Second Chance

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Apotheoses or Nemesis

Government House

Canberra, Australia

23^rd September 1940

Prime Minister Menzies awoke from a fitful sleep – the news of the Japanese military movements having alarmed him – when his mobile phone rang. Of all the technologies and gadgets that the future Britain had introduced, he disliked the mobile phone the most. Even before, he had very little privacy, but now anyone who had his number could awake him at will.

“God help us when these become popular,” Curtin had warned, and Menzies was forced to agree with him. The noise the phone made was appalling; a strange theme tune that no one would explain to him. Just who were the Simpsons anyway?

“Menzies,” he said, and listened. The caller was General Blamey, the commander of all of the Australian forces on Australia – and nominal commander of the handful of future personnel from Britain – and one of the very controversial individuals in government.

“I see,” he said finally. His wife lifted his head and he smiled as reassuringly as he could at her. “I’ll be right down.”

“Bob?” Pattie Menzies, his wife, asked.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Menzies reassured her. “I’ll be back soon.”

His orderly helped him to pull on his clothes, a simple grey business suit, and brush his hair. He tended to brush his hair forward; a vain attempt to escape the stern features that had earned him the nickname ‘Ming the Merciless.’ As soon as he left the room, two of his guards fell in beside him, ensuring his safety. All of the government members were protected, following a warning that important or would-be important figures might be assassinated by the Japanese.

“It’s clear,” one of the guards reassured him, as he moved ahead to glance into the war room. Menzies pulled himself upright, put a noble, Prime Ministerial expression on his face, and marched into the room. The military men saluted; the civilians smiled.

“Prime Minister,” Ambassador Atwell said. Menzies wasn’t certain how he felt about the future man; he was helpful, but he could be disturbing, as well as a critic of the ‘white Australia’ policy. “I’m sorry that you were disturbed.”

“It was at my suggestion,” General Blamey said. An aide passed Menzies a cup of the future coffee, one of the first items sent from Britain via the new air bridge. “We’ve been receiving reports that indicate that the Japanese are on the move.”

“There have been a number of clashes in the Thailand-Malaya border, which is near Singapore,” Colonel Hamilton said. The future Briton was calm and composed. “General Flynn has ordered the execution of Operation Picador, the plan to defend Singapore. We’re also tracking Japanese aircraft entering the Dutch East Indies.”

Menzies nodded. Japanese troop transports had been seen near the East Indies for weeks; unfortunately the moribund Dutch administration, still trying to work out to whom they owed allegiance with the disappearance of the Government-In-Exile, had been reluctant to allow the Commonwealth to move troops into Java. An infantry regiment was dug into Papua New Guinea, and another in the Solomon Islands, but no one expected them to hold.

“Have they said anything to us?” Menzies asked, studying the computer map. The first of the nuclear submarines was due in three days; with its help perhaps the Japanese could be prevented from landing on Australia itself.

“Nothing at all,” Atwell said. “Did you think they would?”

Menzies ignored the insult. “I assume that the air force has been alerted?”

General Blamey nodded. “The RAAF and the New Zealanders have been placed on alert,” he said. General Blamey, at least, had shown no hesitation in using the advanced technology to improve his communications. “Unfortunately, you know what the air force is like at the moment…”

Menzies scowled. The Royal Australian Air Force was weak; the promised shipload of advanced aircraft was still in transit. The troops that had returned from the desert had brought the former Desert Air Force back with them, but no one thought that the handful of Gladiators and some Swordfish would stand up to the might of Imperial Japan.

“The Contemporaries can’t adapt to the new jets,” Hamilton said, and the room temperature dropped noticeably. A Hurricane could be flown by a commercial pilot; one of the super-fighters from the future needed years of training to fly. “Even if we had them, we don’t have anywhere to fly them from.”

Menzies nodded grimly. Work was proceeding on a large airfield for the advanced jets, but there was so much to do and so little time to do it in. “I assume that London has been alerted?”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Hamilton said. A console chimed an alert; Japanese aircraft were rising from French Indochina, heading for Borneo. Others were heading down towards the Dutch East Indies. “Sir, it looks like bombing raids for the Dutch East Indies.”

Blamey scowled. “I bet you anything that the Dutch are going to roll over and let the Japanese in,” he said. “You know what they’re like.”

The console chimed again. New contacts were appearing; red icons heading… towards Australia. “We have a major bombing raid in progress,” Hamilton said dispassionately. “Targets… Darwin, Perth, Cairns… perhaps Brisbane itself.”

“So that’s where their carriers have gone,” Blamey said grimly. “The air force is going to have to defend four different cities.”

Menzies rounded on Hamilton. “Why didn’t your equipment see them coming?” He demanded. “If you can track aircraft over Singapore…”

“We are not tracking aircraft over Singapore,” Hamilton said calmly. “Radar stations on Singapore itself are tracking them for us, and transmitting their results to us. Radar stations on the islands we’ve chosen to defend are contributing as well, but we don’t have a perfect net and even if we did we wouldn’t necessarily see a carrier that’s over the horizon.”

Menzies let out a breath. “And do your magic guns work on the same principle?”

“Yes, but we put them around Canberra,” Hamilton reminded him. “There weren’t enough to secure all of the cities, not yet.”

Against the rising sun, streams of Japanese aircraft fell out of the sky and swooped down on harbours and airfields near Darwin, attacking the Australian ships in the harbour with grim determination. The attack was savage, barely deterred by the desperate fire of the ships and the harbour defences, and mauled part of the Royal Australian Navy. Transports and commercial ships were blown out of the water; the Japanese left the port in ruins.

A second flight swooped down on the nearby airfield, slashing away at its facilities, including the extended runway for 2015 aircraft, and targeting the aircraft hangers. The Japanese pilots were astonished to realise that the RAAF was serious about deploying the Wirraway training aircraft, but it didn’t slow down their reflexes. Wiping out the RAAF was one of their missions; slowly the Australians were wiped out of the sky.

A shame that we could not invade directly, Admiral Ozawa thought. His posting to command of the three carriers that made up part of the Carrier Striking Force had astonished him; apparently he showed the proper virtues in the future. Admiral Nagumo had been sent to command the battle-line; the battleships that would assist the capture of Singapore. One of his carriers was out of reach, positioned to attack Perth, but the other two were a powerful striking force.

“The aircraft have finished rearming,” his assistant reported. Ozawa nodded; the aide bowed and waited for orders. Ozawa considered; attack Australia again, or attack the British possessions in the Indies?

“Order them to continue their attacks on the Australian Navy,” he ordered, checking the reports from the spotter aircraft. Seven of Australia’s known capital ships – cruisers – had been reported destroyed or sunk; the others hadn’t been located. The RAAF had fought bravely, the men reported, but had been destroyed. Only five aircraft had been lost.

“Signal from the Soryu,” a midshipman said, running in and bowing. “She’s sunk two more Australian ships and damaged the harbours.”

“Excellent,” Ozawa said. “Now we’ll finish the job. Once the Indies are in our hands, we’ll invade that vast land and turn it into a home for us all.”

Singapore

Malaya

23^rd September 1940

General Flynn threw himself to the ground, rolling out of bed, as the explosion sounded. He cursed as he grasped blindly for his radio; taking a catnap had clearly been a worse idea than he had thought. Had the Japanese managed to sneak a battleship up to bombard Singapore?

“General,” Colonel Higgins snapped. “General?”

“I’m awake, damn it,” Flynn snapped back. “Report!”

“Sir, a Japanese spy smuggled one of their tiny mortars near the airfield,” Higgins said grimly. Flynn felt a sinking sensation in his chest. “The guards caught him, but not before he fired off three shells and killed seven of the Harriers.”

“Shit,” Flynn swore. “What about the situation on the ground?”

“The SAS teams are having to move carefully,” Higgins said. He waved a hand at the big map on Flynn’s wall. He’d been pointedly refused a room at the formal hotel on the Peak District, where all the upper-class Englishmen lived, and so he’d moved into a small room in the military headquarters. “The Japanese are pushing forward with considerable vigour, and they’re been sending aircraft out to bomb the defence lines. We have reports of air attacks on forces all across the Indies and Australia. I think that this is it.”

“When was the last time a British force prepared to face an attack?” Flynn asked absently. He cursed; losing seven of his nine Harriers was a shock. “The Falklands? Never mind; order everyone to alert and tell Governor Thomas that I want to see him.”

“Yes, sir,” Higgins said. “Rules of Engagement?”

“Alpha-two, I think,” Flynn said. “Shoot if they see the whites of their eyes. Tell them that the SAS are to prepare for Operation Picador; everyone else is to prepare to meet an attack.”

“Yes, sir,” Higgins said. His pager buzzed. “Sir, aircraft are inbound from French Indochina, heading for Singapore.”

Flynn nodded. “Understood,” he said. “I have to take command; order the air defences to engage the enemy, cleared to fire without warning.” He snorted. “Do we still need the legalese?” Higgins shrugged. “Target-lock them and fire at will.”

Flynn heard the chitter-chitter-chitter of the radar-guided machine guns as the Japanese aircraft closed in on the island. The Governor flinched, even underground in the bunker, and winced as the first explosion shook the ground.

“A Zero went down,” a technician called out, when Flynn cocked an eyebrow at her. “The enemy aircraft have been wiped out. Some minor damage to the docks; one bomber crashed into the Peak District.”

“Send the fire brigade,” Flynn ordered, and scowled. Did Singapore even have a fire brigade? “What’s it like on the streets?”

“Panic,” Higgins reported. “The police have been clashing with Chinese and native factions for the last hours; a lot of weapons have been smuggled in and are being used on us. Some of it is opportunistic looting, but we’re still being killed.”

“I should declare martial law,” Thomas said. He’d become a great deal more agreeable when the attacks had begun. “Order everyone off the streets.”

Flynn had considered that. “It won’t work,” he said. “We’re already losing control; we’d have to bring back a division to control the streets, and we can’t afford it.”

“Can we afford not to bring them back?” Thomas asked. The report of a white woman being raped had shocked the upper class, who’d been pressuring the governor to bring the police to the Peak District and protect them and them alone. “We have to…”

“We have to stop the Japanese,” Flynn said. He scowled, considering the problem. Far too many of the attacks were motivated by the desire for revenge, to kick the Europeans while they were down; the most successful Chinese businesses hadn’t been attacked. “My troops are not equipped for crowd control.”

“The Council is already demanding that I take action to protect their property,” Thomas insisted. His voice was becoming more plaintive. “People are dying, important people…”

“Everyone is important,” Flynn snapped. “Colonel, kindly put the Governor in protective custody.”

Ignoring Thomas’s protests, Higgins escorted the Governor to one of the police stations. Flynn scowled at the map; he needed a peaceful rear area, but at the same time he understood the racial frustration that had burst out of the ethnic population. Was it time for Operation Clean Sweep?

“Colonel, can we pull Clean Sweep off in the next few hours?” He asked, as Higgins returned. “That is, without lowering the defences enough to pose a real problem?”

“It’s about bloody time,” Higgins said. “Half of the men are very… unhappy about those stone age bastards.”

Flynn smiled for the first time. “Answer the question,” he said.

Higgins took a moment to consider. “I don’t think that any of them would put up a fight,” he said. “We’d use the infantry reserve to do the act, all 2015 forces, not Contemporary. The only problem is that some of the other locals may take it as permission to start something.”

Flynn scowled. “There are times that you daren’t belch without someone taking it as a sign to start something violent,” he said. “Colonel, take personal command and carry it out, gather up all of them and place them in the POW camp. Then inform everyone that we’ve declared martial law; and then we’ll decide what to do next.”

“Yes, sir,” Higgins said. “We’ll round all of the aristocrats up, no bother at all.”

“I think the Japanese mean business,” Corporal Plummer muttered, as another row of lorries moved past along the road to Kuala Lumpur. Historically, it had taken the Japanese nearly ten weeks to reach Singapore and take the island; the way they were going it suggested five weeks, perhaps less.

“Not a chance,” Captain Dwynn muttered. The Japanese advance was rapid because they hadn’t run into any opposition. The SAS had been ordered to change that; the team had crossed nearly thirty miles to reach their current location.

“When do we hit them?” Sergeant Vash asked grimly, as some Japanese tanks appeared, moving along the road as fast as they could. “Those would make good targets, sir.”

Dwynn nodded. “Everyone, choose a tank and prepare to hit it,” he said, using his helmet to distribute firing targets. Invisible beams of laser light reached out for the Japanese convoy, which now included lorries and marching troops. “Fire!”

The rocket-propelled grenades lanced out from their position; bursts of machine gun fire from Vash peppered the Japanese troops. The RPGs were basic weapons; they couldn’t hope to damage a modern tank, but they would destroy the pathetic Japanese tanks with ease. A chain of explosions shattered the Japanese tanks, bringing the convoy to an abrupt halt.

“Bastards are disciplined,” Chang muttered, as the Japanese infantry began to return fire. Single rifle shots cracked through the jungle, seeking out their position.

“Hit the lorries,” Dwynn ordered calmly. None of the Japanese bullets had come close to them yet. The RPGs fired as one; basic weapons that could be reloaded very quickly. More explosions billowed up as the Japanese started to spread out and approach their position. Vash slaughtered a Japanese patrol by sweeping his machine gun across their bodies, but they kept coming. If they’d had AK-47s, like the Jihadis, the SAS team might have been in trouble.

“Time to leave,” Dwynn said, and tossed a series of fragmentation grenades down at the advancing Japanese. Screams and explosions rang in the air as the grenades detonated; the SAS team slipped into the jungle down paths they had explored previously. After bursts of firing, the Japanese didn’t attempt to follow them.

“Looks like we scored a success,” Vash said, as Dwynn transmitted a report to Singapore. Details of the other SAS teams were sparse; it looked as if there had been a handful of other successes, but not enough for the British to become complacent. He smiled; all of the nobs from Singapore had been rounded up and put out of the way.

“Oh, they’ll be pissed about that,” Chang said, when Dwynn told them the news. “Think about it; all of the coloured people taking their place.”

Vash chuckled. “I wonder how it’s going to end up,” he said.

General Yamashita glared down at the series of reports and swore vilely. One of the weaknesses of the Japanese army, its main one, in his view, was that it never invested enough attention to its supply lines. The generals, all of whom knew about the spirit and little of the material of war, planned to make do with as little supplies as possible. The British, with the benefit of seventy-five years of hindsight, were slashing his supply lines apart; small parties of men destroying lorries and refusing to fight directly.

“General, we are winning,” his aide-de-camp protested. Yamashita ignored the idiot; on the map, the advance looked as if it was succeeding brilliantly, but he knew better. For one thing, the enemy hadn’t come out to fight; there was no way to win without destroying the enemy army. Instead, there were the damnable sneak raids on his supply lines, and an army that had slowed down.

“I assume that the bridge has been repaired,” he said, referring to a bridge that had been destroyed with a tank on it. The aide bowed. “See to it that it is guarded night and day.”

“Hai,” the aide said, bowing. Yamashita scowled; some of his infantry had attempted to catch the shadow-warriors. Only one British death, a black man wearing strange clothing, had been reported, near the main base. In exchange, nearly a thousand Japanese soldiers and coolies had been killed – and more had been killed by the strange aircraft.

He scowled as the scream of a jet aircraft echoed in the sky. The two aircraft – the forces had only seen two of them – had developed a skill at hit-and-run that was demoralising sections of his army. He had to keep Zeros orbiting above his bases, just to prevent raids from damaging even more of his precious supplies. Despite the fact they were slower than the jets the Germans had reported, they were careful not to engage in combat with the Zeros.

He looked down at the map again. Everywhere, Japan seemed to be winning; Burma, the Dutch East Indies, Malaya… but he suspected that it was an illusion. The other shoe had not yet dropped.

“Order Maskato to press forward,” he said. In a week, assuming that they could keep up the pace, the city of Kuala Lumpur would fall… and then they would reach the main defensive line. The tactical air units, heroes of the battle at Nomonhan, were already working on it… and taking heavy losses. Perhaps by the time Yamashita’s forces reached the line, it would be broken… but Yamashita suspected that it would be anything, but broken.