Second Chance

Chapter Fourteen: Plans and Preparations

Permanent Joint Headquarters

London, United Kingdom

18^th July 1940

Admiral Somerville stepped inside the PJHQ’s main briefing room and shook his head. On the surface, it seemed far less luxurious than the rooms that Sir Dudley Pound had commanded the Royal Navy from, but the amount of information at the fingertips of the men and women who worked there was astonishing. Even more astonishing was the sexual equality; this Royal Navy had female captains, female admirals, even a female First Sea Lord. Admiral Joan Grisham, he’d discovered since being flown to the future Britain, didn’t take any crap from anyone.

His guide and minder, Alistair Lewis, waved cheerfully at a chair and offered to bring coffee. Somerville shook his head; he felt as if he needed a stiff drink. He declined; the PJHQ banned alcohol and cigarettes with equal favour. Somerville had wanted to smoke his pipe and had received a lecture on the dangers of cancer as a result.

“Can you put up a map of the Mediterranean?” He asked, and Lewis leapt to obey. The young officer – he suspected that Lewis was from MI5 or whatever it was called in this strange Britain – clicked the controls on the massive table and a perfect map of the Mediterranean Sea appeared in front of him. By now, he was getting used to the computers, even to use the basic interface with limited confidence.

He blinked. He’d finally worked out what was missing. “No ships?”

“You are cleared for more access than that,” Lewis assured him, and typed more commands into the system. The map changed; the location of the ships of the 2015 naval units and the 1940 units appeared in front of him. Somerville devoured it with more eagerness than he’d felt when he saw some of the women of the strange era; the map was useful! The 2015 fleet, the surface units at least, were working with the 1940 units to escort some units from Palestine to Malta. The submarines were probing the Italian coast; the war cabinet had ordered that they abstain from offensive operations until the outcome of the Battle of Britain was decided.

Somerville smiled. With such technology, he had no doubt that Germany would be defeated. The Germans and their Italian lapdogs were working hard to reinforce Libya, shipping as much as they could across the Mediterranean, in support of Mussolini’s push into Egypt. The Italians had reached Mersa Matruh, lashed by the force of their German ‘advisors’ and Mussolini’s desire for glory, despite Field Marshall Graziani’s natural indolence. General Sir Archibald Wavell, the commanding officer in Egypt, hadn’t believed in the future Britain until the Ark Royal II – as it was now being called – landed a flight of Harrier aircraft at Alexandra.

“Ah, Admiral Somerville,” a voice said from behind him. “I understand that you wanted to see me?”

Somerville turned around to see the Prime Minister, although through some strange legal argument he wasn’t exactly the Prime Minister. He wasn’t certain what to make of Hanover; there was no question that he was a powerful and dignified man, but he seemed to have the attitude of a Chess player, rather than the brusque determination that Churchill had shown.

“Yes, I did,” he said finally, and waved a hand at the map. “Prime Minister, why are we not attacking?”

Hanover took a seat opposite him. “The remainder of the PJHQ staff and the COBRA committee will be here in ten minutes,” he said absently, not answering the question. “I would prefer not to subject you to the media inquisition, which is why the meeting is being held here.”

Somerville stared at him. It took a brave man to argue with Churchill; he wasn’t certain about Hanover. “Prime Minister, I would… appreciate an answer.”

“We cannot mass produce the weapons we need,” Hanover said. “You’re right; we could have inflicted the agony we inflicted upon Kiel upon Taranto; we could have sunk most of the Italian fleet. However, to do so would burn up some missiles that we could hardly spare – until we knew for certain how the battle of Britain would go. That’s the first reason; the second is more complex.

“Italy wasn’t too keen on the war in the first place,” Hanover said. “We were hoping that once the devastation that we inflected upon Germany became clear, they would withdraw; in fact we offered them a peace agreement. Unfortunately” – he tapped the controls; a tactical map of Italy with some German army units appeared – “the Germans have taken steps to prevent an Italian defection from their camp.”

“The Germans will not respect Italy’s neutrality,” Somerville agreed. “It’s been a surprise that they respected Spain’s neutrality and didn’t march through them to get to Gibraltar.”

“That might have changed,” Hanover said. “We’re reading all of the German communications through the airwaves – even through some bastard slipped them a warning about Enigma – and they’re clearly planning something to add to the pressure upon us over England. Given Graziani’s natural laziness, Egypt is clearly one place where they’re putting on the pressure, and then removing Gibraltar would cripple us. They could place the same guns that shelled England there and close the straits to us.”

“Your ships have less armour than ours,” Somerville observed. “I do have another question; the books your… guide loaned me talked about how the war ended, with atomic weapons being deployed against Japan. Can you not use them against Hitler; end the war that way?”

“I’d be out of office in an instant,” Hanover said dryly. Somerville gaped at him. “More seriously,” Hanover continued, “we would ruin Germany and a good part of Europe in the process, and ruin any chance of building a new world order. Finally, if we expand one on a convenient target, we will show the rest of the world that an atomic bomb is possible – and point the existing atomic programs in the right direction.”

He grinned up at Somerville. “We’re not going to lose, Admiral,” he said. “Now, what did you think of the new London?”

Terrifying, was what came to mind. “It’s strange,” he said. “Every so often, there’s somewhere that looks familiar, and then it’s… not. There are so many strange people around… Indians and Africans, and strange buildings and shops.” He placed his head in his hands. “It doesn’t feel like home, Prime Minister; my wife and children are gone – dust – or lost in the time bubble that did this. Sir, what’s going to happen with the men in Egypt; they’ll have lost everything because of this?”

“The scientists are still arguing over what did this to us,” Hanover said. “They mentioned something called an Alien Space Bat” – Somerville giggled – “and looked, more practically, for physics experiments that might have done this to us. They found nothing, but a strange burst of interference on all channels at midnight. If Q or something like him did this, we have no way of asking him to put us back.”

“Q?” Somerville asked, as the doors opened and the staff entered. “Who’s he?”

“Never mind,” Hanover sighed, standing up and moving to the chair at the head of the room. Somerville stood up and saluted Admiral Grisham – they’d decided that she was clearly senior and she’d nearly bitten his head off when he’d tried to treat her with kid gloves – and she sat down next to him.

Captain Stirling wasn’t having a good war, if the truth were to be told. Britain was under attack daily – and he was left running the Oversight Committee. Once they’d gotten over the shock, every decent and halfway decent historian and social scientist had descended on Northwood, offering help and support – often for being included in the classified loop. Being breveted to Major – a rank he’d never be allowed to keep unless he held the brevet rank for at least three years – didn’t soften the blow; not everyone thought he’d deserved it.

“I call this meeting to order,” General Cunningham said. The Chief of Joint Operations was acting as Chair; Hanover had declined the honour. “Major Stirling, if you would be so kind as to do the daily briefing…?”

Stirling stood up. At least General Cunningham made ‘Major’ sound like a genuine rank. “Thank you, General,” he said. “Over Britain, the Germans launched a smaller air raid that normal, employing around five hundred aircraft of various types. Another attack is expected this afternoon, but we hacked down seventy of the attackers, in exchange for five Jaguars and one Tornado. There was no attempt to attack Edinburgh after what happened yesterday, when a pilot had the bright idea of deploying a FAE bomb against the flight.

“On the plus side of the ledger, we can now be certain that an invasion is… unlikely to be even attempted,” he said, displaying a map. “We struck all the invasion ports in Belgium and totally wrecked the places. Barges, E-boats, even the handful of transports; we killed most of them. That means that we can free up some of the army for duty elsewhere, such as the Mediterranean.

“The search for the remaining prisoners has drawn a complete blank,” he continued. “We took the risk of flying an AWACS close to the German coast and amplifying the standard mobile phone system, but there was no reply. We’ll keep probing, but I suspect that unless the Germans slip up or we get lucky, we won’t find them at all. On a similar basis, Hitler survived our attempt to get him; we intercepted a broadcast from him hours after the Reichstag was destroyed. I suspect that most of the Nazis have moved house by now; we seem to have injured Admiral Lutjens, but he might have been the only high-ranker to be hit.”

There was a slight snigger as his speech defect pronounced ‘ranker’ as ‘wanker.’ McLachlan coughed. “Major, can you be certain that it was Hitler broadcasting?”

“Voice print matches and he referred to the attack in detail,” Stirling said. “Unless he’s precognitive, he’s still alive.”

“Bother,” Hanover commented mildly. “Carry on.”

Stirling adjusted the map again. “From Admiral Turtledove, the Italians have been pushing into Egypt and heading for Cairo, having stripped most of their divisions to support a frontal attack at high speed. They’re moving troops and support equipment to Libya as fast as they can, despite our half-hearted interdiction efforts. The Germans have also moved several units into Italy itself; analysis suggests that they are intended to keep the Italians on side. General Sir Archibald Wavell would like to launch a counter-attack and has been preparing; unfortunately many of the units he was supposed to have got… lost when we arrived.

“In addition, the Italian forces are continuing into East Africa and pushing our Contemporary forces there hard,” he said. “I suspect that Hitler is trying to open as many fronts as he can; there are suggestions that the Germans have been strong-arming Franco to act against us in Gibraltar.”

He altered the display again; a summarisation of the briefing. “As yet, its impossible to be certain what Stalin knows about what’s happened, although the known presence of Soviet spies in Germany means that he was almost certainly know what the Germans know,” he said. “There has been some contact with American radio hams through radio – our own radio hams at work – but that depends on atmospheric conditions. The Oversight Committee recommended securing a relay station on Iceland, now that the prospect of Germany seizing the island has been negated.” He smiled wryly. “In conclusion, thank you for listening.”

“Thank you,” Cunningham said. “Prime Minister, the First Sea Lord and I have prepared a plan to conclude the war in the Mediterranean as quickly as possible,” he said. “Bernie?”

“Having ended the threat of invasion, the 2^nd Armoured Division, the 1^st Mechanised Division, the 15^th Infantry, the 52^nd Highland Brigade, and a handful of other units can be released from defence duty,” General Bernie Ascot said calmly. “As much of the expeditionary equipment has been pre-prepared for our NATO responsibilities, we can have that force in Egypt in five to six days, using a mixture of our own and Contemporary ships. In addition, No. 1 squadron of Harriers from the United Kingdom can be freed up and transported on merchant ships, as we did in the Falklands War. Once they’re there, under the command of General Robert Flynn who will be technically subordinate to Wavell, they will…”

“Excuse me,” Somerville said, who’d been tapping at his console, “but I believe that we should sort out the question of command. With all due respect to General Flynn, it is General Wavell who commands the forces in Egypt and holds the confidence of the men.”

“And a fine job he made of Operation Crusader,” Hanover said sincerely. “Admiral, I understand your concern, and I understand your feelings, but General Wavell knows nothing of the capabilities of the forces we possess. We have to smash the Italian forces, taking them prisoner if possible, and then push on into Algeria and cut the Germans out of North Africa entirely.”

“DeGaulle will make a stink,” Somerville said.

Hanover grinned. “He was in London at the time of the… Transition,” he said. “He’s gone. Dear me.”

“So, what are we going to do with Algeria?” Somerville asked.

“Politically, our objective will be to form a democratic government that will join the British Commonwealth,” Hanover said. “We might not get it, but our priority will be to stay long enough to establish a stable government and then leave. Besides, we’re doing the French a favour; no Algerian War in this timeline.” He smiled. “Admiral Grisham?”

“We expect to have the troops in Egypt on the 24^th at the latest,” Grisham said. “By that time, we’ll have reinforced Admiral Turtledove with some extra Harriers and several submarines and frigates. On the 24^th, we’ll destroy the Italian Navy and seal North Africa off from Europe, and then proceed on the ground.”

Somerville coughed. “We could do that now,” he said. “Why not interdict them now?”

Hanover smiled at Stirling, who’d come up with the idea. “We’re going to need some cannon fodder… ah, Free Italy Army,” he said, and chuckled. “The more they send over, the more who’ll surrender to us.”

“I see,” Somerville said thoughtfully. “Sir, what about the Japanese?”

“Good point,” Hanover agreed. “The sooner we handle the Mediterranean problem, the sooner we can prepare to face the Japanese. Admiral, please make the arrangements as quickly as possible.”

“Meeting adjourned,” Cunningham said quickly, as Hanover rose. “God save the King.”

Jackson Industrial Estate

Glasgow, United Kingdom

18^th July 1940

The seven men in the room called themselves, when they were inclined to give themselves a name, the Legitimate Businessmen. The Jackson Industrial Estate, a modern computer-manufacturing plant, comprised a completely legitimate cover for the men, who handled one of the largest organised crime syndicates in Europe. More than a few of the ships owned by the Jackson Industrial Estate had been used to smuggle material; more than a handful of the staff of the Estate, who had very little to do with the companies that used the Estate for genuine reasons, worked for the syndicate.

Jim Oliver allowed himself a smile as he finally passed through the inner security fence and into the main meeting room. The ELINT check, fully as advanced as the best American equipment of their home era, revealed no sign of any surveillance devices; Oliver had half-expected the RAF personnel to have tried to bug him, but there was nothing. Even if they had, he was going to his workplace; he was one of the shareholders – and one of the directors of the Legitimate Businessmen.

“You have returned,” a man said. It bugged Oliver that he’d never been able to identify his origins; Allan Kasper seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. His career within the criminal underworld proved his bona fides, but Oliver still wondered. “I get nervous when you insist on doing the courier work yourself.”

Oliver shook his head. “I do have to hold a day job,” he said. “Nothing attracts investigation than living with no visible means of support. One day, I will retire somewhere, but not for a while.”

Kasper nodded. “I do trust that you were not followed,” he said. “This may be your legitimate place of work, but you have been in the public eye recently.”

“Some RAF bastard needs a pair of cement leggings,” Oliver said angrily. “How dare he leak my name to the Press?” Kasper shrugged. “Even if I was followed to a place I should be going to anyway, the reporter could hardly have gotten inside, could he?”

“No,” Kasper agreed. “Shall we proceed?”

The other men nodded, waving Oliver to a seat. “We have a problem,” Kasper said. “We were expecting delivery of a consignment of Black Aleph from America, which will be seventy-five years late.” No one smiled; Kasper wasn’t known for joking. “The net result is that we are seriously overextended; we are holding many asserts and we might well have lost our income.”

Oliver smiled; they would be just ready for his pitch.

“Already, our creditors, some of the organisations in Scotland, are demanding their money or their supplies or designer drugs,” Kasper said. “We can give them neither.”

A long silence fell. “I believe that I have a solution to our cash flow problem,” Oliver said, and explained the deal he’d made with Roth. There was a long silence.

“You’re talking about treason,” Hanford Fox said finally. The man spoke in a strong Irish brogue, name notwithstanding. “In case you haven’t noticed, the bastards have been blowing hell out of the English. If we supply them with information, they’ll use it against us and we’ll…

“Carry on,” Kasper ordered. “Tell me your plan.”

“There are three… sections of information that the Germans want,” Oliver said, who’d been giving the matter some careful thought. “They want historical information, defence information and technical information. By now, they already have a good idea of what is to come; they know the outline of history.” He smiled; he’d spent a day in the library researching. “If we tell them who was involved in the July Bomb Plot, they would wipe out a fair percentage of their competent generals and commanders.”

Kasper made the closest noise he ever made to a laugh. “Therefore we would be helping the government to defeat the enemy,” he said. “Continue.”

Oliver bowed in his general direction. “We should not supply them with any form of defence information,” he said. “By now, they will know a great deal about our defences; I see no reason to expand what they have.” He smiled. “That would introduce the possibility that they might win.”

Fox nodded. “That would be treason,” he agreed.

“As for technical information, we could give them a lot that would be useless to them,” he said. “We could share information on their own later weapons, which are still outmatched by the RAF. We could give them the plans to the T-34; they never quite matched that tank until it was too late.”

“I do not believe that we have a choice,” Kasper said finally, as atonal as ever. “Mr Oliver, please prepare some… information for the Germans. I trust you do have a way of getting it to them?”

Oliver nodded. “I’ll get on it at once, Mr Kasper,” he said, and relaxed.