“You managed to lose Solingen?” The elder Trumbull enquired carefully, casting his eyes about as if frightened he might spot an enemy in their midst.
“Just as you suggested, father,” Alec nodded proudly. I suspect he’s on the line to Melbourne right now, having his time wasted making reports for your ‘urgent attention’.
“Rank doth indeed have its privileges,” the Prime Minister replied with a thin smile, standing back to allow them all entry. “Come in, gentlemen: we’ve a meeting to conduct and very little time indeed in which to do so…”
The inside of the carriage was one of overtly grand opulence that was far removed from the rather mundane and drab exterior. Ornate gold and brass fittings adorned every surface of the carefully-lacquered, wood-panelled walls, while chairs upholstered in the finest leather surrounded a long, narrow table of polished mahogany. Other than Trumbull, there were two others present in the room as they all entered: Lord Louis Mountbatten and Her Royal Highness, the Princess Elizabeth.
“Ma’am…!” Thorne exclaimed, immediately coming to attention and presenting a perfect, regimental salute, this one purely out of respect for possibly the first time in his entire life. “This is unexpected!”
“Indeed, Mister Thorne,” Elizabeth agreed with a faint smile of her own, giving a nod in response and taking a seat at the head of the table as they all followed her lead. “The clandestine nature of this meeting is regrettable, but prudent under the circumstances. Fortunately, I was already on my way to Darwin at my father’s request to receive a first-hand account of the situation in Singapore from Lord Mountbatten. It was early this morning when we received news of this unfortunate Ambon situation.” There was genuine concern in her expression and empathy in her tone as the Princess spoke those words. “I’ve no doubt this is currently weighing heavily on your mind.”
“Y-yes, Ma’am…” Thorne admitted, words faltering slightly as emotion threatened to break through his controls. “It’s bothering me quite a bit, to be honest.”
“Well, we’re going to see exactly what we can do about that, shortly,” Elizabeth assured with a single nod of acknowledgement. “First, however, there are other matters I need to discuss with you that have some bearing on the assistance we’re likely to provide. Yesterday, The Palace received two separate pieces of unrelated information from our sources in Washington… rather distressing news we would very much like your opinion on.
“Very bad news, Ma’am, judging from your tone…?”
“Indeed, Max; in both instances…” she replied quickly with a grimace. “Firstly, we’ve learned – from a very reliable source – of a meeting two days ago between the President and the German Ambassador to the United States. It is believed that during this meeting, the Ambassador made it clear that Nazi Germany wants no part of any war with the United States, and that it strongly condemns the Japanese surprise attacks in Panama and Hawaii…”
“Easy to say when you’re on the other side of the world,” Thorne growled darkly, not believing it for a moment. “I expect Reuters would love to sit back and watch the Japs and the Yanks slug it out in the Pacific, leaving both sides battered to the point of exhaustion.”
“Exactly so on the face of it,” Richard Trumbull continued, seated between Thorne and the Princess with several empty chairs between on either side. “There’s more to it than that in this case though, it appears. We have confirmation that an offer was made that the Nazis would forego any further expansion into the Atlantic in exchange for tacit American recognition of German sovereignty over Continental Europe.”
“Are they –?” Thorne began, intending to make some remark about the insane nature of such an offer… then halted in mid-sentence as he really considered the idea carefully for the first time.
Not so stupid as it appears at face value…
“Soooo… in one fell swoop, the Krauts get security in the West and free reign in Europe,” he thought aloud, working his way through it. “In exchange, the Yanks get to concentrate what’s left of their navy against the Japanese…”
“Yes, that’s just about what we came up with,” the elder Trumbull nodded grimly.
“That’s actually quite brilliant,” Thorne conceded, not at all happy about the idea. “The Americans get a chance to bolster their losses in the Pacific, and Reuters gets to avoid the one thing he’s scared off: war with the United States. But…” he continued, another thought occurring “…they must know we’d never allow that? Any acceptance of sovereignty over Europe would by definition also be tantamount to unspoken acceptance of their occupation of Britain. How would they ever expect us to go for that?”
“And there lies no small part of the problem,” The Princess advised with a dark expression of her own. “So far, Washington has made no attempt whatsoever to advise us of this officially, nor do they appear likely to, based on information from our own, unofficial sources. What is even more distressing is that it appears the Australian Envoy Extraordinary was also called into a meeting with the President and the Secretary of War just minutes later, and which time we believe he was appraised of that very situation. That the Australian War Cabinet has not yet seen fit to tell us about this either is of even greater concern: the reason behind the secrecy of this meeting. It appears we now need to reconsider the reasons behind the Australians’ decision to belatedly pass the Westminster Adoption Act back in October…”
“That actually happened in Realtime too, believe it or not… it was mostly a reaction to the court-martial of two Aussie sailors rather than anything sinister.” Thorne advised awkwardly, referring to a murder aboard the cruiser HMAS Australia earlier that year. The end result had been a clear separation from reliance on Great Britain and a subsequent transfer of Australian alliances to the United States in the Realtime Post-War era. “The question remains, though,” he added, shaking his head, “regarding what possible benefit there could be for Canberra in not advising The Palace?”
“That is something we intend to find out,” the Prime Minister promised severely. “If the current government thinks it can work behind England’s back in such a fashion, they’ve got another thing coming... one word from His Majesty to the Governor-General…” He left that last threat unfinished, scowling across the table with clenched fists resting on the table.
“I… really wouldn’t do that unless it were absolutely necessary,” Thorne suggested with a grimace, considering some rather significant Australian history from his own childhood. “The fact remains though,” he continued, considering the unpalatable information, “that it does make things bloody difficult if we can’t trust our own allies...”
“Our second item of note…” Elizabeth continued, her expression suggesting there was more bad news to come “is advice from Lord Halifax that in spite of our most strenuous requests, scientist Samuel Lowenstein has refused to come over to us. Halifax has spoken to the man directly and has confirmed he has no interest in leaving the United States at this time.” She gave a soft sigh and a shake of her head. “We believe that the Americans may have made him an offer of employment that came with a significant research budget. We have no specific details as yet, however reports obtained through other sources suggest that some personal tragedy may have befallen the man during his escape from Northern Ireland, and that this may be influencing his decision to remain in the United States.”
An offer he couldn’t refuse…
“And news of the dates, Ma’am?” Thorne asked urgently, ignoring the voice in his head as his heart leapt into his mouth. “Does he know…?”
“We have a personal assurance from Lord Halifax that this Lowenstein has no idea of the time and date of the New Eagles’ arrival, and that the man was adamant he could not assist in this matter.”
Thorne slumped visibly in his chair, all appearance of hope leaving him as the enormity of that news sunk in. Exhaustion threatened to overcome him in that moment, pain flaring at the edges of his mind as the fading migraine threatened to once aga
in burst into the forefront of his consciousness. To have in just a short period of time have been so buoyed with hope over the possible completion of their mission, only to have that same opportunity completely smashed was a bitter pill indeed, particularly in light of the terrible news he’d already received in the last few hours.
“None of this changes the current situation with regard to Ambon and Captains Donelson and Lloyd however, Max,” Lord Mountbatten pointed out from two seats away from the Princess. “They still needs our urgent assistance, as do the other Allied prisoners now being held there…” He could see quite clearly that the man’s spirit had just been knocked out of him, and thought it perhaps prudent to refocus on something Thorne could do something about.
“Yes… yes, Eileen…!” He agreed, slapping his palm on the table in emphasis and recovering quickly from his sudden moment of despondency. “Yes, we need to help her and the rest of them!”
“We’ll do what we can, of course,” Richard Trumbull nodded in agreement, “but this will be your show: you know them, and you also know the history of this island. I can’t think of anyone better to set this up.”
“Canberra’s not going to like that…” Thorne pointed out with a half-smile, suspecting he knew that the response to that was going to be already.
“Canberra hasn’t seen fit to include Britain in some of her recent ‘operations’,” Elizabeth observed archly with a raised eyebrow. “What’s fit for the goose will surely also do for the gander, I suspect. What do you need…?” Elizabeth asked pointedly, the implicit suggestion contained in those words suggesting he was free to answer however he saw fit.
Giving her a simple nod of understanding, he turned and stared directly at Mountbatten. “What naval assets do we have available?”
“Precious little, I’m afraid,” Mountbatten replied with a grimace of his own. “I could perhaps spare a few destroyers or a light cruiser, but certainly nothing of any note. We’re holding the Japanese in Malaya – and thereby keeping them away from Java for the time being – but that’s taking every available resource we have, and that still leaves them roaming free throughout the rest of South-East Asia as a result.”
“What about submarine forces?” Thorne asked immediately, possessed of detailed Realtime knowledge in that area and deeply interested.
“They’re the only real positive we have at present: Allied submarines – Commonwealth and American – are already inflicting significant losses on Japanese merchant shipping, and that’s with only the limited units already in forward deployment: once the bulk of the American submarine fleet reaches Japanese Home Waters, we estimate the US Navy should be able to strangle the entire country within a year.”
“Giving them even more reason to want to buy some time in the Pacific by appeasing the Krauts…” Thorne growled. “Doesn’t really help us right now, though...”
“Not at all, I’m afraid,” Mountbatten agreed ruefully. “Although they’ve some submarines spare that can possibly assist, American surface forces are – at best – still months away from being ready to take on the enemy. That rather unfortunately leaves us mostly holding the bag for the time being, with nothing to spare for any extra operations.”
“That’ll make it hard to pull of any kind of mass evacuation,” Thorne shook his head, frustrated. “Without naval support, we’d not have a hope of getting in there by sea. Intel thinks they have a light carrier in the area too...”
“We’ll work with Canberra to organise a relief effort for Gull Force as soon as we’ve sufficient spare resources,” Mountbatten advised, no happier about the situation. “Regardless; we still need to get Captain Donelson out of there: the knowledge she carries inside her head could be incredibly damaging in the hands of the Japanese.”
“No argument there,” Thorne agreed curtly. “We could try for an airborne evac… in and out, quick and dirty. About five hundred miles from Penfui to Ambon… give or take…” Thorne mused out loud, his mind clicking into planning mode without a second thought. “Maybe two hours’ flight time by flying boat… or helicopter…” He turned in Alec’s direction. “Those Blackhawks over at the ARDU fully operational…?”
“Blackhawks…?” Trumbull queried, momentarily bemused until the Realtime name of the UH-60 came back to him from his research. “Oh, you mean the Iroquois,” he exclaimed, understanding what Thorne had meant. “Oh, yes, quite operational and easily capable of making a return flight of that distance with external tanks fitted. I’d be loath to send them into a combat zone unaccompanied however: they’d be shot to pieces within minutes, I should think.”
“Those external tanks include options for in-flight refuelling?”
“‘Buddy’ refuelling…? It’s possible: we can have the current configuration switched over for that within a few hours: it’s not a difficult modification.”
“Do it,” Thorne nodded. “I wasn’t thinking of sending them into combat – we have the Crocodiles for that – but they don’t have the legs to make it in and out on one load of fuel. They’ll need to refuel going in and coming out as well, probably, and I don’t think the Extender can fly slow enough to do it.”
“That might work,” Trumbull conceded. “Still might be dicey though, even for the Crocodile. We’ll need air support.”
“If I remember correctly,” Thorne suggested, almost managing a wry smile, “there are a squadron each of Sabres and Bushrangers right here, undergoing testing as we speak…?”
“I should think they might do nicely, with the Prime Minister’s consent…” Alec conceded with a grin of his own, glancing over toward his father and receiving a nod of tacit agreement.
“How do they stack up against the Mustangs?”
“Well enough,” the younger Trumbull shrugged. “The Bushrangers don’t accelerate quite as well from low speed, but they can hold their own in a dogfight, and their top speed is greater at all altitudes, of course. The Sabres don’t turn quite as well, but they’re much faster – we’ve found that hit-and-run tactics work best in our asymmetric combat training. Also, the boys we have flying them are all veterans, which counts for a great deal.”
“They’ll be fine…” Thorne nodded, his spirits rising somewhat now that he was directly involved in planning some kind of rescue. “Admiral, I’ll also need a squad or two of elite infantry… do we have any special forces in town at the moment?
“Not in Darwin at the moment,” Mountbatten replied with a frown, “but I believe Eagle and Ark Royal are due in tomorrow morning: Eagle’s air group has been training in support of amphibious landings and they should have at least a company of commandos aboard.”
“Where are they at the moment?”
“South of Timor, coming through from the Indian Ocean, I believe…” Mountbatten advised after a moment’s thought.
“Can their group be diverted?” He asked quickly, thinking on his feet. “Turned north-east instead? If we can get them on station… oh, off the Tanimbar Islands, say… that’s maybe only three hundred miles from Ambon? Awful lot closer than Penfui, and those Crocodiles need all the help they can get: even with extra tanks and refuelling, they’ll be on bloody vapour by the time the get back.”
“Should be no great thing… I’ll have orders issued immediately.”
“I’d prefer Bob Green’s boys and the SASR,” Thorne grumped grudgingly, personal bias seriously colouring his opinions, “but I suppose that’ll have to do… thank you, sir…” he added genuinely at the end, realising he’d not sounded as appreciative as he should considering the situation.
“Not perfect by any standard,” Mountbatten muttered, merely voicing what everyone else was thinking anyway, “but it may suffice with a little luck. I’d rather this than be forced to resort to mass bombing to force the Japs out of there: having them right here ‘on our doorstep’ as it were is a damned nuisance, not to mention being bloody embarrassing into the bargain. If only we had more resources to play with…”
“We need to play the lo
ng game for a while, sir,” Thorne observed, equally uneasy about the situation for his own personal reasons. “Until the Yanks can get themselves back up to speed and start draining Japanese reserves into the Pacific, we’re gonna have to hold ‘em as best we can at the Malay Peninsula and through the Dutch East Indies. I know a little bit about the history of this…” he added with a wry smile
“The subs can pretty much do the job for us if we can hang on long enough. With the US Navy’s torpedo problems and tactical issues pretty much fixed this time around, they should be able to isolate Japan entirely from the bulk of its oil and raw materials within a year or so, like you said.”
“Our only concern there,” Elizabeth pointed out softly in the silence that followed, “is whether we can hold out that long. There was something else my father wanted me to discuss with you if the opportunity arose, Mister Thorne: we’ve received intelligence from a rather unexpected source that may provide us with a means for ending this Pacific war far more quickly – something you may be able to provide some important thoughts on…”
“Ma’am, I am all ears…” he responded immediately, leaning forward in his chair and suddenly very interested.
Soewakoda Village, north of Laha
Ambon, Dutch East Indies
Soewakoda: a small, non-descript little village looking out across the bay; and the only building of any significance that Evan Lloyd had seen so far was the one he was now inside. Formerly a native school house, the long, thatched structure was now home to around fifty Australian POWs, predominantly men who’d fought in defence of Laha. Some were wounded to varying degrees, and all were exhausted, their eyes showing a look of haunted, unfocussed trauma and battle fatigue he’d sometimes heard American soldiers refer to as the ‘thousand-yard stare’.
Beaten half-senseless, bleeding from a number of cuts and scrapes and in constant pain from an injury in his back that he suspected was probably quite serious, Lloyd wondered if he’d looked any better than the rest of them as they’d dragged him into that school house in the early hours, just after midnight. A captured medic had seen to his wounds as best as the man had been able, and as he lay against one wall some hours later, dawn finally breaking above the hills across the bay, he was now at least able to move again with reasonable flexibility; albeit with stabs of pain across his lower back and hips accompanying every attempt.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 85