Tweet
...continued...
Northern England
Bill Reddie had not felt any better when he had come to. In fact, he’d felt decidedly worse. The wound in his leg, which he’d only noticed when he woke up, was obviously infected and this combined with the after-effects of shock to made him groggy and feeling ill. When he had staggered out of the half-destroyed barn, he had run straight into the farmer who owned it. The farmer had taken one look at Bill’s uniform and quickly taken him inside where his wife had looked after him.
It took two weeks but Bill was finally well again. The infection in the wound had only just started to set in so that was put to heel quickly. The rest was reccuperation. And now he was on the road again, heading south towards where the battle would be.
The lack of Russian activity in the region puzzled Bill. With the capture of territory, there was generally a supply line trailing behind the forward army, keeping ammunition, personnel and medical help close at hand. But Bill only saw the occassional Russian-made truck belching its way past. Either the troops were coming in from another direction or the Russians were hedging all their bets on this one offensive.
From the destruction that Bill saw along the way, he saw what such a combined force could do. On his second day on the road, Bill came across the smoking remains of Colonel O’Donnels tank barracks. Out of the fifty tanks that the colonel had under his command, Bill estimated nearly thirty stood where they parked, now blackened and charred husks. Around the base were scattered the other twenty tanks of the colonel’s forces, with perhaps ten Russian tanks alongside them. Bill just shook his head as he walked past.
It took eight days for Bill to finally reach far enough south to hear gunfire. He was worried by this time, because he was nearing Coventry, the northern most English city; his home. Gradually over the next two days, the gunfire got louder until eventually, Bill crested the mountain range north of Coventry and was able to see what lay before the English city. And what he saw chilled him to the bone.
Coventry was burning like a massive candle. Scattered Russian troops, obviously a mop-up force, were in skirmishes with other soldiers. As Bill made his way towards the city, he saw that the majority of English fighting were women and children. People who had picked up a rifle from a dead man’s fingers and taken up the fight. Bill couldn’t blame them either. Their homes were gone; the Russians had literally raped the city of life and then moved on.
Anger seethed in the very depths of Bill’s heart. His very being cried for him to do something, anything to inflict the pain felt by his countrymen onto the Russians. But common sense prevailed. For all he knew, he was the only survivor from the battle in the Wastelands and he needed to find somebody to tell them of what he knew. He had recon data for the north that he doubted anybody else could have.
Giving one last, longing look at his home city, he started heading south again, unsure if London or anyone would still exist for him to tell his story.
Northern Fleet, North Sea
The RES Repulse looked nothing like it had done before the first engagement against the Russians. Her upper decks were peppered with holes from shrapnel. Great holes were torn in her upper decks from shell hits that had simply been roped off and sailors worked around. One of her funnels was missing from where a Russian shell had taken it off at the base. But still she sailed proudly as the flagship of the Northern fleet.
And now, Harry Jackson carried the extra rank insignia of Rear Admiral. Admiral Edward Collins had unfortunately been caught in the wheelhouse when it had taken a direct hit. His last words were to promote Harry and place him in charge of the fleet. Harry doubted that the promotion would stick if they ever got back to port, but the fleet’s orders were simple: the only way it was coming home was if it was short of fuel, ammo or not at all.
Stepping over the torn metal in the middle of the bridge deck, Harry raised his binoculars and looked at the approaching vessels. Powerful, sleek and decidedly Russian. Harry sighed.
“How many vessels do they have?” He asked.
Captain David McLennan snorted.
“Infinite sir.” He replied. “The bastards are probably running them off a production line, along with their crews.”
The vision of such an occurence seemed strangely funny to Harry and he started laughing. It became infectious and soon the entire bridge was chuckling. It was a sound that had been greatly missed since the war had started and it was welcome to Harry’s ears. If they should die now, at least that had had one last good laugh at the world.
So far, the Northern Fleet had kept the Russians at bay, but at great cost. The Western Fleet no longer existed, being disbanded to replace the losses of the Northern and Southern Fleets. The pristine tactics used in the first engagement were also gone. Now, all engagements were slugging matches, straight and simple.
It wasn’t long before the Repulse began receiving reports of sonar contacts. It was expected. The Russians always brought a large contingent of submarines with their intended invasion fleets. Even as the sonar reports came in, one of the forward destroyers was lifted bodily out of the water by an exploding torpedo. Water geysered up through the superstructure of the vessel as the resulting shockwave broke the ship’s back. Quickly, the vessel sunk below the surface.
Any despair Harry felt at that was shortlived however, when the forward batteries signified the recognised start of a battle with a deafening roar. He smiled tightly as the first rounds straddled the leading enemy battleship. Countless engagements had honed the skills of the Repulse’s gunners. With a second roar, the main batteries fired again. This time, flame and debris sprouted from the lead battleship, signifying a magazine hit. The enemy warship stopped dead in the water and began to list. Without prompting, the gunners traversed and began firing on another target.
The sinking of the Russian battleship would be the only clear cut victory for the Repulse on that day. The battered warship, even more battered after running the Russian gauntlet of fire, finally took a round that penetrated below decks and pierced the boiler room. With a screaming hiss, the boiler’s vented steam freely through the stacks and the hole below decks. Eventually, the sound died away, but the Repulse was dead in the water. Smoke billowed from her as destroyers moved in like jackals and picked at the carcass of the slain beast.
Harry stood on the bridge, watching proudly as men remained at their positions, doing enough to keep the enemy distracted from the more operational warships. But slowly and surely, the Repulse’s guns began to fall silent as her crew died at their posts or had their weapons destroyed.
Just as it seemed that the Repulse could not cause anymore damage to the enemy, one of the destroyers erupted into flame and immediately began to keel over. Even before Harry could phrase a question, a Spitfire of unknown configuration roared by overhead, closely followed by its squadron mates.
The one remaining lookout called out to him.
“Sir!” He cried. “On the horizon to the south!”
Harry lifted his binoculars and what he saw sent a thrill up his spine.
“By god!” He exclaimed. “They got the Ark Royal afloat!”
On the horizon, steaming at full speed from the south, was the unmistakable silhouette of an aircraft carrier, surrounded by the equally unmistakable outlines of English warships. The RES Ark Royal was the last acquisition made by the English Empire before its vital resources had run dry. The might warship, prolonged by construction delays and the war, was now afloat and its squadrons of Seafires were roaring amongst the Russian warships with reckless abandon. Caught with a scenario they had never faced before, one of facing two types of opponents, the Russian fleet began to scatter and lose co-ordination. The arrival of the Ark Royal’s escort only sped up the inevitable.
But the Repulse was never going to leave this battle. It’s engines were gone and the explosion of the boiler opened the hull below the sea line. Harry remained staunchly on the bridge until he was certain every living member was off of her. Then with Captain McLennon, he stepped onto the last lifeboat and saluted the mighty warship as she slipped beneath the waves for ever.
Sighing, Harry sat down. The loss of the Repulse was not the highlight of his career. England needed every battleship it could put to sea. There was no way that the Repulse would be replaced. On the bright side though, they had stopped another Russian invasion force.
Manchester Military Airbase, Mid-Northern Engand
Charlie Gray blew on the wood fire and was rewarded with a face full of smoke and soot. He coughed and spluttered before giving his room mates a withering stare that stopped their laughing.
“Laugh it up guys.” He said. “Otherwise we sleep in the cold tonight.”
Any remaining laughter died instantly. Charlie turned away, hiding his own smile. When faced with the cold of a northern england winter, Charlie almost wished he was south fighting jerry fighters again...almost.
The Russians had basically no airforce. Raids against Russian forces were proving deceptively easy, which was lulling the English forces into a sense of security. The edge the pilots had had was being dulled from lack of challenge. This worried Charlie because he knew the Russians wouldn’t ignore the need for a larger airforce for long.
With a triumphant cry, the fire lit...and the klaxon blared. Charlie stumbled to his feet and ran towards the door. Any sign of having their edge dulled was apparently gone as the English pilots scrambled for their fighters. In the dying dusk, Charlie could make out silhouettes of enemy aircraft coming from the north. Nothing in size like the Germans had, but still it was a formation.
Charlie’s Spitfire refused to start and he kept punching the starter futily. The other fighters around him spluttered to life and made takeoff runs either straight down taxi-ways or from the runway proper. Charlie pumped the starter button again, and this time he was rewarded with his engine firing to life. Grinning, he gunned his engine and began roaring down the nearest taxi-way.
“Blue Two!” Screamed one of his squadron mates. “Get clear! You’ve got a bandit bearing down on you!”
Charlie cursed as he saw the vibrating image of a Russian fighter bearing down on his aircraft in his rear-vision mirror. He quickly popped the top, climbed out and dove off of the moving plane. As he hit the ground, he heard a painful crack from his right ankle and it gave way. Luckily, he had enough presence of mind to roll away before he was clipped by the tail wing. In pain, he scrambled away as cannon rounds pounded the runway around his fighter. He was knocked flat on his face when his fighter exploded.
Biting back the pain, Charlie hobbled, limped and crawled his way to a nearby anti-aircraft gun nest.
“Need any help guys?” He asked with a wry grin. “Those bastards broke my ride. I want to return to favour.”
“Sure you can help buddy.” The nearby sergeant said. “Grab a seat behind this here gun and pull the trigger.”
Careful not to knock his ankle, Charlie climbed in behind the Bofors gun and adjusted the sight for himself.
“Ready?” He asked. The sergeant gave him the thumbs up.
“Locked and loaded.” He said. “Let ‘em have it.”
Charlie pulled the trigger and his world was obliterated by the roar of the gun. Black puffs signified where his shell were exploding. With his pilot’s skill, he lead a bomber as it approached the airbase and with a satisfying puff of an explosion, the bomber wheeled over and plummetted earthward.
Charlie let out a war cry as he kept tracking aircraft. By now, the sky around the airbase was thick with flack as the defenders were fully alert. The adrenaline pumping through Charlie’s body made him temporarily forget about the pain in his ankle.
Finally, after what seemed like eons, but was in fact only twenty minutes, the attack was over. The Russian aircraft were in full retreat being harassed by English fighters. Charlie sat back, his gun now quiet.
“Anybody got a smoke?” He asked. The sergeant smiled and handed him one.
“You kinda need it after that.” The sergeant commented.
“Yeah, I ‘spose you do.” Replied Charlie. “But I was thinking that I might not get another chance for a *** until I come out of hospital...and I want to enjoy it before the pain returns.”
The sergeant and his men laughed, as did Charlie. He’d survived by the barest of margins and it felt too good not to laugh.
London Palace, London
“Welcome Invictius.” Winston Churchill said as the Roman Ambassador entered his office. “Please, take a seat. Brandy?”
“Please.” Invictius Trenibus, First Ambassador to Caeser, replied. He nodded his thanks as Churchill gave him a decent shot of England’s finest.
“Now, Ambassador, what can I do for you?” Churchill asked.
“Mr Prime Minister, I first wish to thank you for your efforts in ensuring I made the treachourous trek across your countryside from my homeland in one piece. As you know, every country has elements that do not like to see supposed enemies meeting diplomatically.” Invictius said.
“Are we enemies Invictius?” Churchill asked. “Or merely two people caught up in the ambitions of others?”
“Ah!” Invictius said with a smile. “How I have missed your musings Mr Prime Minister. You always seem to shade what is otherwise a black and white world.”
Churchill smiled politely, but kept quiet, allowing Invictius to continue.
“But you are more right that you probably know.” The Ambassador continued, his tone changing to more serious. “To be frank Mr Prime Minister, Rome wishes to leave the Quadrant Alliance and ally herself with England.”
The statement rocked Churchill back. This was the last thing he had been expecting. Completely lost for words, his mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. Not knowing what to say or do, he gulped down his brandy in one swallow. The fire that burned its way down his throat cleared his thoughts.
“This has taken you by surprise?” The Ambassador said, obviously amused by the fact the the English leader was for once without anything to say.
“You could say that, yes.” Replied Churchill. “But let me ask, what does Rome have to gain by leaving the Alliance?”
“It is more about what we have to lose.” Invictius replied. “It is not publicly known, but Rome did not wish war against England. Rome entered the Alliance initially to protect itself from the possibility of Russia or England invading it.”
Invictius raised a hand to cut of Churchill’s protestations.
“Mr Prime Minister, what you may see as impossible is something that we saw as a real threat.” He continued. “Rome is one of the smaller nations on this planet and yet we share borders with the three powers on this continent in Russia, England and Germany. When we entered the Alliance, we did so believing that having Russia and Germany as allies would protect us from England and our allies would not turn on us.”
“But they have?” Churchill asked, curious.
“Not yet.” Invictius said. “You may have already summised this, but General Stalin has taken control of Russia through a military coup. Catherine is but a puppet Head of State. Stalin's ambitions are somewhat more destructive and single-minded that Catherines ever were.”
“What is his ambition?” Churchill enquired, now leaning forward with interest.
“He wants Europa for Russia and Russia alone.” Invictius said. “Rome is no longer safe with her allies. Bismark probably has similar ambitions to Stalin, but before they face off against each other, they will be content to share the other nations on this continent among themselves.”
Pieces were beginning to fall into place for Churchill.
“So the attempted invasions of Greece were to try and get on equal footing with Russian and Germany?” Churchill said. “In the hope that when the day did come to fight either of those two nations, you could possibly stand up and fight for yourselves?”
“Exactly.” Invictius said. “But we were wrong. The cost in man power to gain Greece as our own would not be worth the final result.”
“What does England get out of this?” Churchill asked, realising he possibly had the upper hand in this bargain.
“We will stop any further aggressive acts towards Greece.” Invictius replied. “You will get more troops because you will not required to fully man the England-Rome border.”
Invictius paused before continuing.
“And Caeser will trade you excess oil for your excess rubber.” He finished.
Churchill simply looked dumbfounded. Mentally, he thanked god, any god, for the gift that the Romans had brought him. Externally, he looked newly labotamised. Shock, surprise and relief literally rolled off of him once he regained his composure.
The Romans had never been close friends with the English Empire. In fact, diplomatic relations had barely existed until the Quadrant Alliance had been born. Many might see the Romans as untrustworthy, but there were factors at play that couldn’t be ignored, the least of which was the possibility of oil.
“Ambassador,” Churchill finally said, “I need not consult anybody on this. I formally accept Caeser’s offer and enter into an alliance with Rome. May god spare us and may we live to see happier times.”
And god hope that oil comes in time for redemption, he finished mentally.
Northern England
Bill Reddie had not felt any better when he had come to. In fact, he’d felt decidedly worse. The wound in his leg, which he’d only noticed when he woke up, was obviously infected and this combined with the after-effects of shock to made him groggy and feeling ill. When he had staggered out of the half-destroyed barn, he had run straight into the farmer who owned it. The farmer had taken one look at Bill’s uniform and quickly taken him inside where his wife had looked after him.
It took two weeks but Bill was finally well again. The infection in the wound had only just started to set in so that was put to heel quickly. The rest was reccuperation. And now he was on the road again, heading south towards where the battle would be.
The lack of Russian activity in the region puzzled Bill. With the capture of territory, there was generally a supply line trailing behind the forward army, keeping ammunition, personnel and medical help close at hand. But Bill only saw the occassional Russian-made truck belching its way past. Either the troops were coming in from another direction or the Russians were hedging all their bets on this one offensive.
From the destruction that Bill saw along the way, he saw what such a combined force could do. On his second day on the road, Bill came across the smoking remains of Colonel O’Donnels tank barracks. Out of the fifty tanks that the colonel had under his command, Bill estimated nearly thirty stood where they parked, now blackened and charred husks. Around the base were scattered the other twenty tanks of the colonel’s forces, with perhaps ten Russian tanks alongside them. Bill just shook his head as he walked past.
It took eight days for Bill to finally reach far enough south to hear gunfire. He was worried by this time, because he was nearing Coventry, the northern most English city; his home. Gradually over the next two days, the gunfire got louder until eventually, Bill crested the mountain range north of Coventry and was able to see what lay before the English city. And what he saw chilled him to the bone.
Coventry was burning like a massive candle. Scattered Russian troops, obviously a mop-up force, were in skirmishes with other soldiers. As Bill made his way towards the city, he saw that the majority of English fighting were women and children. People who had picked up a rifle from a dead man’s fingers and taken up the fight. Bill couldn’t blame them either. Their homes were gone; the Russians had literally raped the city of life and then moved on.
Anger seethed in the very depths of Bill’s heart. His very being cried for him to do something, anything to inflict the pain felt by his countrymen onto the Russians. But common sense prevailed. For all he knew, he was the only survivor from the battle in the Wastelands and he needed to find somebody to tell them of what he knew. He had recon data for the north that he doubted anybody else could have.
Giving one last, longing look at his home city, he started heading south again, unsure if London or anyone would still exist for him to tell his story.
Northern Fleet, North Sea
The RES Repulse looked nothing like it had done before the first engagement against the Russians. Her upper decks were peppered with holes from shrapnel. Great holes were torn in her upper decks from shell hits that had simply been roped off and sailors worked around. One of her funnels was missing from where a Russian shell had taken it off at the base. But still she sailed proudly as the flagship of the Northern fleet.
And now, Harry Jackson carried the extra rank insignia of Rear Admiral. Admiral Edward Collins had unfortunately been caught in the wheelhouse when it had taken a direct hit. His last words were to promote Harry and place him in charge of the fleet. Harry doubted that the promotion would stick if they ever got back to port, but the fleet’s orders were simple: the only way it was coming home was if it was short of fuel, ammo or not at all.
Stepping over the torn metal in the middle of the bridge deck, Harry raised his binoculars and looked at the approaching vessels. Powerful, sleek and decidedly Russian. Harry sighed.
“How many vessels do they have?” He asked.
Captain David McLennan snorted.
“Infinite sir.” He replied. “The bastards are probably running them off a production line, along with their crews.”
The vision of such an occurence seemed strangely funny to Harry and he started laughing. It became infectious and soon the entire bridge was chuckling. It was a sound that had been greatly missed since the war had started and it was welcome to Harry’s ears. If they should die now, at least that had had one last good laugh at the world.
So far, the Northern Fleet had kept the Russians at bay, but at great cost. The Western Fleet no longer existed, being disbanded to replace the losses of the Northern and Southern Fleets. The pristine tactics used in the first engagement were also gone. Now, all engagements were slugging matches, straight and simple.
It wasn’t long before the Repulse began receiving reports of sonar contacts. It was expected. The Russians always brought a large contingent of submarines with their intended invasion fleets. Even as the sonar reports came in, one of the forward destroyers was lifted bodily out of the water by an exploding torpedo. Water geysered up through the superstructure of the vessel as the resulting shockwave broke the ship’s back. Quickly, the vessel sunk below the surface.
Any despair Harry felt at that was shortlived however, when the forward batteries signified the recognised start of a battle with a deafening roar. He smiled tightly as the first rounds straddled the leading enemy battleship. Countless engagements had honed the skills of the Repulse’s gunners. With a second roar, the main batteries fired again. This time, flame and debris sprouted from the lead battleship, signifying a magazine hit. The enemy warship stopped dead in the water and began to list. Without prompting, the gunners traversed and began firing on another target.
The sinking of the Russian battleship would be the only clear cut victory for the Repulse on that day. The battered warship, even more battered after running the Russian gauntlet of fire, finally took a round that penetrated below decks and pierced the boiler room. With a screaming hiss, the boiler’s vented steam freely through the stacks and the hole below decks. Eventually, the sound died away, but the Repulse was dead in the water. Smoke billowed from her as destroyers moved in like jackals and picked at the carcass of the slain beast.
Harry stood on the bridge, watching proudly as men remained at their positions, doing enough to keep the enemy distracted from the more operational warships. But slowly and surely, the Repulse’s guns began to fall silent as her crew died at their posts or had their weapons destroyed.
Just as it seemed that the Repulse could not cause anymore damage to the enemy, one of the destroyers erupted into flame and immediately began to keel over. Even before Harry could phrase a question, a Spitfire of unknown configuration roared by overhead, closely followed by its squadron mates.
The one remaining lookout called out to him.
“Sir!” He cried. “On the horizon to the south!”
Harry lifted his binoculars and what he saw sent a thrill up his spine.
“By god!” He exclaimed. “They got the Ark Royal afloat!”
On the horizon, steaming at full speed from the south, was the unmistakable silhouette of an aircraft carrier, surrounded by the equally unmistakable outlines of English warships. The RES Ark Royal was the last acquisition made by the English Empire before its vital resources had run dry. The might warship, prolonged by construction delays and the war, was now afloat and its squadrons of Seafires were roaring amongst the Russian warships with reckless abandon. Caught with a scenario they had never faced before, one of facing two types of opponents, the Russian fleet began to scatter and lose co-ordination. The arrival of the Ark Royal’s escort only sped up the inevitable.
But the Repulse was never going to leave this battle. It’s engines were gone and the explosion of the boiler opened the hull below the sea line. Harry remained staunchly on the bridge until he was certain every living member was off of her. Then with Captain McLennon, he stepped onto the last lifeboat and saluted the mighty warship as she slipped beneath the waves for ever.
Sighing, Harry sat down. The loss of the Repulse was not the highlight of his career. England needed every battleship it could put to sea. There was no way that the Repulse would be replaced. On the bright side though, they had stopped another Russian invasion force.
Manchester Military Airbase, Mid-Northern Engand
Charlie Gray blew on the wood fire and was rewarded with a face full of smoke and soot. He coughed and spluttered before giving his room mates a withering stare that stopped their laughing.
“Laugh it up guys.” He said. “Otherwise we sleep in the cold tonight.”
Any remaining laughter died instantly. Charlie turned away, hiding his own smile. When faced with the cold of a northern england winter, Charlie almost wished he was south fighting jerry fighters again...almost.
The Russians had basically no airforce. Raids against Russian forces were proving deceptively easy, which was lulling the English forces into a sense of security. The edge the pilots had had was being dulled from lack of challenge. This worried Charlie because he knew the Russians wouldn’t ignore the need for a larger airforce for long.
With a triumphant cry, the fire lit...and the klaxon blared. Charlie stumbled to his feet and ran towards the door. Any sign of having their edge dulled was apparently gone as the English pilots scrambled for their fighters. In the dying dusk, Charlie could make out silhouettes of enemy aircraft coming from the north. Nothing in size like the Germans had, but still it was a formation.
Charlie’s Spitfire refused to start and he kept punching the starter futily. The other fighters around him spluttered to life and made takeoff runs either straight down taxi-ways or from the runway proper. Charlie pumped the starter button again, and this time he was rewarded with his engine firing to life. Grinning, he gunned his engine and began roaring down the nearest taxi-way.
“Blue Two!” Screamed one of his squadron mates. “Get clear! You’ve got a bandit bearing down on you!”
Charlie cursed as he saw the vibrating image of a Russian fighter bearing down on his aircraft in his rear-vision mirror. He quickly popped the top, climbed out and dove off of the moving plane. As he hit the ground, he heard a painful crack from his right ankle and it gave way. Luckily, he had enough presence of mind to roll away before he was clipped by the tail wing. In pain, he scrambled away as cannon rounds pounded the runway around his fighter. He was knocked flat on his face when his fighter exploded.
Biting back the pain, Charlie hobbled, limped and crawled his way to a nearby anti-aircraft gun nest.
“Need any help guys?” He asked with a wry grin. “Those bastards broke my ride. I want to return to favour.”
“Sure you can help buddy.” The nearby sergeant said. “Grab a seat behind this here gun and pull the trigger.”
Careful not to knock his ankle, Charlie climbed in behind the Bofors gun and adjusted the sight for himself.
“Ready?” He asked. The sergeant gave him the thumbs up.
“Locked and loaded.” He said. “Let ‘em have it.”
Charlie pulled the trigger and his world was obliterated by the roar of the gun. Black puffs signified where his shell were exploding. With his pilot’s skill, he lead a bomber as it approached the airbase and with a satisfying puff of an explosion, the bomber wheeled over and plummetted earthward.
Charlie let out a war cry as he kept tracking aircraft. By now, the sky around the airbase was thick with flack as the defenders were fully alert. The adrenaline pumping through Charlie’s body made him temporarily forget about the pain in his ankle.
Finally, after what seemed like eons, but was in fact only twenty minutes, the attack was over. The Russian aircraft were in full retreat being harassed by English fighters. Charlie sat back, his gun now quiet.
“Anybody got a smoke?” He asked. The sergeant smiled and handed him one.
“You kinda need it after that.” The sergeant commented.
“Yeah, I ‘spose you do.” Replied Charlie. “But I was thinking that I might not get another chance for a *** until I come out of hospital...and I want to enjoy it before the pain returns.”
The sergeant and his men laughed, as did Charlie. He’d survived by the barest of margins and it felt too good not to laugh.
London Palace, London
“Welcome Invictius.” Winston Churchill said as the Roman Ambassador entered his office. “Please, take a seat. Brandy?”
“Please.” Invictius Trenibus, First Ambassador to Caeser, replied. He nodded his thanks as Churchill gave him a decent shot of England’s finest.
“Now, Ambassador, what can I do for you?” Churchill asked.
“Mr Prime Minister, I first wish to thank you for your efforts in ensuring I made the treachourous trek across your countryside from my homeland in one piece. As you know, every country has elements that do not like to see supposed enemies meeting diplomatically.” Invictius said.
“Are we enemies Invictius?” Churchill asked. “Or merely two people caught up in the ambitions of others?”
“Ah!” Invictius said with a smile. “How I have missed your musings Mr Prime Minister. You always seem to shade what is otherwise a black and white world.”
Churchill smiled politely, but kept quiet, allowing Invictius to continue.
“But you are more right that you probably know.” The Ambassador continued, his tone changing to more serious. “To be frank Mr Prime Minister, Rome wishes to leave the Quadrant Alliance and ally herself with England.”
The statement rocked Churchill back. This was the last thing he had been expecting. Completely lost for words, his mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. Not knowing what to say or do, he gulped down his brandy in one swallow. The fire that burned its way down his throat cleared his thoughts.
“This has taken you by surprise?” The Ambassador said, obviously amused by the fact the the English leader was for once without anything to say.
“You could say that, yes.” Replied Churchill. “But let me ask, what does Rome have to gain by leaving the Alliance?”
“It is more about what we have to lose.” Invictius replied. “It is not publicly known, but Rome did not wish war against England. Rome entered the Alliance initially to protect itself from the possibility of Russia or England invading it.”
Invictius raised a hand to cut of Churchill’s protestations.
“Mr Prime Minister, what you may see as impossible is something that we saw as a real threat.” He continued. “Rome is one of the smaller nations on this planet and yet we share borders with the three powers on this continent in Russia, England and Germany. When we entered the Alliance, we did so believing that having Russia and Germany as allies would protect us from England and our allies would not turn on us.”
“But they have?” Churchill asked, curious.
“Not yet.” Invictius said. “You may have already summised this, but General Stalin has taken control of Russia through a military coup. Catherine is but a puppet Head of State. Stalin's ambitions are somewhat more destructive and single-minded that Catherines ever were.”
“What is his ambition?” Churchill enquired, now leaning forward with interest.
“He wants Europa for Russia and Russia alone.” Invictius said. “Rome is no longer safe with her allies. Bismark probably has similar ambitions to Stalin, but before they face off against each other, they will be content to share the other nations on this continent among themselves.”
Pieces were beginning to fall into place for Churchill.
“So the attempted invasions of Greece were to try and get on equal footing with Russian and Germany?” Churchill said. “In the hope that when the day did come to fight either of those two nations, you could possibly stand up and fight for yourselves?”
“Exactly.” Invictius said. “But we were wrong. The cost in man power to gain Greece as our own would not be worth the final result.”
“What does England get out of this?” Churchill asked, realising he possibly had the upper hand in this bargain.
“We will stop any further aggressive acts towards Greece.” Invictius replied. “You will get more troops because you will not required to fully man the England-Rome border.”
Invictius paused before continuing.
“And Caeser will trade you excess oil for your excess rubber.” He finished.
Churchill simply looked dumbfounded. Mentally, he thanked god, any god, for the gift that the Romans had brought him. Externally, he looked newly labotamised. Shock, surprise and relief literally rolled off of him once he regained his composure.
The Romans had never been close friends with the English Empire. In fact, diplomatic relations had barely existed until the Quadrant Alliance had been born. Many might see the Romans as untrustworthy, but there were factors at play that couldn’t be ignored, the least of which was the possibility of oil.
“Ambassador,” Churchill finally said, “I need not consult anybody on this. I formally accept Caeser’s offer and enter into an alliance with Rome. May god spare us and may we live to see happier times.”
And god hope that oil comes in time for redemption, he finished mentally.
or has he accomplished all he needs to?
Comment