Second Chance

Chapter Forty-Three: The Gates of Hell

10 Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

4^th October 1940

The party had started almost spontaneously when the news hit, appearing in Hyde Park and spreading across Central London. It was amazing; the police swiftly provided some protection, but it was all good-natured. Bankers and politicians cavorted with hippies and students, dancing madly to several different bands at the same time. Local businesses provided a supply of cheap food and drink, and the party just grew and grew. As night fell, the BBC was broadcast on the big screens that were only used for New Year under normal circumstances; over the next few weeks the stocks of morning-after pills would fall dramatically.

“Everyone's happy,” McLachlan observed. “I'm sure I spotted the honourable MP for Blackburn in that crowd of…”

Hanover smiled wryly as McLachlan ran out of words. The crowd of naked people were enjoying each other; so far it all seemed to be consensual. The Police Superintendent had ordered the police to step in if that changed, but for the moment they were being allowed to proceed.

“They're celebrating,” he said. “It's not as if we've had anything… real to celebrate before, is it? Liberating North Africa doesn't compare to sinking the pride of the Japanese Navy.”

“I suppose,” McLachlan said. “You heard the report from America?” Hanover shrugged. “They declared war on Germany – not on Japan – and it's going to be at least six months before they can contribute anything substantial to the war. They've shifted some of their Pacific Fleet towards the Atlantic, where we can move our ships to the Pacific once they take over convoy escort duties, but of course that's not where we need them.”

Hanover shrugged. “All in good time,” he said. “What about the hunt for the mystery submarine?”

“PJHQ made hunting it their priority,” McLachlan said. They shared a long look. “The general consensus is that it was the submarine that was intercepted a day after the American ship was sunk; it was in the right place if it really pushed itself. As it was killed by one of our helicopters, its impossible to be certain.”

“As long as it satisfies the Americans that we avenged their deaths,” Hanover said, unconcerned. “And their politics?”

“It's nothing like as unanimous as it was after Pearl Harbour,” McLachlan admitted. “Ambassador Quinn has been trying to gage opinion – and of course there are the strands of pre-Transition operatives in the United States that we can pick up and use ourselves – but not everyone is happy with the war. They're very anti-German, but not for the same reasons; the loss of the ship convinced a lot of them that Germany had to be stopped.

“The Poles and the Jews are the most strident on the war,” he continued. “Ambassador King has been running the recordings of the extermination operation, which is still continuing. And then there are those who are Finnish or Norwegian, or even French and German. On the other side, there are those who believe that Japan and Russia are the real threats, and want the United States to concentrate on them. And finally, there are the people who want to solve the United States' internal problems, or don't want to fight the Germans, or distrust us and our intentions.”

He smiled wryly. “The good news, of course, is that Ambassador Quinn can now report on other matters, rather than relying on underhandedness.”

They shared a second look, before heading into the war room. Only a handful of the most important players had arrived for the meeting; it had been arranged at short notice. Hanover nodded politely to the room and took the chair.

“I think that we should disperse with the formalities,” he said. “I have been invited to visit the Palace" – his mouth twisted slightly – “and His Majesty doesn't like it when matters are not followed as he wills. Admiral, please would you inform Admiral Turtledove that he and his crews have been nominated for any number of medals, and a knighthood for some of the Captains.”

Admiral Grisham nodded. “The fleet has arrived at Australia,” she said. “Once we get the AWACS up and running – now we have a proper air force and air defence network for Australia – we can free up some of the submarines for hunting missions.”

“All in good time,” Hanover said smoothly. “General Cunningham?”

“The Japanese are about to hit the defence lines near Singapore,” Cunningham said. “The Japanese managed to sail a ship near the island and bombard it, but the Contemporary guns drove it off before it could do too much damage. General Flynn has requested a submarine to support the defenders… Admiral?”

“The Turbulent is on its way,” Grisham said. “It does take time to move submarines, you know.”

“As long as it doesn't see a tasty target and get distracted,” Cunningham said. Hanover tapped the table gently. “General Flynn is confident of success, but Major Stirling has found something alarming.”

Stirling coughed. “We finally managed to get some working intercepts on German communications,” he said. “Although we are not as able to use it as I would like us to be, we have some communication taps via the equipment we gave that dumb reporter – it seems she's having an affair with a Nazi – and we have some taps placed in landlines by the SAS.”

“We lost that sub that way,” Hanover muttered. The cover story had led to some elements of the Royal Navy being mocked; that had led everyone to believe it. He chuckled suddenly. “I think we'll keep the information about the affair to ourselves, for a while.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Stirling said, rather hesitatingly. “The intercepts, however, have allowed us to piece together a picture of the German plans for the remainder of this year. They seem to have concluded – correctly – that until the United States can gear up, they're still facing us alone.”

“Good thinking,” Hanover said crossly. “Its so much easier if the enemy lacks knowledge of some of their own future mistakes.”

“Over the past week, they've been building up in Bulgaria,” Stirling said. “The Soviets seem to have raised no objections, and, of course, they control everywhere else in that region. Their plan, basically, is to drive through Turkey and add to the confusion in the Middle East.”

“And give us a leaking sore,” Hanover said. “That would put back our other plans by… how much?”

“I'm not sure,” Stirling confessed. “It depends on what the Turks do; both the Soviets and Germans are rattling sabres. From our limited contacts, it seems that the Turks are wavering; the Germans are promising them Mosul if they agree and the horrors of an invasion if they refuse.” He scowled. “A German attack, particularly with the Turks involved, could really mess the Middle Eastern front up.”

“That leaves Operation Ploesti,” McLachlan said. Something like a sigh ran around the table. “Do we have a choice?”

“The Party would not be happy,” Barton said grimly, “but I wish I could second the motion.”

How did it become a motion? Hanover wondered. “Are you certain that you understand what this means?” He asked. “We would be changing a policy that was instituted by Prime Minister Smith, for very good reasons.”

Barton scowled. His party was against it. “I'll take the heat from my party if you take the heat from yours,” he said. Hanover smiled; Barton's opposition would be on the record. It was a neat way of supporting it, by letting the Government know that he wouldn't give them grief over it, and at the same time avoiding being knifed in the back by his own party.

“It seems to be unanimous,” Hanover said wryly. “I'll issue the orders at once.”

Defence Lines

Malaya, nr Singapore

4^th October 1940

General Flynn allowed himself a sigh of relief as he inspected the defence lines. Nearly two weeks of very hard work had gone into the lines, using all the help the suddenly released resources of Singapore could provide, and he was confident that it would hold. The SAS had done a marvellous job of holding the Japanese up – although he suspected that flaws in Japanese logistics would have had the same effect – and the defence line had been the reward. A carefully designed wall, one designed to bleed the Japanese white, along angles they had to attack.

He who would be strong everywhere is strong nowhere, Flynn remembered, and frowned. Tiny SAS units, backed up by hastily-recruited auxiliaries from the coloured population of Singapore, would engage the enemy if they tried to move through Jungle history told them would not be as impregnable as it looked. Sheer determination, bloody-mindedness and not a little ruthlessness had carried General Yamashita nearly four hundred miles, despite the best efforts of the SAS.

Flynn chuckled. Doubtless the Japanese General was enjoying his victory. The conquest of Kuala Lumpur, which had hardly been defended, had been reported in the Japanese press as a great victory. Even the Germans were getting in on the act; the British reporter in Germany had faithfully recorded an hour-long speech from Goebbels on the subject of Japan's inevitable victory. Arial reconnaissance had reported dozens of heavily guarded trucks being moved down the road; the SAS had reported that the Japanese were taking no chances with them.

“Sir?” Colonel Higgins said. Flynn glanced up. “The Japanese are launching bombers from French Indochina – and the audio-discrimination programs are reporting engine noises. I think its about to start.”

“I wish we were back in the desert,” Flynn said absently. “What about Singapore?”

“The new Governing Council seems to be doing ok,” Higgins said. “They're determined to prove that they can be trusted with the vote. They've got people working on repairs after that battleship took a crack at us, and we've warned them of an incoming air raid.”

Flynn nodded and headed back to his headquarters. “Did you ever see that picture, that joke picture of the trenches?” He asked. A perfect division, with a single budge on the German side, and the British headquarters near the line.” He chuckled. “And them, the same picture a few years later, but with the bulge on the other side… and the British headquarters well away from the line.”

“No, sir,” Higgins said.

“Well, live or die, I'm going to do it with my troops,” Flynn said. He passed three guards and a machine gun position, and then stepped into the headquarters. The massive coordination system, an American-designed system, was already at work; Japanese artillery had started shelling a British position. This time…

“Start counter-battery fire,” Flynn ordered. “Full radar tracking… now!”

General Yamashita swore under his breath as another battery of Japanese guns, the light howitzer, exploded in a blast of fire. The main weapons were being targeted; every time they fired they were picked off neatly by a handful of British shells. The weapons were horrendous; he was losing guns for nothing! A flight of Zeros roared by overhead, chasing the strange British craft, and he cursed. He'd heard a private rumour, a very private rumour, that the Navy had suffered a defeat, but he hadn't been able to confirm it.

“They want a victory,” he snapped, and glared down at the map. “Order the infantry and aircraft to go in,” he ordered. “They have to take out their guns!”

Sergeant O’Neal cursed as the Japanese planes swooped down, their engines screaming as they targeted the British guns. Bombs fell and his machine gun chattered back, targeting Japanese aircraft as they tried to swarm over the British position. There was a massive crash as a Japanese aircraft slammed headfirst into the jungle; the blast setting off its ammunition.

“Jesus, what a clusterfuck,” he shouted, temporally deafened. He looked up, at the burning jungle, and saw Japanese soldiers coming at him, sneaking through the defence lines.

“No, you fucking don’t,” he shouted, and turned the machine gun on them. They fell, or threw themselves to the ground, and he laughed – just before the grenade landed near his position. The explosion blew him into little bits.

“The enemy has made a breakthrough, in sector seven,” Higgins snapped. “I’m ordering the reserve to engage!”

“Do so,” Flynn ordered, studying the map. It made sense; the Japanese would be trying to outflank the defences on the road. He watched grimly; did his opposite number know the dangers?

General Yamashita smiled as the first reports came back; they had penetrated the defence line and were attacking the outpost blocking the road. The terrain wasn’t perfect, but he gave the order anyway.

“Order the tanks to advance,” he ordered. “All guns are to concentrate on reducing that antitank position.”

Tank Commander Nishizumi gave the order and his little tank moved forward, followed by five others. The Type 89 Otsu tanks, medium tanks, were neat and manoeuvrable, but he was grimly aware of their weaknesses. The Soviet armour had been far more powerful and capable, but the Japanese Army had been unwilling to listen to the veterans of the tank brigade’s only major conflict.

“Forward,” he snapped, as the signalman waved them out of the compound; a former manor-like house owned by a corrupt headman. The sound of battle grew closer as the tanks motored on, cheered by the infantry, while the air force flew overhead. He allowed himself a moment to relax, then leaned forward as the enemy position came into view.

“Gunner, load high explosive,” he ordered, sighting the weapon directly on the position. The infantry had overrun it, but they hadn’t forced the British out; concentrating instead on preventing the British from repairing the hole in their lines. “Fire!”

The little tank shuddered as the shell blasted through the air and slammed into the British position. Nishizumi chuckled, and then narrowed his eyes in concern; two British infantrymen were pointing a large gun at one of the tanks. A streak of fire lanced out of the gun, and a tank exploded.

“Kill them,” Nishizumi snapped, and swept the machine gun across the British position. Three more little rockets screamed back at them from out of the jungle… and Nishizumi’s world vanished in a blast of fire.

Captain Dwynn stared down through the vision-engaging goggles on his helmet, tracking the Japanese movements. Through a combination of suicidal bravery and training no Jihadi could match, the Japanese had forced their way through the defence lines in two places. They died like flies, but they pressed on.

“Time to engage them?” Chang subvocalised. “If we don’t stop them soon.”

“I think its time,” Dwynn said. The Japanese supply line ran over a bridge, and the Japanese had taken care to build three separate pontoon bridges from local boats, thus avoiding a crush at the end of the bridge. Several dozen lorries were moving up to the bridge.

“The rockets are ready,” Sergeant Vash assured him. “We can fire the minute you command it.”

“Thank you,” Dwynn said absently. The Japanese had built several more bridges further down the river, and SAS teams were closing in on all of them. They waited… and waited… until all of the teams were ready.

“Fire,” he commanded, and Vash hit the switch. Twelve rockets, each carrying a pound of high explosive, struck the bridge and the lorries that were trying to cross it. The explosion surpassed his wildest hopes; the lorries had been carrying shells for the guns.

“Good God,” Chang breathed, as burning men leapt into the water. “We just cut a chunk of the Japanese Army off from any reinforcements.”

“Perhaps,” Dwynn said, as bullets started to crack through the trees. “Time to leave, I think,” he said. “We did good today.”

Corporal Jenkins let go of the clutch and drove the Saracen Armoured Personnel Carrier forward, steering to the sound of the guns. The Japanese knew that the British had no tanks – but a 2015 APC possessed more firepower than many 1940 tanks. Jenkins steered forward, ignoring the bullets pinging off the armoured, and gave the command to fire.

The Saracen had been extensively modified during the insurgency in Iraq and the various missions that had ended the Terror War. This Saracen was armoured against anything short of a main battle tank, and possessed gun ports to protect the soldiers inside when they fired, to keep the all-important death toll down. The hail of machine gun fire swept over the Japanese, steering into the path of their desperate attempt to fight the Saracen vehicles, and slaughtered them.

Jenkins had hoped to meet a Japanese tank – he’d been wanting to try the rocket launcher – but none appeared. Contemporary forces followed the Saracens, securing the breach in the lines and trying to capture Japanese prisoners. After the first few Japanese surrendered and then opened fire, Jenkins simply ordered them all killed. The counter-attack pressed on, and the Japanese had nothing to stop them. Only one Saracen was knocked out by a grenade-stuffed bag that was thrown under the wheels.

General Yamashita knew that the game was over. The sudden appearance of the British tanks – he cursed the intelligence that had informed them that there were no tanks in the region – had defeated his forces. He knew that he could keep fighting, but what was the point? Until he managed to deploy some anti-tank weapons that were actually worth the name, the British held the advantage.

“Order the men to fall back,” he ordered, knowing that it would lead to a disaster. Countless tons of heavy equipment would be lost in the jungle; there was no way that it could be carried over the river. “Special detachments are to destroy anything that could be useful to the enemy.”

He watched as his men carried out the final order. He was proud of them; they retreated in good order, firing at imprudent pursuers with a determination that he found hard to fault. The British didn’t follow with any determination; they worked to secure their defence lines before following the Japanese. The commander of the detachment at Kuala Lumpur would take command of the army; there were some supplies in the city that could not have been bought to the disastrous battle. General Yamashita, however, had one final duty.

Carefully, gently, he laid a cloth on the ground, drawing his sword with a single motion before kneeling on the cloth. “I die for the emperor,” he said, almost regretful that there was no one to hear him, and stabbed himself in the chest.

Oil Mining Complex

Ploesti, Romania

4^th October 1940

Oberfuehrer Hauptman looked up in the sky as the night fell over Ploesti. The massive oil complex, source of most of Germany’s oil, was a prize target… and the SS had been entrusted with the task. Hauptman, a capable and vigorous officer who had been rejected by the Wehrmacht, had borrowed as many weapons as he could, ringing Ploesti in a web of steel. Even the partisans hadn’t dared challenge his defences; Ploesti was impregnable. Everyone knew that.

There was something moving in the night sky. He reached for his binoculars and looked up, seeing a star move. For a second, he didn’t understand; stars didn’t move, and then he realised that it was… something out of the world. The British, he realised, as the… whatever it was fell closer. He looked up at it again, caught by its simple majesty… and then the world went white around him.