Second Chance

Chapter Nine: Past Tense

HMS Ark Royal

Gibraltar

11^th July 1940

Force H was drawn up near the Rock, waiting for the meeting, although none of them knew precisely what to expect. Rumour, based on the information that the commanding officer of the ‘unusual naval units’ was going to land on the Ark Royal, expected that the units were new carriers, perhaps a secret project of some kind.

Vice-Admiral Somerville peered into the clear sky with his binoculars. The Italians had stepped up their ineffectual air attacks on Malta, under German pressure. A captured Italian airman, shot down by one of the Gladiator aircraft, had reported that the Germans were preparing for moving operations to the Mediterranean – and that they’d already moved some troops into Italy for moves against Malta. In the absence of directions from London, Somerville had asked General Wavell to spare some troops for the defence of Malta; losing the island would make interdicting the Italian supply lines even harder than they already were. Wavell had refused; the rumblings in Egypt, claiming that Britain had been successfully invaded by the Germans, required the presence of British troops to stiffen the wavering government. The Italians were moving up to the border, clearly intending an invasion.

There! He could see ships on the horizon; large ships and small ships. One of them was clearly an aircraft carrier, the others smaller; there didn’t seem to be any battleships at all. He stared; even at the several miles distant he could see that they were very different; the carrier in particular seemed to be more… advanced than the Ark Royal, which was old and damaged by the encounter with French aircraft. The other ships seemed… frail; they moved through the water with a graceful competence.

“Submarine,” a watchman shouted, as a dark shape moved through the water, heading away from them. German or Italian, it could hardly be intending hostility if it was surfacing, and then he could see the British flag on its conning tower.

“Dear god,” he breathed. The French had produced a single ‘submarine cruiser,’ the Surcouf, but the new submarine dwarfed it. He could make out its name; HMS Splendid. “At least it’s a British ship,” he said.

“Admiral, look,” Captain Holland said. Somerville ignored the breach in protocol and lifted his binoculars. The strange aircraft carrier was launching an aircraft, a strange craft shaped like a dragonfly. It hovered over the new carrier for a long moment – he wondered if something had gone wrong – and then it swooped away from its home ship, heading towards the Ark Royal.

“Good God,” Somerville said, as the details became clearer. The craft closed in rapidly; it bore a British flag on its nose and weapons hanging from tiny struts. The crew of the British carrier stared at it as its shape floated casually over the flight deck and came to a hover in midair, before settling down onto the deck.

“Keep back,” a voice bellowed. It was oddly accented; almost American. “You must not go near the rotating blades!”

Now that the blades were slowing down, Somerville could see them; powerful blades whipping through the air and providing lift. He’d seen plans for something like the craft, now it was at rest, but there had been no hint that they were ready to fly. There were so many… oddities; what were the strange bombs it carried? How did it drop them? Most chilling of all was the name beneath the craft’s number; HMS Ark Royal.

Admiral Harold Turtledove hated his dress uniform. It looked good, even with the additional European flag signifying his two years service with EUROFOR, with dark jacket, dark trousers and a peaked cap. Gold braid denoted his rank and service history, with little badges and his medals from Operation Telic, but the entire uniform was uncomfortable as anything; he would almost have preferred to meet the past naked.

Cousin Harry would have loved to see this, he thought, as the helicopter touched down neatly on the other Ark Royal’s deck; meeting his ship’s predecessor had been a shock. This Ark Royal was due to be sunk, he remembered; a submarine would finally make the oft-repeated claim of its sinking true. Somehow, he’d expected to see a black-and-white carrier; the brilliant grey hull with coloured aircraft seemed somehow unnatural. It had been one of the first purpose-built aircraft carriers; it could be adapted to support Harriers quite easily, if necessary.

“Time to go,” he said, and Captain Townley nodded. The contemporary captain had adapted surprisingly well to the future Britain, learning as much as he could in the two days he’d had before being asked to help explain the situation to Admiral Somerville. Not all of his crew had; there had already been several nasty incidents in Plymouth.

The crewman opened the hatch of the helicopter and he climbed out, ducking low under the helicopter blades. Silently, he blessed the still water; the deck felt a great deal less safe than his own ship’s deck. The faint air of unreality hung over the past – current – ship; the crew watched him warily. Wearing his own dress uniform, Captain Townley followed him, while his Marine escort and bodyguard hung back.

Admiral Somerville stepped forward. Turtledove recognised him from a picture he’d downloaded; he gave an impression of calm scholarly determination. Somerville had worked on radar, he remembered, and he hoped that he would listen. This meeting was as important as any he’d ever attended – and it had to be peaceful.

He saluted once, noting the slight differences between their uniforms, and began. “Admiral Harold Turtledove,” he introduced himself. “Commander of Task Force Reunion.”

Somerville’s head tilted; his eyes narrowed. “There is no Admiral Turtledove within the navy,” he said. “Who are you?”

Turtledove sighed. “It might help you to learn that I joined the navy in 1997, and received my Admiral’s rank in 2012, Admiral Somerville.” He paused for breath. “Admiral, there’s no easy way to say this, but my fleet is from the future.”

Somerville looked up at the helicopter. He had served in research departments; he had an open mind. Still, it was a hard fact to grasp…

“Your fleet is from the future,” he said finally. “Are you responsible for what happened to the cable, or to the big transmitters in London?”

“Not exactly,” Turtledove said, wishing that they were alone, rather than every rating on the flight deck listening in. “Admiral, we don’t know what happened… but all of Britain came through the time warp.”

There was a long moment of dead silence. “Impossible,” Somerville said finally.

“It’s true,” Captain Townley said. “I’ve been to their Britain; its fantastic and strange. Sir, Admiral, we win the war!”

“I never doubted it,” Somerville said. On the deck, the crew were smiling openly; their relief evident. Turtledove knew that he was about to shatter it. “You have something else you want to say, Admiral?”

Turtledove quietly cursed his perceptions. “Admiral, whatever’s happened to our Britain, we displaced your Britain. Admiral, all your friends and family, whoever was on Britain that fateful night… they’re all gone.”

Somerville felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Several of the crew were crying; others were staring about them, unable to comprehend what had happened. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe or not; did he have a choice?

“My family?” He asked finally. The strange new Admiral nodded grimly. “All gone?”

“I’m afraid so,” Turtledove said. “Everyone we knew outside Britain itself is gone.”

“All lost together then,” Somerville said. He fought down his fear and horror with all the discipline of years in the Navy; his crews would need him. “Admiral, how will people react?”

“Badly, I’d imagine,” Turtledove said. “Admiral, I have orders to assist you in defending what Britain holds now, but I have to wait for orders before launching any strikes against Italy.”

Somerville glared at him; anger finally bursting out of his soul. “In God’s name, why won’t you join us in attacking Italy?” He demanded. “We might have lost the war now that you’re here, and… oh God, how will the crews react?”

Turtledove looked compassionate. “Politicians,” he said, making the word a curse. “They’re still arguing about if they’re actually at war with Nazi Germany or not.”

Somerville stared at him. “I assure you that they are,” he said, a cold edge of anger entering his voice. “The Germans are preparing an invasion of Malta, and the Italians are pushing into Egypt.”

Turtledove’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not supposed to happen until the 12^th of September,” he said. “Their logistics must be dreadful; still, they were pretty bad in the first time around.”

Somerville felt a flicker of pure anger. “Are you going to be flippant all the time?” He demanded. “We’re fighting for our lives here…”

“I don’t mean to be flippant,” Turtledove said seriously. “I expect that a formal declaration of war will come soon. For the moment, however…”

He broke off as a ringing tone emitted from a device at his belt. “Excuse me,” he said, and lifted the device to his mouth. “Yes?”

“Sir, this is Captain Allan,” a voice said. Somerville realised that it was a kind of radio. “There are seven aircraft on the way here, coming from Algeria.”

“French Algeria,” Somerville muttered.

“They lose it in twenty years or thereabouts,” Turtledove said absently. He looked up, suddenly serious. “Do you want to see what we can do?”

Somerville nodded, even as Captain Holland started to issue orders to prepare for an air raid. “Don’t bother,” Turtledove said, lifting the radio to his mouth again. “Captain, order one of the ships to take them down, using missiles.”

“Aye, sir,” Captain Allan said. Turtledove pointed to the tiny fleet; Somerville realised that there were fewer ships present than he’d assumed. One of the ships was moving, coming about.

“Should we not scatter?” Somerville asked, suddenly realising that the helicopter prevented his Ark Royal from launching its own fighters.

“Why bother?” Turtledove asked. “They won’t get close enough to harm you at all?” He waved a hand at the manoeuvring ship. “HMS Portland,” he identified it. “Type-23 frigate, commissioned in 2001, and refitted in 2010 with the modified Sea Wolf missiles. Watch.”

It happened so quickly that Somerville almost missed it. A streak of fire launched from the deck of the Portland, almost like a firework, and lanced over the Ark Royal, heading east. Seconds later, there was a brilliant flash in the sky; three more missiles followed in quick succession.

“What was that?” Somerville demanded, as the crew broke into cheering. Watching the aircraft being swatted from the sky like flies had delighted them; Somerville only felt cold. “What were they?”

“Missiles,” Turtledove said. He grinned and passed over a briefcase. “Admiral, some of my ships are supply vessels, designed to supply my ships. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get into the Rock, and then decide on the next course of action.” He leered at him cheerfully. “Since we’re not allowed to seek battle, we’d better let the Italians see us, eh?”

Somerville held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, I think,” he said. “So, what happens to the war and the world?”

“Now that, Admiral, is rather a long story,” Turtledove said. “However, we have plenty of time to make the arrangements.”

10 Downing Street

Whitehall

11^th July 1940

The Ambassador to the court of King James, as he was formally called, stood up as the Prime Minister’s secretary beckoned him into the office of the Prime Minister. He lifted his eyebrows as he saw no one behind the desk, but the Home and Foreign Secretaries standing, waiting for him.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Hanover said, once the essential preliminaries had been handled and wishes for good heath exchanged. “I assume that you understand the situation, at least from your book-buying raids.”

Ambassador King didn’t blush; it was impossible for him. “I merely wish to ensure that President Roosevelt has all the facts presented to him,” he said. “Now, what have you done with our troops?”

“I imagine that once we’re certain of their reception, they can be returned,” Hanover said. “Several of them have committed suicide and we’ve stored their bodies.” He passed over a folder. “One of them requested his salary, paid into an American bank with a branch here, to be placed in trust for himself later.”

King chuckled. “I’ll try to handle it somehow,” he said. “Now, I notice that you have interned the ambassadors…?”

“We have to make contact with President Roosevelt,” McLachlan said. “With the Prime Minister unwell, we have to prepare to face a German onslaught, and we need food and aid.”

“The Prime Minister is unwell?” King enquired. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Heart problems brought on by stress, according to the doctors,” Hanover said. He sounded annoyed. “For the moment, he can handle light work, but as long as Parliament remains divided…”

“The stress level just gets worse,” King said. “I assume you want me to go to America?”

Hanover nodded, then hesitated. “You might want to send one of your staff,” he said. “Ambassador, with all due respect…”

“They might consider me an uppity nigger?” King finished. “Yes, the thought occurred to me. I am Martin Luther King’s descendent; how could it not have occurred to me?”

“And you still wish to return?” Hanover asked. “We will grant you asylum, if you wish.”

And to think I thought badly of him, King thought. “I have my duty,” he said. “I’m sure that President Roosevelt will act to change matters, now that he knows the verdict of history.”

“Perhaps,” Hanover said. “John?”

McLachlan coughed. “We need food and coal,” he said, “and we need the US navy to aid us in escorting convoys. Fortunately, we have – just – enough shipping to handle the requirements, but we don’t have anything like the escort forces required.”

King scowled. He’d been reading up on the era for the last handful of days. “Didn’t Roosevelt send you some destroyers?”

“We would need him to send crews as well,” Hanover said. “You have to ask him to do everything short of declaring war.”

King nodded. “I see what you mean,” he said. “Tell me, will you trade some technology?”

“I think so,” Hanover said. “A mobile phone network, for example, would really help America; and God knows there are thousands of slightly outdated phones around.”

King hesitated. “What sort of books can I take?”

“Anything, but nuclear science,” Hanover said. “I would advise warning him about the spies in the American nuclear program.” King scowled at him. “I’m sorry,” Hanover said, “but the Prime Minister is very anti-nuclear.”

I just bet you’re sorry, King thought. “How do you plan to get me there?”

“Ship,” Hanover said. “The Queen Elizabeth can make the journey in a week. We’d send a plane, an airliner, but the CAA warns us that they’d need an airport designed to take them.”

“I’ll ask FDR to set one up,” King assured him. “When can I leave?”

“Tomorrow suit you?” Hanover asked. “Colonel George Palter, the senior American soldier, has been asked to go with you, along with a small bodyguard of Marines. Between you, you should be able to convince them of the truth.”

“Thank you,” King said. “Britain has been a good friend to America; I will ensure that that happens again.”

Hanover allowed himself a smile as the American departed; naively heading back to the land of Jim Crow. Perhaps he wouldn’t be lynched, but he suspected that it would be a close run thing. He closed his eyes in thought; how would the Americans react to the news?

“The other ambassadors have arrived,” McLachlan said. “Shall we go meet them?”

Hanover stood up and motioned for McLachlan to lead the way. “Did you read the report from Admiral Turtledove?” He asked. “Seven French planes blown out of the sky! Damn it, what I wouldn’t give for one super-carrier!”

“Blasted French,” McLachlan agreed. The long-awaited new carriers, designed to match the best American units, had been a joint project with France – and Smith’s predecessor had allowed the French to build them. On the day of the Transition, they’d been fitting out for testing. “At least we’re getting the Invincible out of mothballs.”

The door to the meeting room loomed ahead of them, two guards waiting at the door. They opened the door in unison and the two men stepped in; the ambassadors from the nations of the British Commonwealth waited for them.

“Thank you all for coming,” McLachlan said. “I assume that by now you all understand and believe in what’s happening?”

“I wish I didn’t,” David Atwell said. The Australian Ambassador looked tired. “I’ve had calls all day from people who want to get back to reshape Australian history.”

“We’re sending you back,” McLachlan said. “We have a unique opportunity to reshape the course of history and avoid past mistakes. For some of you, your nations are already independent in all, but name; for others, India for example, the remains of the Raj still rules.”

Ajeet Homchoudhury coughed. “Can we assume that independence will be granted as soon as possible?” He asked. “The people of India yearn to be free.”

Hanover nodded. “Quite frankly, we don’t want to hold India,” he said. “However, we would like to see India improve from what it went through during Partition. Don’t you think that that’s worthwhile?”

Homchoudhury nodded slowly. “Now,” Hanover said, “we would like you to invite the leaders of your nations to Britain for a meeting, one month from now. For those nations that aren’t independent, I would like you to invite the nationalists; Gandhi, Nehru, Jinnah and those like them. Once we have some agreement, we can begin distributing technology.”

Atwell scowled suddenly. “Will you assist in defence?”

Hanover nodded. “It’s not going to be easy,” he said. “Once the news reaches Japan, they might just jump against our possessions before we can reinforce them. We can spare some aircraft for Australia; the problem is that we don’t have a large army. Any other questions?”

“Remind me never to ask for more questions,” Hanover said afterwards. He sipped a glass of malt whiskey gratefully. “They all seem to think that we’re going to re-enslave them.”

“We will be the centre of the new world order for some time,” McLachlan pointed out. “It’s natural for them to be worried about their place in that order.”

Hanover shrugged. “How did your meeting with the industrialists go?”

“Oh, we’re going to have some pretty legal problems,” Hanover said. “Those Japanese electronic factories belong to people long dead, or unborn, or at war with us, or will be at war with us.” He snorted. “We’re going to have to invent our own terminology for this sort of thing.”

“So, what did you end up with?” McLachlan asked, sipping his own drink. “What will happen?”

“I think that a new Act will be passed, basically handing ownership to the current directors, most of whom were front men to avoid European Union regulations and tariffs,” Hanover said. He chuckled. “They were delighted. Once we get a steady stream of materials, we can begin churning out consumer goods to pay for stuff in America.”

“Coming to think of it, who holds the rights to all the American movies?” McLachlan asked. “Think of what will happen once Hollywood gets its hands on movies that haven’t been made yet!”

Hanover’s pager buzzed. Absently, he picked up the phone on the wall and dialled PJHQ. “Hanover,” he said. “Has the attack begun?” He listened to the reply and felt his jaw drop. “John, the Germans have contacted us,” he said. “They seem to want to exchange the children from the crashed plane – and one adult – for the Germans currently living in the UK.”