England Expects (Empires Lost)

by Jackson, Charles S.

  He turned and drove inside, giving a smile and a brief wave of recognition as he passed them. The pair were well-paid and were professional former police constables, and as such they knew exactly what was expected of them in the performance of their duties. The moment the Humber had passed through those doors, they closed and locked them once more without a single word.

  Once inside the warehouse, Brandis was forced to stop quite sharply. His first action after turning off the engine was to reach under the dashboard next to the steering wheel and open the secret compartment there that held his pistol. The weapon, a large Colt .45 automatic, appeared in his hands just long enough for him to make a customary check that it was loaded and ‘safed’ before it disappeared into a shoulder holster beneath the jacket of his suit coat.

  There was barely enough space inside to fit the vehicle, and opening the doors to exit was a similarly tight squeeze. The parking space was surrounded by a cage of steel bars and heavy-gauge chain-link fencing that left just a metre or so above and on either side to manoeuvre. Brandis climbed carefully from the car, not bothering to lock it, and walked around to the front of the vehicle where a barred door was set into the cage.

  He unlocked the door and stepped through, carefully locking it again behind him as he entered the main warehouse area. There was electric lighting suspended from the high ceilings above, but none of it was turned on. The interior was dark and musty, with little illumination filtering through, most of the barred windows on either side of the building covered by thick wooden shutters that were usually closed.

  The open plan itself was markedly different to what might pass as a normal 1940s layout, and had been designed by Brandis himself. Deceptively larger that it appeared from the outside, almost the entire space within the building was taken up by twenty-six rows of tall steel racking that rose floor to ceiling and were split into two sides of thirteen racks positioned at right angles to the caged parking area with a wide central aisle running through the middle between them.

  Each rack was more than twenty metres long and carried four sets of shelving along its entire length, spaced a metre apart. Taking into consideration the metre-high open space on the floor below each shelf, this provided for five levels of storage on each of the racks’ 20-metre lengths. The aisles between each were tight, but carefully spaced to allow passage for a small but heavy forklift that currently sat idle, parked by the cage door as Brandis entered. The dark silhouette of a second, identical forklift could be seen at the far end of the central aisle, motionless as the first.

  Due to direct influence from German advances in shipping practices prior of the late 1930s, most of Europe had standardised prior to the Second World War on a wooden cargo pallet sizing of 100 x 100cm (approximately 39⅓ inches on each side in Imperial measurement). Each of the 130 individual shelves on those twenty-six rows was stacked with twenty of those standard-size wooden pallets, and each individual pallet carried six low, rectangular metal boxes, each of which measured 50 x 30 x 12cm, allowing six such boxes to fit comfortably onto each pallet

  Brandis walked down the central aisle in the shadowy darkness, turning right halfway along and heading down between two of the tall racks to the far end. He then made his way up a tight spiral staircase of wrought iron that disappeared through an opening cut into the ceiling, six metres above the warehouse floor. He went up the stairs quickly, two at a time, and it was a testament to his fitness that his breathing was barely laboured by the time he reached the top.

  Brandis’ London home was a huge, studio-style apartment built directly above the warehouse floor. In stark contrast to the darkness below, the entire place was bright and naturally lit by floor-to-ceiling windows on either side, each opening onto a long balcony that ran the length of the apartment. The balconies were wide and allowed the windows to be set well back from the sides of the building, specifically designed so as to prevent the existence of the apartment being detected by any casual observer on the ground.

  The interior was filled with expensive, hand-made furnishings that included a fully-equipped kitchen at one end, a dining area with a mahogany table and six high-backed chairs, a lounge area with several leather-bound armchairs and a large, matching sofa and, at the other end of the apartment, a king-sized bed flanked on either side by huge wardrobes filled with tailored clothes. A small fireplace set on bricks and surrounded by a cast-iron flue and chimney stood against the opposite wall, and a narrow hallway near the entrance from the stairs led to a small but well-appointed bathroom that included a washbasin and shower cubicle but no bath.

  Most (if not all) of the credit for the style and décor of Brandis’ apartment could be solely laid at the feet of Rupert Isaiah Gold. At thirty years of age, Rupert was tall, slim and dark haired. Well-educated at Cambridge, with a degree in the arts, he was a native Londoner and of Jewish ancestry, and during his short life so far he’d on occasion found both to have been a hindrance to the advancement of his career and attainment of his desired social standing within polite society.

  Rupert was nevertheless proud of his heritage on both counts, and as a child growing up within the London middle class, he’d often been forced to fight in defence of his lineage. That being said, he followed his faith in his own quiet and very private fashion, and could by no means be considered an extremely pious young man as strict adherence to the Torah or to any of the mainstream ‘orthodox’ religions would’ve been difficult to reconcile with other aspects of his lifestyle.

  Rupert had first met James Brandis ten years earlier at a public house, while still studying for his degree. The pair had struck up a conversation over a drink at the bar, and had gotten along famously from the start. At first, he’d suspected Brandis of attempting to seduce him. Already aware of his own homosexuality since his late teens, Rupert hadn’t been particularly affronted by the idea, although the man was markedly older and generally wouldn’t have been considered attractive enough for his tastes. It soon became apparent however that seduction was the last thing on James Brandis’ mind. Instead, the man had come to Cambridge that afternoon to offer him a job.

  And in the following decade, the career that had sprung from that offer of employment had far surpassed anything Rupert Gold could’ve dreamed of or asked for. Gold became Brandis’ personal assistant, or ‘PA’ as his employer preferred to refer to in shortened form, and the reality of the position meant that by default, he’d become the second-in-command of a huge, global business empire almost overnight.

  Rupert was taller than Brandis by a few centimetres and markedly thinner. Wiry and athletic, he’d engaged in sports at school, and had been an active member of the rowing club at Cambridge. Despite (or perhaps because of) an upbringing that was middle class at best, he also had quite an aristocratic style and carried with it a taste for fine clothes and expensive accoutrements to match. Brandis had offered a ridiculously huge salary, fully intended to be impossible to refuse, and of course he’d accepted. Rupert had purchased his own quite reasonable flat in one of the more fashionable areas of London – one which so far, god willing – had been spared destruction at the hand of Luftwaffe bombs – and he was quite a wealthy man in his own right.

  Working for James Brandis had become a dream come true for the young man, and the strategy behind the exorbitant wages was based on a simple yet effective premise: that those excellent wages would ensure his assistant was completely trustworthy. Considering the amount of responsibility often expected of the man’s PA, absolute trust was an essential requirement that couldn’t be taken for granted.

  “I suspect I shall have to call and reschedule my booking at the Dorchester,” Rupert observed with exaggerated sourness as Brandis reached the top of the stairs and opened the door that opened into the apartment near the bedroom area. “Nicholas was expecting me there for dinner at six…”

  “He was, yes,” Brandis replied bluntly with the hint of a wry smile at the corner of his lips as he slipped off his shoes at the door. “With what I
pay you, I should think you could buy the Dorchester!” The harmless banter was a normal part of their professional relationship, but as Brandis moved away from the doorway, he nevertheless made sure the shoes he’d removed had been placed carefully together on the mat: Rupert took great pains to make sure the weekly cleaners did their job, and Brandis knew he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t also do his part to ensure the apartment remained neat and tidy.

  “I assume then that I’ll not be leaving straight away?” Rupert wasn’t all that upset in reality; he was used to changing his personal plans to fit in with work on an almost daily basis – it was the nature of his position after all – and as Brandis had already indicated in harmless jest, he was very well paid for that work. It was only fair that the level of commitment expected in return was equally high.

  “Sorry, Rupert, but there’s a bit more to be done tonight before either of us finish up here,” Brandis was genuinely apologetic now as he removed his suit jacket and hung it in one of his wardrobes. “There’s something important I need to go over with you regarding the business here in London…”

  “That sounds ominous, James,” Rupert grimaced, trying to laugh the remark off but inwardly feeling genuinely concerned for the first time.

  “It is and it isn’t: I need to talk to you about what’s going to happen over the next two months… and beyond…” Brandis shrugged simply, not really explaining much as he walked across to the large, roll-top writing desk near his bed. Pulling out the chair in front of it, he turned it around and sat down. Rupert took his lead and sat on the edge of the bed beside the desk, patiently waiting for his boss to continue.

  “Britain’s pretty much done for,” Brandis began the explanation in his characteristically roundabout fashion, as usual providing background information to support his decisions prior to revealing them. It was a standard practice that Rupert was familiar with, and it unsettled him a little as Brandis normally only spoke in that fashion when there was bad or difficult news coming… or both. “There’s still a slim hope we may stop the Krauts from invading, but I wouldn’t be betting the farm on that any time soon.”

  “The situation’s as bad as that, really?” There was plenty of doom and gloom in the daily newspapers, but Rupert had discovered over the years that his employer seemed to have a preternatural ability to somehow know what was happening in the world as (or sometimes even before) it happened, and experience had shown that Brandis was right ninety-nine percent of the time. If he thought Britain was ‘done for’, then that was serious news indeed.

  “The Germans are massing their troops on the other side of The Channel and preparing for invasion as we speak… whether or not that happens is largely in their hands rather than ours, and you can take if from me they’re not likely to change their minds on this. If they do land on British soil and manage to establish a bridgehead anywhere, it’ll pretty much be the end for England.” He looked down at his feet for a moment with an awkward expression that was extremely out of character, before lifting his eyes once more to again stare at Rupert directly. “It’s not something the papers are talking about – they may not know about it yet – but right across Occupied Europe, the Nazis are rounding up every minority racial and social group they don’t like and shipping them off to concentration camps. Jews, political prisoners, the mentally infirm, gypsies…” he paused pointedly before continuing, “…homosexuals. Basically any group or individual that isn’t a blond-haired, blue-eyed, card-carrying ‘poster child’ for the Aryan race is in their sights, and very few of the people they’re sending east right now are ever going to see their homes or their families again.”

  Those words, particularly the pause as Brandis spoke, caught Rupert completely by surprise and left him momentarily speechless and open-mouthed. The attitudes of the general public and governments at all levels around the Western World regarding homosexuality were as conservative in the early 20th Century as they’d been in earlier periods, and in Britain at least it was still regarded as an illegal activity that carried a penalty of imprisonment should any arrest result in conviction.

  Very few men of Rupert’s era had the courage to be open about their sexual orientation, and Rupert, like most, preferred to keep what he did in private exactly that… private. Even the suggestion that a man might be homosexual could well be enough in upper class circles to prevent access to the right jobs or the right clubs, and would see any aspiring social climber potentially ostracised from his friends and peers (regardless of how many others in that same group might also be secretly gay).

  Rupert had never made any consciously overt gesture or signal in Brandis’ presence that suggested what his sexual tendencies might’ve been, and although he’d certainly come to trust his employer and would even call him a relatively close friend, Rupert had nevertheless been very careful in that time to do or show nothing that might jeopardise their professional relationship. Brandis’ words were the first indication or recognition of Rupert’s sexuality that the man had ever made in the ten years they’d worked together, and the revelation came as a sudden and quite unexpected shock.

  “How… how long have you known…?” Was all Rupert could stammer, his voice almost croaking as he fought for air.

  “Before I walked into that pub ten years ago to offer you the job,” Brandis shrugged, as if the matter were of no more consequence than a discussion as to what colour shirt to wear.

  “Then… then why…?”

  “Why did I hire you?” He asked, and Rupert could only nod silently. Brandis sighed visibly, his vague feelings of frustration a reaction to the fact that the subject was of any importance at all in the world they lived in. “I hired you because I knew you’d be the best person I could ever hope to find to work as my assistant, and you’ve not disappointed me once in the decade since. Rupert, I couldn’t care less that you’re Jewish, and I certainly couldn’t care less about what choices you make regarding who you associate with privately, or who you choose to sleep with.” A faint hint of bitterness and disgust crept into his tone as he continued. “The last thing I want is to see you or anyone else being rounded up by the fucking Nazis and being marched off to a death camp wearing ‘striped pyjamas’ with a yellow star or pink bloody triangle pinned to your chest!”

  There was a short pause as Rupert mentally digested what the man had said, and Brandis took that time to allow his pathological hatred of the Nazis to dissipate somewhat. When he spoke again, the venom in his tone had all but disappeared once more. “To that end,” he continued, “we’re going to get you out of England and off to somewhere safe where you can continue the good work you’ve been doing for me.”

  “‘Out of England’…?” That news would also have left Rupert stunned if he’d not been so surprised already. “What are you talking about, James? I’ve lived in London all my life: I’m not going anywhere, Germans or otherwise!”

  “Courageous sentiments,” Brandis shrugged as if his PA’s words were meaningless, “but the fact remains you will be leaving the country in the near future… in about three weeks to be exact. The Nazis are exterminating people, Rupert, and Jews are top of their hit list. You’re of too great a value to me as a friend and as an employee for me to allow you to end up in one of their bloody gas chambers! I’ll be getting out myself at the same time, although we’ll not be travelling together: I need you to take on an assignment for me that’ll involve you working for someone else for the foreseeable future.”

  “You’re letting me go?” The concept was so terrible and foreign to Rupert’s reality that he could barely speak the words, emotions that were equal parts fear and anger welling up within him.

  “I’m not firing you, for God’s sake,” Brandis replied, the slightest hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. “I’m just altering the conditions of your employment. When Britain falls, there’ll be no longer any business here for me to own or run, and I’ll shortly be passing control of most of my foreign holdings into the hands of someone e
lse also… what d’you think your job prospects with me would be then? The alternative is to take on this assignment. We won’t be in constant contact, but there’ll be times when I’ll contact you for information and assistance and, possibly, to supply information on occasion as well. The rest of the time, you’ll still be working as PA to another man whom you’ll meet in a couple of weeks… a man who’s going to really be going places in the next few years, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “So you want me to work for some complete stranger and spy on them for you?” Rupert replied petulantly, sounding almost acidic.

  “It will not be ‘spying’!” Brandis shot back firmly, enough authority in his voice to send his PA a clear warning of his displeasure. “The man’s name is Max Thorne, and he’s currently the commanding officer of a special military unit known as Hindsight. Within the next few years, I expect him to become a major figure in the business world, and I intend him to accomplish that with you guiding him all the way.” Brandis rubbed at his forehead and paused for a moment, frowning to himself as if debating how to continue.

  “Unless something goes incredibly awry, in the next few weeks I’ll have reached the culmination of everything I’ve worked toward my entire life. Although I may still keep my finger on the pulse of what’s happening around the world – hence my intention to keep in contact with you here and there – I otherwise intend to ‘disappear’ from public life for all intents and purposes. Considering the extent of my investments worldwide – which I’m sure you’re aware of – that in itself will create a substantial power vacuum in the industrial and manufacturing world… a vacuum I expect Max Thorne to fill… and that is why I want you to go and work for him.” He paused again, noting that although there was still confusion on Rupert’s face, the young man had calmed down and was at least now trying to understand.