On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  Might be a waste of good torpedoes at this point, Eric thought. He realized he was starting to pass into mental shock from all the carnage he had seen that day.

  “I’m the last man, sir,” a dazed-looking commander with round features, black hair, and green eyes was saying to Captain Gordon. “At least, the last man we can get to.”

  “I understand, Commander Keir,” Gordon said quietly. “I regret we do not have the time to try and free the men trapped in her engineering spaces.”

  “If we could have only had another hour, we might have saved her,” Keir said, his voice breaking. It was obvious the man had been through hell, his uniform blackened by soot and other stains that Eric didn’t care to look into too closely.

  It’s never a good day when you become commander of a vessel simply because no one else was left. From what he understood, Keir had started the day as chief of Hood’s Navigation Division. That had been before the vessel took at least three 15-inch shells to the bridge area, as well as two more that had wiped out her gunnery directory and the secondary bridge.

  Captain Gordon was right—she was a very powerful warship. Unfortunately that tends to make you a target.

  “Commander, you are certain that…” Gordon started, then collected himself. “You are certain His Majesty is dead.”

  “Yes sir,” Keir said. “His Majesty was in the conning tower with Admiral Pound when it was hit. The Royal Surgeon positively identified His Majesty’s body in the aid station before that was hit in turn. We cannot get to the aid station due to the spreading fire.”

  “Understood. His Majesty would not have wanted any of you to risk his life for his body,” Gordon said.

  “I just…” Keir started, then stopped, overcome with emotion.

  “It is not your fault lad,” Gordon said. “Her Majesty will understand.”

  Gordon turned and looked at the Exeter’s clock.

  “Very well, we are out of time. Stand by to fire torpedoes.”

  “Torpedoes report they are ready.”

  “Sir, you may want to tell your torpedo officer to have his weapons set to run deep,” Keir said. “She’s drawing…”

  There was a large explosion aboard Hood as the flames reached a secondary turret’s ready ammunition. Eric saw a fiery object arc slowly across, descending towards the Exeter as hundreds of helpless eyes watched it. The flaming debris’ lazy parabola terminated barely fifty yards off of Exeter’s side with a large, audible splash.

  “I think we do not have time for that discussion,” Gordon said grimly. “Fire torpedoes!”

  The three weapons from Exeter’s starboard tubes sprang from their launchers into the water. Set as a narrow spread, the three tracks seemed to take forever to impact from Eric’s perspective. Exeter’s torpedo officer, observing Hood’s state, had taken into account the battlecruiser’s lower draught without having to be told. Indeed, he had almost set the weapons for too deep a run, but was saved by the flooding that had occurred in the previous few minutes. In addition to breaking the battlecruiser’s keel, the triple blow opened the entire aft third of her port side to the ocean. With the audible sound of twisting metal, Hood started to roll onto her beam ends. She never completed the evolution before slipping beneath the waves.

  CHAPTER 2: AFTERMATH

  We should never despair, our Situation before has been unpromising and has changed for the better; so I trust, it will again. If new difficulties arise, we must only put forth New Exertions and proportion our efforts to the exigency of the times.—George Washington

  Cape Town, South Africa

  0700 Local (0100 Eastern)

  26 September

  “Well now I know things have gone to Hell,” a familiar voice said from just behind Adam. “There are bloody Americans here, and Lord knows they always portend something very, very bad.”

  Adam whipped around from his breakfast so quickly he nearly fell out of his chair. Stumbling to his feet, he made sure the speaker was whom he thought it was, taking in the man’s tall, lanky frame and sandy brown hair before wrapping him in a giant bearhug.

  “Braddon Overgaard, how in the hell are you doing?!” he asked. “Pull up a chair. I was just finishing breakfast, courtesy of His…Her Majesty’s government.”

  “Yes, it is a bit difficult to change that, isn’t it? Although, if certain individuals get their way you may be reverting back to what you started to say,” Overgaard replied.

  Adam stopped, fork halfway to his mouth.

  “What? I sort of thought that line of succession thing was pretty set,” the American said.

  Overgaard had a seat at the table across from Adam.

  “You can tell that you have been stuck aboard some tub for the past two weeks,” Overgaard said.

  “Hell, we hadn’t even heard about the Battle of the Regicide until we were a couple hours out from harbor yesterday,” Adam said. “What the hell else has happened?”

  “The Duke of Windsor has returned to London.”

  Adam recognized the title but was not immediately able to recall why that was important. Seeing his perplexed look, Overgaard saved him the trouble.

  “The Duke of Windsor is also known as King Edward,” the South African officer said quietly.

  Adam raised an eyebrow.

  “I must confess I do not completely understand the Royal Family despite spending the last nine months in its employ,” Adam said carefully. “Didn’t he abdicate the throne because he had a similar problem to King David?”

  Overgaard gave a thin smile.

  “While I am sure Ms. Simpson would be flattered by the comparison to Bathsheba, that wasn’t exactly what happened,” Overgaard replied.

  “Close enough,” Adam replied around a mouthful of eggs. “Basically the man got the chop, as you guys put it, for taking up with another man’s wife.”

  A couple of South African men at the table to their left turned and gave Adam a glance that was hardly favorable. Feigning obvliousness, Adam continued.

  “I mean, I seem to recall there being an Act that basically said he wasn’t the King of England anymore, correct?”

  Overgaard nodded.

  “Yes, but in light of recent events the Halifax government is attempting to reverse the Abdication Act and restore King Edward to the throne,” Overgaard said.

  Adam shook his head in amazement.

  “Is that legal?” he asked.

  “Well therein lies the rub,” Overgaard said bitterly. “When the current sovereign is in another country that sort of prevents many people from raising a fuss.”

  “You know, I thought things couldn’t get much worse a couple weeks ago,” Adam said grimly. “Now I realize that I suffered from a large dose of ignorance.”

  “Well, Her Majesty is only sixteen,” Overgaard continued. “There is a push from Prime Minister King for all the Commonwealth nations to recognize Her Majesty as the current sovereign with Churchill as head of a reformed Commonwealth government. But…” Overgaard said, then stopped suddenly and shrugged as if to say he had no idea what would happen. Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress, a rather plain-looking brunette, interrupting to ask Overgaard if there was anything he’d like to eat.

  “So how did you get back here?” Adam asked after the woman had left Overgaard water and gone to make him his eggs benedict.

  “Caught a liner back,” Overgaard said simply. “The Germans accorded us non-belligerent status.”

  “What?!”

  “Prime Minister Halifax, for all his faults, negotiated a decent treaty. Between you and me, if you’ve read that bastard Hitler’s book you’d realize that France and England were a sideshow to the Nazis,” Overgaard said, taking a sip of his water. “Hitler only attacked us to clear his backside before he went east. Hell, he didn’t even technically attack us—just went after Poland.”

  Adam made a face at that one.

  “Sorry mate, but as much as I know you love those Polish blokes you flew with, it’s not
like either us or the French really kept their promises to them,” Overgaard said. “I mean, between the Germans and that bloody bastard Stalin, I’m not so sure the men who got away should not just consider themselves lucky and call it a day. Realistically, there is probably nothing worth going back for, and even if the rest of your countrymen decide to grace this war with their presence, it is highly unlikely anyone will be prying Poland from the Germans and Soviets anytime soon.”

  “Would you leave someone like Himmler or Stalin in charge of your home?” Adam asked incredulously.

  “There comes a point when you have to accept reality,” Overgaard said. “My grandfather fought against the English during the Boer War. His commando swore they would fight until the death. Well, you notice the Boers aren’t in charge and my grandfather is still out on my family farm.”

  “The English never compared to anything the Nazis or Soviets have done,” Adam snapped.

  “Really? Remind me again where the term concentration camp comes from?” Overgaard replied easily.

  Adam felt his face warm.

  “The English never did what the Nazis have just done,” he seethed. “They didn’t even do something as horrible as Guernica.”

  “But would they have if they’d had the capability?” Overgaard asked simply.

  Adam opened his mouth to protest, then stopped.

  He has a point. Unfortunately… Adam mentally conceded as the waitress returned with Overgaard’s order.

  “Now the difference is the English would not have gassed or burned about forty thousand people today,” Overgaard continued after taking a bite of his eggs. “Well, at least they would not have until a couple of weeks ago. Which is part of the reason Himmler and Halifax were able to come to an agreement, albeit one that is probably going to make you Yanks a bit upset.”

  “I haven’t even seen a newspaper talking about this treaty yet,” Adam said. “So please, do tell.”

  “That’s because Prime Minister Smuts is studiously avoiding starting any discussion of it in Parliament,” Overgaard replied quietly. “You are probably not aware, but my government was split on whether or not we should enter the war. There are those among us who do not necessarily disagree with the Nazis’ philosophy regarding a master race.”

  Adam put his fork down, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

  “Thankfully the number of those who absolutely feel that way is relatively small, but I think that was part of the reason Himmler allowed for the immediate release of all Commonwealth forces,” Overgaard said. “The man does not want to give Her Majesty’s government any assistance by upsetting Australia, New Zealand, Canada, or South Africa.”

  “What about any forces from the Occupied countries he could lay his hands on?” Adam asked bitterly. “I suppose they were shot out of hand?”

  “Strangely enough, no. Himmler offered them a choice—they could basically serve in the Nazi armed forces for three years or be imprisoned for six,” Overgaard replied.

  “What?!” Adam exclaimed.

  “You’d be surprised how many takers the Germans had,” Overgaard continued. “Not many Poles, of course…but there were a fair number of so called ‘Free French’ who seemed to be a whole lot less willing to spend the next six years in a German prison camp rather than three years someplace else.”

  “Can’t blame them, really,” Adam sighed. “His Highness and Halifax persuading Churchill to call for a truce sort of screwed the French. Add on shooting up their fleet back in 1940 and I would start to wonder just how good of allies the British were.”

  “There’s only so much that one nation by herself can do. It’s not like you Americans were giving any indications of coming into the war anytime soon.”

  “Too many people still think we did enough last time,” Adam replied. “In their mind, we don’t need dead Americans cleaning up Europe’s mess again.”

  “If your country waits much longer, they will be facing all of bloody Europe,” Overgaard said resignedly. “Or at least a large European coalition led by Germany. But I’m obviously preaching to the choir.”

  “Yes, and this particular singer is thinking it might be a good idea to keep moving along,” Adam said.

  “Well you’re about nine months too late for China,” Overgaard observed. “At least, not unless you want to be shooting up Warlord A so that Warlord B can take over his territory then proclaim his fealty for the Nationalists.”

  “Yes, well, no one saw the Japanese leaving. I wasn’t following that close enough to know what in the hell happened there,” Adam observed. “One minute it looks like we’re getting ready to go to war with them last December, Churchill sends four more battleships to Singapore, and next thing you know they go and attack the Russians.”

  “In retrospect I think they would like to have that decision back,” Overgaard observed wryly.

  “Getting an entire army annihilated will do that,” Adam observed. “What did the Russians say they were going to call Manchuria, Manchukuo, or whatever it was?”

  “I don’t remember,” Overgaard said. “I just remember that one minute they were on the offensive against the Russians, then four months later that Soviet general’s accepting their surrender in South Manchuria.”

  “Zhukov was his name,” Adam said. “Looks like he studied blitzkrieg at the same school the Germans did.”

  “I don’t care if he learned it from Mars himself, he sure used it to kick the Japanese right out of China. My father told me just the other day that there was some rumor their entire cabinet committed suicide over the loss of face,” Overgaard replied, putting a fork of eggs in his mouth.

  “Well, I lost track of the situation about the same time you did, and for the same reasons,” Adam replied, his voice haunted. “Something about the Luftwaffe trying to kill us.”

  Overgaard nodded grimly as he chewed on his eggs.

  “So where do you think you’ll go then?” the South African asked after swallowing.

  “According to the consulate here the isolationists are talking about stripping all of us of our citizenships,” Adam replied. “There’s even some poor bastard who the Germans shot down over the Atlantic that they’re trying to have banned from ever reentering the country.”

  H.M.S. Prince of Wales

  Halifax Harbor, Canada

  1000 Local (0900 Eastern)

  26 September

  So this is how an ant feels in a room full of elephants, Eric had time to think to himself as he walked into the admiral’s day room of the H.M.S. Prince of Wales. Scanning the room, he saw more gold braid and stars than he had ever witnessed in his life in one place. That the civilian dignitaries present made the aforementioned constellation seem rather dim by comparison was more than enough to make a junior officer pray for invisibility.

  “Speaking of Leftenant Cobb, here he is right now,” Vice Admiral John Tovey, commander of Home Fleet, stated.

  Oh look, the ant is now expected to play the trombone for everyone, Eric thought as all eyes turned towards him. There were five individuals in the large compartment besides Vice Admiral Tovey. Eric immediately recognized Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox and Admiral Ernest J. King from the pictures that Ranger’s captain had required every one of his officers to memorize prior to coming aboard. The other four star standing with them, on the other hand, Eric had no clue about. The tall, dark-haired man regarded Eric with a neutral expression, as if he was weighing and measuring the aviator. The other civilian in a dark blue suit similar to the one worn by Secretary Knox was standing beside the mystery full admiral. Lastly, sitting in a chair next to the four standing Americans was none other than Winston Churchill, the man puffing contentedly on one of his trademark cigars with one hand, the other clenching a tumbler of some amber liquid.

  Okay, now I’m really starting to worry, Eric thought as he came to attention.

  “Lieutenant Cobb reporting as ordered, sir,” he said to Secretary Knox as the highest ranking man in the room. In actuality,
it had been Tovey that had requested his presence from the officer’s barracks ashore one hour previously. Eric had been rather surprised at the summons, as the American ambassador to Canada had conveyed, in no uncertain, terms that neither Rawles nor he was to set foot aboard another British vessel until further notice. As that particular missive had been delivered in the presence of Captain Gordon before Exeter had even pulled up to the dock to unload her wounded, Eric had a feeling Admiral Tovey was well aware of it.

  Knox gave Admiral King and the mystery four star a bemused look, then turned back to Eric.

  “At ease lieutenant, you’re not here for a court-martial,” Knox said easily. “We just want to hear what happened to you in your own words.”

  What the hell? Didn’t anyone get my after action review? Eric thought to himself. His surprise must have showed because the unknown admiral spoke up.

  “Son, we know you already prepared a report for Lieutenant Colonel Gypsum,” the man said, referring to the American military attaché to Canada. “However it’s important that Secretaries Knox and Hull hear your story for themselves.”

  “What Admiral Kimmel is actually saying, in polite terms, is that he bloody thinks we altered your report!” Winston Churchill thundered.

  Okay, there’s a little tension here, Eric thought. Tovey stood stonefaced as Churchill took a puff of his cigar, daring any of the Americans present to deny his accusation.

  “Mr. Churchill is correct,” King responded, venom in his voice. “There are those in Congress and elsewhere in the United States government who have come to wonder just how coincidental it would be that you and your squadron leader just happened to blunder into the German fleet at a time when the British had been forced to dispatch cruisers to make contact with it.”