clear day, perfect flying weather. For once, the men and women of the squadron were having a peaceful flight; interception of the semi-V1s was being left to the reserve squadrons. The Germans had been getting more devious; several of the V1s had exploded in midair when fired upon, scattering shrapnel across the air. One Hawk had been lost to that trick. Several of the V1s had been noticed to explode in mid-air without being fired at, something that the boffins had blamed on faulty materials.

“Charlie-flight, you are cleared to approach the defence zone,” the AWACS operator said. Abernathy nodded and brought the Eurofighter in low, heading over the small collection of Contemporary ships. They were only party British; they belonged to Canada, Australia, South Africa, India and New Zealand.

“They want an impressive display,” Abernathy reminded his fellow pilots. “On my mark, the Proud Formation… mark!”

On cue, the force split up, dropping coloured smoke through their jet streams. Seven coloured lines of light followed the planes as they moved through a complex, but straightforward formation.

“They seem to be impressed, Charlie-one,” the AWACS said. “Give them a second low pass, and then head back to the barn.”

“Understood,” Abernathy said. “Boys and girls, line up on me, and follow me in!”

Prime Minister Sir Robert Gordon Menzies looked up from the deck of HMAS Australia as the strange aircraft flew overhead. Their presence was almost tangible; he could have sworn that he felt them screaming inside his head as they howled over the ship, vanishing into the distance before they could be seen clearly.

“The Eurofighter Typhoon,” Ambassador Atwell said calmly. The small boy beside him seemed awed; cheering the planes on. Menzies wasn’t sure what to make of it; the young boy was apparently Atwell’s father; his mother hadn’t been born yet. “It has a speed well above mach two, armed with cannons and guided missiles and can land on a dime – assuming a big enough dime, of course.”

“And some of those will go to Australia?” Menzies asked. If they did, it would be the proof that he needed to show that he’d been right to bank on the Empire as a whole, rather than changing tack and begging for American support. The new technologies Atwell had introduced would, given time, make Australia impregnable to a Japanese invasion.

“I imagine that some ships will be spared to assist you,” Atwell said. “You have to understand; this Britain is not the one that knew that it had a responsibility to help you out.”

“Us,” Menzies corrected.

“It’s a very different Australia,” Atwell said. “There are times that I feel a stranger in Canberra.”

Menzies nodded as the last of the jets vanished into the distance. “Tell me, what do they want in exchange for their help?”

“They want to try again,” Atwell said. “The end of the war that we – you – are currently fighting led to a disintegration of the global system. The one we have no cannot stand, even if it was possible to keep it without Britain, but we have to try to put something in its place.”

“So the price for Australia’s protection is us joining the new… whatever the organisation ends up being,” Menzies said. “I was always in favour of the empire.”

“Out of a desire to play a role on the world stage or out of a desire to keep the homeland safe?” Atwell enquired. “You did read the history brief?”

“Curtin is going to succeed me in 1941,” Menzies said. He scowled. “We’ll see about that.”

“Perhaps,” Atwell said. “History never said anything about a successful invasion of Lybya and then French North Africa, so perhaps you can prove your point.”

Menzies hadn’t exactly disbelieved. The handful of modern technology and the plans for new weapons – Australian armament factories hoped to be turning out their first AK-47s in a month and new tanks in three months – had been very convincing. The DVD of his own speeches before Parliament, years in the future, had been stunning; the details of Australia’s future astonishing.

Still, nothing could have prepared him for the tour through London, once the Australia had docked at Plymouth. Apparently, the facilities needed for the Contemporary ship no longer existed – battleships and battlecruisers were apparently no longer part of modern war – and she had to wait at anchor. The crew, at least, were being well-treated.

“We hope to expand the facilities for Contemporary warships,” Admiral Grisham explained. The woman was First Sea Lord, something that Menzies had always understood came with a knighthood. “HMS Warspite and her contemporaries, once refitted with modern weapons such as Metalstorm, will be almost unstoppable. We could sail them into Tojo’s lake and sink his entire fleet.”

“Really,” Menzies said, looking out at the bastardised London he saw before him. It was astonishing; thousands of individuals of different races seemed to work together in harmony, with signs and parades greeting the guests. RETURN TO THE HOLY CITIES, one read, much to Menzies’ puzzlement.

“They’re Muslims,” Grisham explained. “They think that they can now snatch the Holy Cities of Islam back from the bastards who would have held them and use the oil money for good, rather than evil. I wouldn’t give them the time of day, but Prime Minister Hanover seems to think that they might come in handy. We have to loan them a small force and crush the evil ones.”

“A waste of resources?” Menzies asked. Perhaps Grisham would be a good source of information. “Why not use them somewhere else?”

“We have far less shipping than we have in the original timeline,” Grisham said. “In truth, if it were not for the Contemporary ships, we’d be in worse trouble than we are. In some ways, Prime Minister, it’s a good thing; we can ship some of your divisions back to Australia and bolster your defences, but at the same time it limits what we can do elsewhere. Tying up a force of ships on this venture merely means that we cannot set up our own bases in the Far East.”

“Australia would be more than happy to host some of your ships,” Menzies said.

Grisham smiled wryly. “I’m sure you would be,” she said. “I keep having to remind myself that this is not 2015. The problem is that we have to establish stockpiles of weapons, fuel and repair components before we deploy any major units to you. I believe that the RAF is looking at ways to free up some anti-shipping configured aircraft; one way or the other we’re not going to be challenged here on the surface. U-boats, of course, are still a major problem.”

Menzies stared out of the window as they passed a soup kitchen. “What’s that?”

“We’re still on rationing here,” Grisham said grimly. “We now have a fairly decent supply of food from Ireland and America – paid for by some of our technology – and we’re improving our own production, but for the moment the Government has decreed that rationing will take the place of the welfare state.”

She grinned. “I quite approve of it myself,” she said. “The wastrels are starting to flow into the army, or into one of the expanding businesses, and even the navy is getting its share. Even criminals are contributing to the greater good, for once.”

Menzies kept his own counsel as the Rolls Royce – that wasn’t too different – drew up outside Ten Downing Street. The security guards checked their identities and welcomed them into the building, leading them into the meeting room.

Ten Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

24^th August 1940

“Good afternoon, Gentlemen,” Hanover said. The men looking back at him seemed stunned; only a handful of them mumbled a greeting in return.

“I trust that you are now convinced that this is not some elaborate practical joke,” Hanover continued. “Quite apart from seeing our aircraft and our cities, you have also seen the future; histories of yourselves, your counties, and the world. Some of you developed into very different states, some of you became disaster areas, and some of you became… well, saints.”

He looked down at the small Indian man sitting next to Lord Linlithgow, who’d been horrified at the instruction to bring the three main leaders of India with him. Even at such an important meeting, Gandhi wore only a robe and loincloth, greeting all protests with a puckish smile.

“History has spoken on all of you,” he continued. “It is up to you to see if you want it to speak well of you again, or if you want it to speak well of you in the new future created by our arrival. I won’t lie to you; many dark and difficult days lie ahead, but if we work together we can create a better world for us all.

“The British Empire is dead,” he said, and watched the reactions. The three Indians looked pleased, then worried, then concerned. The South African, Prime Minister Jan Smuts, looked as if he didn’t care. News of the Apartheid Era and the collapse of South Africa in 2012 had hit him badly. The Canadian, Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King, seemed unconcerned; his main interest had been in learning about the coming Quebecois Independence Movement. The Australian and the New Zealander, Peter Fraser, seemed almost panicked. The handful of Contemporary personnel in the room seemed shocked; few of them had understood the growing weakness of the empire.

“Your Congress Party wants independence,” Hanover said, addressing the three Indians; Nehru, Jinnah and Gandhi. “If that’s what you want, including the civil war that is bound to break out as soon as the troops are withdrawn, you can have it. However…”

“You would leave us at the mercy of Hindus forever?” Jinnah asked. He’d been a lawyer before taking up the cause of Muslim independence; he’d moved at once to the most important question. “While I support the creation of a Muslim nation, I cannot see one forming that is even as successful as this… Pakistan I seem to have created.”

“Does that not prove our point; a united India is required?” Nehru asked. It was an old argument between the two parties. “Think of how much we could achieve together?”

“There are millions of your… descendents in Britain today who would be more than willing to help you fast-forward your own technology,” Hanover said. “What you need is a constitution and a united army – and genuine rights for everyone, be they Hindu, Muslim, high-caste, low-caste, untouchable, whatever. We will try to help you, but that would rely upon you helping us as well.”

“Ah, the empire returns,” Gandhi said. His wry voice didn’t quite hide the scorn. “You will give us formal independence, but pull the strings from behind?”

“No,” Hanover said. “Quite frankly; I would prefer to let you go to heaven or hell without our involvement. I do, however, have to look to the future; a democratic India, united and strong, would be a strong ally. As a member of the British Commonwealth, you would enjoy equal voting rights with the other nations and…”

Smuts’ clipped accent overrode him. “I cannot see my countrymen being too impressed with the version of the future when kaffars take control and ride the nation down into ruin,” he said. “I fail to see why we should place our destiny in your hands.”

“For a start, the British Commonwealth would primarily be a trading and mutual defence pact, nothing else,” Hanover said. “I would advise you to begin granting voting rights to educated black men, and at the same time prevent the shocking expansion of their population caused by poverty. The same applies to India; your population explodes – exploded – beyond your ability to absorb it.

“The first thing we can offer you is AS-01 and AS-02,” he said. “They are essentially permanent birth control drugs; one injection convinces the man’s body to stop producing sperm – although emission is still possible – and the other convinces a woman’s body to treat sperm as a hostile intruder and destroy it. Naturally, a counter-drug exists; it could be used if necessary.”

He smiled, noticing Smuts’ eager grin. The South African would probably act like the Chinese Government had done when they’d invented the drug; massive and forcible injection programs for all of their citizens. They’d actually managed to half the Chinese growth rate in three years.

“That is merely the tip of the iceberg,” he said calmly. “We can give you advanced nuclear power plants that will provide cheap, safe electricity for your counties. We can give you water-cracking plants that will provide an endless source of clean water for your farms; Australia could become the breadbasket of the Far East. We will give you hydrogen cars that will wipe out your dependence on oil forever and…

“There are so many things we can give you, should you join us,” he concluded. “We have reserved rooms for you in the Ritz; some of you will find it very different than it was in your time. You also have access to communications channels reaching all the way to your countries; use them to consult with your allies and governments if necessary. There is, however, one other thing I wish to show you.”

He picked up a remote control and flicked it once. The big screen flickered and activated, displaying a perfect movie. Some of the delegates retched as the images became clear; the Germans and Soviets were… exterminating the Poles.

“This image was recorded by an SAS team that had been inserted into Poland to contact the Polish Resistance,” Hanover said, his voice darkening. “As you can see, the resistance no longer exists; the Germans and Soviets have been engaged in rounding up, press-ganging and slaughtering the Poles. In the future, the Poles will rise against the Soviet Empire – and Stalin is clearly determined never to let that happen again.

“The Germans have already purged their own ranks of anyone with the courage, in the original timeline, to stand up against Hitler, sometimes even before they had doubts about the Nazi regime. For the moment, the war has stalemated, but we cannot allow it to remain that way indefinitely. Sooner or later, Hitler and his goons will develop a working atomic weapon, and then they might well be unbeatable.”

He ran the second video display. “This is the destruction of a Russian city, during the War on Terror,” he said. “The Chechens deployed a nuke into Volgograd – Stalingrad today – and destroyed the entire city. Nearly a million people died; tens of thousands of residents, Russian soldiers, tourists, reporters, what-have-you… they all died.”

He watched their paling faces. “Privately, and completely off the record, the War Cabinet has decided that in the event of Germany producing a nuclear weapon, Germany will be blown off the face of the Earth. Understand; the hatred of nuclear weapons in Britain is so strong that using even one will cause my Government to fall, but if its them or us…”

He smiled at them. “I’ll see some of you individually over the next week,” he said. “Others will discover that they have friends here who will be more than willing to suggest… new courses of action. If you want privacy, just ask the guards; if not… good day gentlemen.”

“One question,” Nehru said, as they rose to leave. “How long will it be before Germany completes an atomic bomb?”

“I wish I knew,” Hanover admitted. “The worst-case scenario is that it will take them something between one year to two years to design and build a reactor – particularly concealing it from us – and then around six months to build the weapon itself. Even so, it will take them time to build one small enough – or a delivery system large enough – to transport the weapon over here. The Oversight Committee believes that they will reserve use of the weapon for a landing on the mainland from us. Hitler, of course, is not that rational.

“Another possibility is Stalin or Japan getting their hands on a weapon,” he continued. “The Japanese might well be tempted to engage in nuclear blackmail; no one is quite certain how far they actually managed to get with a weapon in the original time line. Stalin, of course, got his in 1949.”

“So, what did you think?” Hanover asked afterwards. He sat neatly on the couch, sipping Scotch from a glass. “How do you think they reacted?”

“I think they were a little stunned,” McLachlan said. “They just don’t move with as much speed as the modern world did, before we left it. I don’t suppose the physics team came up with anything?”

Hanover shook his head. “They’re still arguing about possible causes,” he said. “Of course, the religious fraternity has gotten the idea that it’s a holy sign from God to begin changing the world for the better. Every Imam in the country is preaching about the JRHC and how it is going to recover the Holy Cities and give Islam back to itself. Speaking of which, how is the planning going?”

McLachlan sighed. “They have organised ten thousand of their original fighters, with some training from us – covertly, of course – and are preparing the plan for the occupation. They’ve not done too badly; they’ve purchased several solar-powered desalination plants and they’re planning to build a major airport to link in with the chain we’re planning to build.

“Of course, everything depends on us providing the transport, which is being prepared now,” he continued. “I think that they should be ready to go in a couple of weeks or thereabouts; even with the weapons they do have they’ll outgun the barbarians. Frankly, I give the invasion itself a ninety-percent chance of success, with nation-building a sixty-percent chance. Sean, to be fair, is very committed to the democratic ideal of Islam and they will extend voting rights to anyone who speaks English and Arabic, as well as accepting their rules.”

Hanover smiled. “Well, we’ll see,” he said. “So, back to our new-old friends…?”

“I think that Australia and New Zealand will sign up at once,” McLachlan said, sipping his tea. “Canada might; South Africa might, provided we don’t interfere with the race issue. Of course, with a dose of AS-01, the problem might just… go away.”

“I think we’ll… suggest that they absorb the Italian prisoners from Libya,” Hanover said. “That and their families should give the white population a boost.” He scowled. “We might also want to suggest that they accept the Contemporaries; I don’t know if they’ll fit in here.”

McLachlan nodded grimly. There’d been several more race riots, some sexual incidents, and one nasty riot over the family silver. It had given the BBC quite a lot to talk about on the nightly news. “You don’t think that they’ll fit in here?”

“Too different,” Hanover said. “We can try to take a handful, but I don’t know if we can take them all.”

McLachlan laughed. “You want to hear about another problem?” He asked. Hanover shook his head, but McLachlan pressed ahead anyway. “You know all those children who were sent to America and Canada? All their families have disappeared; except in many cases…”

“Don’t tell me,” Hanover said. “Themselves.”

“Exactly,” McLachlan said. “Their legal guardians, for all intents and purposes, are older versions of themselves, who are in their eighties, at the very least.”

“Dear God,” Hanover said. “How the hell do we solve this one?”

“Legally, we have the precedent that a person from the original time line is not the same as the person from the new time line,” McLachlan said. “The Law Lords are still arguing, but I think we may have a lot of kids going up for adoption soon.”

“Bugger,” Hanover said. “You know; we have minor problems. It’s Hitler and his goons who have the worse problems.”

“Funny you should mention goons,” McLachlan said. The legal arguments over Spike Milligan’s right to Spike Milligan’s work were still raging.

“Oh, shut up,” Hanover said.